Drenched but victorious with salt in hand, Prisca tapped her foot impatiently as she stood in the lift heading back to her flat...The lift dinged as it arrived at her floor and the doors slid open. “Prisca! I was just looking for you!” it was her neighbour. ILLUSTRATION | JOHN NYAGA
It was her day off, and she was going to rest. She was going to put her feet up, watch a film she’d been saving for a rainy day, cook herself a good meal and do absolutely nothing. Prisca leaned her head back to stare at the sky, luxuriating in the pockets of sunshine that intermittently opened up each time there was a break in the clouds. There were plenty of clouds, low lying purple grey ones, each tinged with gold or silver, floating sluggishly to form a blanket that trapped what could have been a sickly humidity if it were not for a soft cold breeze carrying with it the fragrant scent of coming rain.
“I should move,” she murmured, finishing off a lukewarm coffee, swinging gently on a chair suspended on the balcony of her high-rise apartment.
