A Bullied Boy and A Forgotten God
A vibrant island nation nestled in the heart of the Caribbean, pulsating with a unique rhythm that echoes its rich cultural heritage. A melting pot of diverse people and cultures, a true embodiment of its national motto: "Out of many, one people." From the descendants of African slaves to British colonizers, Indian indentured servants, and Spanish settlers, is the country of Jamaica. A population that is a beautiful blend of ethnicities, each contributing their own distinct flavor to the country's identity.
The landscape unfolds like a canvas of contrasts. Lush green mountains rise majestically towards the sky, giving way to fertile valleys and pristine coastlines, where turquoise waters lap against the shore. The air is alive with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the rhythmic beats of reggae and Dancehall music, which seem to seep from every pore of the island.
It is on this small breathtaking island that rests a God, brought there by the people tucked tightly on the ships across the seas. The spider trickster empowered his people with what he was known for best. He sat upon his throne of twisted vines and shimmering webs, his eight eyes gleaming like stars in the night sky. His dark skin glistens with a subtle sheen, as if infused with the moon's soft light. With a mischievous grin, he weaves tales of wit and cunning, his voice a gentle breeze that rustles the leaves of the forest, filling the ears of any willing to stop and listen.
His slender fingers dance with grace, as if conducting an orchestra of whispers and secrets. Around him, a halo of iridescent threads shimmers, a testament to his mastery of the intricate web of fate. With a flick of his wrist, he can manipulate the very fabric of reality, entwining the threads of destiny to suit his whims.
As the God of Wisdom, Cunning, and Storytelling, Anansi embodies the contradictions of life itself. His laughter echoes through the ages, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, a spark of mischief and creativity can ignite the path forward. His presence is a reminder that wisdom and wit can be the greatest powers of all, and that even the smallest of creatures can hold the greatest of secrets. But with every tale of light, there is darkness, and unfortunately, Anansi was his own greatest enemy.
As time passed, his mischievous nature began to curdle into malice. The people, fearing his power, sought Nyame to contain him. He bound him with powerful spells and locked him away in a hidden realm, deep within the heart of the mountain.
Centuries of solitude and darkness twisted Anansi's spirit, nurturing a deep-seated resentment towards the world that had wronged him. His once-witty mind turned to schemes of revenge, and his cunning evolved into cruelty. The threads of fate he once wove with grace now became instruments of manipulation and terror.
When briefly summoned or possessed, Anansi unleashes unholy terror upon the world. His malevolent presence poisons the air, spreading darkness and despair. His whispers corrupt the minds of men, sowing discord and chaos. His webs, once a symbol of wisdom, now ensnare the innocent, trapping them in a labyrinth of fear and madness.
The few times Anansi was released, his wrath was swift and merciless:
- He fueled the flames of the 1938 labor riots, manipulating the passions of the people and sparking violence and bloodshed.
- He whispered dark secrets to the leaders of the Jamaican posse wars, fueling a decade of brutal gang violence and senseless killing.
- He wove a web of deceit and corruption, leading to the infamous Green Bay Massacre, where innocent civilians were slaughtered by government forces.
Each time, Anansi's malevolent power grew, his darkness spreading like a stain, leaving a trail of devastation and terror in his wake. The people tremble at the mere mention of his name, knowing that if he is ever fully released, the world will be consumed by his unbridled evil.
Centuries passed, and the current generation has almost completely forgotten about their ancestral Gods, to be replaced by that of the Christian God. But one boy will discover that just because you can't see it doesn't mean it doesn't exist.
As Jeremiah approached his home, raindrops danced around him, drenching his 5'6" frame from head to toe. His short hair, the texture of tightly coiled springs, clung to his scalp in darkened curls, a stark contrast against his smooth, mahogany skin. The uniform he wore, typically crisp and neat, now sagged heavily on his shoulders, sodden with rainwater.
With each step, puddles formed beneath his worn shoes, splashing water all about. The rhythmic patter of rain on the pavement was the only sound that accompanied him as he trudged towards the sanctuary of his front door.
As he reached out to grasp the doorknob, his fingers trembling from the cold, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him. Pushing the door open, he stepped into the warmth of his home, the contrast between the chill of the outside world and the comforting embrace of his mother strikingly evident.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of a home-cooked meal and the gentle hum of familial chatter. His mother, a beacon of love and strength, turned towards him with a smile that reached her tired eyes.
"Jeremiah, my boy, you're soaked to the bone!" she exclaimed, rushing over to him with a towel in hand. He returned her smile, grateful for her unwavering warmth amidst the storm.
As she began to pat him dry, her hands moving with practiced care, Jeremiah couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude towards her. In a world where he often felt like an outsider, she was his anchor, his safe harbor in the tempest of life.
