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Summary

Chapter 7 of an ongoing narrative blends rich language and Jamaican Patois to tell a tale of deception, intrigue, and mystery surrounding the quest for the Stan Leigh Cup, with a cast of characters engaged in complex planning and subterfuge, while a key figure denies involvement in a crucial event.

Abstract

The story unfolds with a detailed account of the characters' elaborate plans and the chaotic transition phase they are navigating, alluding to a significant event known as the "switch over time." The narrative is steeped in a mix of English and Jamaican Patois, employing wordplay, nonsense talk, and double entendre to convey the actions and thoughts of the characters. A central theme revolves around the denial of a violent act, with one character insisting "it wasn't me" who assaulted another, despite evidence to the contrary. The plot thickens with references to a medicated plague, a missing puzzle piece, and a key that holds the power to unlock a chamber beneath the sea. The chapter ends with the promise of more revelations to come, as the characters grapple with the consequences of their actions and the secrets they keep.

Opinions

  • The author uses a rich blend of language, including Jamaican Patois, to create a unique narrative voice.
  • There is a strong sense of denial and deflection among the characters, particularly in the repeated assertion that a certain individual was not responsible for a violent act.
  • The story suggests that the characters are part of a larger, possibly sinister, plan involving a "medicated plague" and a "Reviver fixer-upper kit."
  • The narrative hints at the importance of a key, which is central to unlocking the mysteries of the plot and may be connected to the character Leigh.
  • The chapter implies that the characters are not fully aware of the implications of their actions or the plans of others, leading to a sense of uncertainty and suspense.
  • The author leaves the reader with a cliffhanger, ensuring anticipation for the next installment of the story.

It Wasn’t Me, Continuing with Chapter 7, Part 3

Photo by Mark Olsen on Unsplash

Chapter 7, Go West, my son, part 3, told from a Carib-Jamericanadian perspective. In richly blended language mix of; nonsense talk, sensational spelling, double entendre, and Jamaican Patois. Yes, wordplay is the order of the day around here. Yeah — man, a Jamaica yaad mi come fram, sorry, I meant to say; I’m Jamaican born and bred, okay? So, here’s today’s excerpt.

Contrary to the way how the real winners were to have planned and reasoned out things in getting to the winning of the Stan Leigh Cup. This was designed for them to go wait out the switching over phase outing, to get up and out. Yes, the switch over time, you know.”

“No doubt Hingh, now go.”

That which the good deeds doers of those days’ times smoother were to be there planning better and implementing it for everyone and whoever. Yes, the coming phase should be here in the coming days. Will soon come running into the sun to meet upon the coming better ways. This was made (supposedly so) possible when the planner’s plan was to come down on some in a whispered shout, and a clenched fist pump “ping” at the air, without…

“What, without what?”

“Yes, that, look outside! and listen, haven’t you heard it yet?” It’s still sounding off just as it was to be heard boasting with talks there above his mouth that year.

“Yes?”

“Yes, yes — mi Breda dear, like you’d guessed on a pat upon the romped-up backside of the desert as I’d supposed and said this to the scout out there and lied…” Just like you already know I never do, besides… I was busily ramping about with the kittens in the garden outside the house. That was when the son came out and scared away the mouse. So, I’m sure you know that it wasn’t me who fist him good and proper — Leigh. But, the chest too, was bashed-in –”

“by him, I’d supposed, yes?”

“Yes, not me.” It was somebody else who’d punched him good and proper. Punching at the chest too, was his papa, yes, he was, the “show-off” that he was, and whispering it out, “Yes! Phew,” was what they did, next. “Woo, this is good,” he said. The wolf whistle came through from the brotherhood next — Ned. Then, the next thing to be heard from them was this G-string bungee cord, “come on through. Come on through, oh my Lord,” they said, as it was heard coming from the headship of his brothers in the hood of his kindred in the yard.

The next move from the house was to go out and medicate all of them “none such” the most. Or every one of those with you over there as I’d supposed. Did this with medicines they were never able to understand the coded dose. Ever. Even after those who were amongst the creators of the medicated plague for safer safety for many were to be found stuffed away under the other sandy clay sir. With the rest of the planners in the plan. Say “Sure.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, now, move along for more, up in ranks, because, unlike you.” Those over there were the naysayers, not you. Those who weren’t going to get the biggest bang for their realest players. Those no-never-coming-back ones there toeing the way to get gone. Clear. Some with their eyes openly eying the flashers on the wagon, beware. Of drunk driving, if nothing else, because.

