The Aftermath…

Yoo hoo guys!

I hope you have been awesome. I am knuckling down with editing – and EDITING – Phases for its release next month, so please accept The Aftermath as something to chew on for the time being!

I wrote The Aftermath for my work colleagues just before Christmas because I was unable to attend the Christmas dinner (at Beach Blanket Babylon in Shoreditch). The following morning, I emailed it to the entire office, and then hid because I was sure they would hate it (or I would get in trouble for spammimg!). But they loved it; some even thought I had cadged it from the internet – high praise indeed! Enjoy!

XO Kunmi Daniel

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08 Dec. 2016. 17:00 hours: The usually tranquil atmosphere is rent by a wicked spirit. Even as we look at each other – aghast – we are running, hands clamped firmly over our ears, gnashing our teeth: must…get…to…the…shelter. I sneak a look back and am dismayed to see that a few of us have been lured away, arms outstretched, swaying precariously from side to side with each step. They are slaves, now, to the call of Babylon; they cannot be saved. “We wishhh you a Merry Chrissstmas…”

We dared to hope, after last year…

08 Dec. 2016. 18:00 hours: Those of us that fled in time cower pathetically in the shelter, hands still over our ears, terrified of being host to an errant chord lingering just outside the door, searching for a crack through which a whisper of wind can transport it. We weep for our friends: curious, excitable, by now doing Babylon’s bid: drinking, dancing, having fun…we shudder in revulsion.

09 Dec. 2016. 08:00 hours: We are weary, fraught with nerves, and hungry. We have bottled water, but cannot bring ourselves to be excited by tinned mince pies. The children are restless and irritated; the animals braying for the open air, but the clamour is manna compared to what the silence outside may hold.

09 Dec. 2016. 09:30 hours: We wonder what has become of our friends; we hope Babylon was merciful to them. We tell tales of years gone by, legends in which leaders and innovators among us went to ruin after surrendering to it’s siren-song. We decide to sing uplifting songs, and hope that we will one day meet again:

“We hope they are not hungover

We hope that they stayed strong

But we have bacon butties for them

If they stayed out drinking too long.”

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