"Get on the mat, Jeremiah! Jesus Christ, don't let me take the Lord's name in vain," she said annoyed before she got a good look at him. "Boysie, what happened? You're soaked!"
Jeremiah hesitated, his head down, not looking up at his mother, looking at his reflection in the small puddle. He stood there cold and slightly shivering, unsure how much to reveal. "I forgot my umbrella, Mom," he said, trying to sound convincing.
"The mat, Jeremiah, hurry. You're dripping all over the wooden floor," she said as she grabbed for the mop and moved to wipe up the water.
Simone's eyes narrowed slightly before saying, "I remembered giving you your umbrella this morning."
"Umm.. That was yesterday, Mom," he stammered.
"Oh...okay," she replied not believing him but she didn't want to press the issue. Standing before her was her cold and shivering boy. "Well, get out of those wet clothes and take a warm shower. I've made some red peas soup to warm you up." She said shooing him down the passage.
"Hey hey, take off your shoes and socks first," she shouted when she saw him about to move. "I don't want any muddy footprints in my house."
Jeremiah nodded, grateful for his mother's kindness. As he headed to his room, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. He hated lying to his mother, but he couldn't bear to tell her the truth – that the bullies at school had stolen his umbrella, just like they'd taken his lunch money and his favorite book.
Jeremiah stood in just his boxers at the door frame, his back against it and a ruler on top of his head. He stepped away and looked at where the ruler rested. Disappointment rested on his face as he saw that he hadn't grown an inch.
After Jeremiah steps into the shower and allows the warm water to cascade over his body, he finds a moment of respite from the turmoil of his thoughts. The gentle rhythm of the water soothes his weary muscles, offering a brief reprieve from the pain inflicted by Kofi and his gang.
As he stands under the steady stream, Jeremiah's mind drifts back to the events of the day, replaying the scenes of confrontation and intimidation. The memory of the stolen book, a cherished escape from his daily struggles, weighs heavily on his heart.
With each passing moment, Jeremiah's sense of despair deepens, overshadowing any semblance of hope or resilience. He feels isolated and vulnerable, a solitary figure in a world that seems intent on crushing his spirit.
Meanwhile, downstairs in the cozy kitchen, Simone tends to the steaming pot of red pea soup, her mind preoccupied with worries of her own. The sound of her phone ringing breaks the tranquility of the moment, prompting a sigh of frustration.
Jeremiah, lost in his thoughts, barely registers the sound, his focus consumed by the tumultuous emotions swirling within him. As the water continues to wash away the physical evidence of his ordeal, he struggles to find solace in the fleeting comfort of the shower.
The weight of his troubles bears down on him like a heavy burden, threatening to overwhelm his fragile resolve. With each passing minute, the sense of foreboding intensifies, casting a shadow over the dimly lit bathroom.
In the solitude of the shower, Jeremiah grapples with feelings of helplessness and despair, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Despite his efforts to find refuge in the warm embrace of the water, he remains haunted by the specter of his tormentors, their presence looming large in his thoughts.
Downstairs, Simone has prepared a comforting bowl of red pea soup, Jeremiah's favorite. As they sit down to eat, Simone's phone rings, breaking the silence. Jeremiah, noticing his mother's weary expression, inquires about the call.
Jeremiah: "What's wrong, Mom?"
Simone: "They want me to start my shift early."
Jeremiah furrows his brow, concerned about his mother's added workload. He listens intently as she recounts her recent challenges at work.
Simone: "If it's not one thing, it's the other. Just the other day, I had to deal with some very loud and disrespectful passengers on my flight. It was exhausting."
Jeremiah sympathizes with his mother, his concern evident in his eyes. Simone tries to downplay the situation, but her weariness is palpable.
Simone: "I'm just glad to be able to have moments like these where we can sit and eat together."
Jeremiah nods in agreement, appreciating the rare moments of peace amidst their busy lives. As they continue their meal, Simone shares anecdotes from her day, highlighting the challenges she faces as a flight attendant.
Jeremiah: "Wow, Mom, that sounds like a lot."
Simone smiles weakly, touched by her son's empathy.
Simone: "Be thankful you don't have to work for many more years" she said widening her smile.
After dinner, Jeremiah retreats to his room to complete his homework and indulge in some reading. As his mother prepares to leave for her shift, she reminds him to lock up before bedtime, a gesture of trust and responsibility.
Jeremiah nods, his mind swirling with thoughts of the upcoming school day and the bullies he'll inevitably face. Despite his apprehension, he finds solace in the familiarity of his books, a temporary escape from the harsh realities of his school life.