Still going are those flashers, in the on position proper, and blinking their way along in the refrigerated corpse-carrying van — Papa. But there was another plan, remember? Now, all of the planners of those other plans, as it stands, are now goners, except this oner, and his doggone lover. How did it get so far pushed over on them? We’ll tell you somewhere nearer than you, to the end. If something isn’t to be amend.

One piece of the puzzle is missing from the boarded-up nozzle, within, the game over yonder shoulder ring. The key, of course, the one that was left somewhere still stuck away with the beholder. Not me I’m short, down to your shoulder. Nor with you and yours, until you’re older, perhaps. He still doesn’t know where to go to find the beastly keyed-up forks of gold. The only one that is designed to, to, you know. To open up the chamber beneath the sea, of sorts, yes, it’s there under heat. There where he wants so much to beat, to be fair, because.

Somebody had passed on the key to someone else just before closing their eyeing and dying on the day of the big kill-off. Yes, they’d packed their most prized possessions in a tank U can and tossed it into the sea with them because. Someone from among them must have thought it through and figured out a way to get them cured on your asked. The sea was where they dee side dead was best, for sure. Because that’s just as much a perfect restart happening spot as nearer to the husk of dust where all the rest of the calmer kinds of stuff are stuffed away now. Stiff as this, look nuh, look nuh, and still fast asleep to blow wow.

“But, but. How did they do it?”

“That’s not fair, don’t ask me to go through the ship, just to get you into it, go over there, and ask them.”

“I know, I know, they already gave me an answer to that one but it’s not clear.”

“Well, beware.” He still believes that he can complete the feat without it, like, eating, yes, without the key. That’s why I’d agreed to bring them with meat, so to speak. So that, no matter how hard he may look, he still will not get to see it, yes, the cook. You already know that he likes to be with that, and this. But somehow. Only one person with the key I’m certain it’s he, no, don’t tell him it’s me, nor she. She who is over there pointing back at me. Trying to lie her way out of the certain tea. She’s the girl who’s got a date with Leigh. So, he will soon be able to unlock it, yes, the locket, without the key in your pocket, or will he.? Yes, yes, that’s it, Leigh is quite a locket picker of pockets. Go do your practice, perhaps you too will grasp it.

Like, the pick for the keyed-up lock of his, that Dickson, dick of a son. It will remain as remain dead, as it is. Unless he can find a good ole locksmith or the master key that is locked in it. That’s the only thing that is going to enable the lively comeback kick, but. “Sausage, where’s the sausage? Mi rawtid! you really expect me to eat it like that, and this? With not even so much as a little cat supper on top, of it? Man, how could you…” Anyway, let’s carry on through it, that way. As I was saying, and still want Ted to say.

I agree, she can still see, and now she wants to go over there to the washroom to go and take a pp at deep peeping in the lava Tory. Yes man, to try and see if she can reconnect me with her lost certain tea of ten thousand teeth, those that she’d taken with biscuits this morning over tea.

“Really?”

“Yes. Oh yes, that’s correct, and that is why Mister Robby Sly, no more ‘guess,’ unless it’s on eyeglasses for your headrest. Or perhaps the other cap for your odd dress, like, that one can’t do. Unless you’re still Stone drunk and slower than I’d already pronounced her on you, as is, yes. Why would I even lie, though? Pay attention, manly guy, come on, let’s go. Don’t be shy, because.”

As you already know, that person was then tucked away with the rest of them under the sea. She’s the only one who is able to go get the Reviver fixer-upper kit, with it. Yes, with the key from somewhere or another for me, just to fit the proper fee. Even if it must come from somebody, like your brother probably, not me. Nor she. But if needs be. The same long-lost key for the locket in the sea, down under the deep bottom ish, go get it for meat. So that I’ll be able-bodied enough to be able to make good on the promise to revive her and fix her upper tricks for me, and all of us, on this. But so far, tough luck — my star.

To be continued.

That’s it for this excerpt of chapter 7. Be sure to join us again tomorrow to continue with the story. Don’t forget to like, share, and comment. We sure would appreciate it if you’d subscribe and follow us somewhere too, thank you.

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Just an excerpt from my book called “Twisted Tales from the Big Fail.” A Novel: Real Inky Trails Series.

By writingelk, All Rights Reserved.

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