Cougar

By Simone Qwunta

Reflections are not hindsight but glimpses of the past, present, and possibility of the future.
Remembering can play tricks on your mind and alter the past, present, and possibility of the future.
Revenge is the past, present, and possibility of the future. 
Restoration is the return of something to its original state of the past or present and allows the future to unfold.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Indelible Inscriptions
• Release date: Oct 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393566472

Simone Qwunta

Simone Qwunta is a novelist, screenwriter, and poet who lives, loves, and writes in Chicago.

Book preview

1

Reflections

My head throbbed, and I couldn't see. The smell of bleach and iron was overwhelming. I tried to open my eyes but couldn't. My eyes felt glued shut; my mouth felt as though it weighed a ton, and my lips were dry and sore. I felt the coldness of marble against my bare arms and realized that I was lying on a floor. Why was I on the floor? Where was I? I couldn't remember. Relentless pain throbbed in the back of my head, and in an attempt to pinpoint it, I reached back and touched a large gash. Wet, matted blood-soaked hairy lay knotted on top of the wound and prevented me from telling how deep it was. Lifting my arms to separate the hair caused a sharp pain to shoot through my midsection. Instinctively my hands left my head and went to my stomach. The pain was so fierce it nauseated me. The darkness of this place made it hard for me to compose myself. I tried to stand up, but the pain in my legs matched that in my stomach, and my legs felt constricted.

---

Running my hands over the material, it felt like a fitted evening gown. I tried my memory once more. Where was I? Why was I wearing an evening gown? I tried again to force my eyes open with no luck; tiny slits that limited my scope of vision was all I had. One of my feet felt held hostage, and I realized that I was only wearing one shoe. I couldn't reach it with my hands, so I removed it with my other foot. How would I have lost one shoe? Had I been running from something or someone? I tried again to pull from my memory. This time I remembered Sanchez. He was beautiful, as always. I remembered him standing at the end of my driveway next to a

limousine with a chauffeur who was holding the door open. I remembered wondering why the driver had not come to the door. It didn't matter; I would walk to the ends of the earth and back for him. Sanchez stood there, smiling, waiting for me to approach. That smile melts me even now when I am in pain and confused. Where was he? What had happened to him? I tried to call for him, but my mouth felt