Fey Ugokwe's Blog - Posts Tagged "interracial"

**Description: a mystical, lyrical and haunting, psychological thriller that careens along the unexpected twists and dark turns in the tenuous marriage between a 22-year-old, primarily Asian, Miami-born daughter of well-heeled, immigrant professors and a 25-year-old, orphaned African-American man from the hard scrabble of Los Angeles and their relationship's journey from L.A. to the suburbs of Dallas. "Wifey", a work of contemporary fiction/contemporary women's fiction--that also includes other diverse and multinational characters--highlights a variety of sociocultural issues, inclusive of domestic violence, differential treatment, spirituality, and sustainability, using the universalizing backdrop of food, and spotlights the smacking differentials within individual power, the hair-raising undertow of relationship secrets, and the prickling chill of unforeseen fates.**

Mouthful of smooth, rounding sure into vanilla, lifted with real air and time--he told her with a grin that that's what he wanted, but:

Inching into city blacktop on ballet flats--careening, kinetic cornucopia of pungent sight, scent, all sound--insistent hands reaching, squishing at the lusciousness, looking for the bruisings in the wrong place...

New, she quick skinny-dipped into blinking bright green, a fresh-spooned lap in the bracing aqueous, liquids so light--a finish clean--she'd thought L.A. in the lush so well suited her...

"...[she] thought deeply for moments, idly tracing a teardrop of condensation falling quickly down the side...she watched the bright red liquid settle against the rind of the whole pieces of citrus fruit, as they rested in the glass. Her fave part of the drink was sucking down the sweet-sour flesh steeped in the wine at its end in the vessel. But--she wasn't nearly there to the bottom. She sighed and wondered for a moment why life always seemed that way lately--taking so long to get to the innermost part..."

And they were two flirting at pots eyes on eyes and veins rushing, with the ambrosial mix of peoples as their green screen and it was sweet-sweat spice-smelling and sensuous, giddy back and well pleasant spinning, the chatting laughing breathing eating touching--in the savoury lush, oak, and rye--for a time:

**Description: a mystical, lyrical and haunting, psychological thriller that careens along the unexpected twists and dark turns in the tenuous marriage between a 22-year-old, primarily Asian, Miami-born daughter of well-heeled, immigrant professors and a 25-year-old, orphaned African-American man from the hard scrabble of Los Angeles and their relationship's journey from L.A. to the suburbs of Dallas. "Wifey", a work of contemporary fiction/contemporary women's fiction--that also includes other diverse and multinational characters--highlights a variety of sociocultural issues, inclusive of domestic violence, differential treatment, spirituality, and sustainability, using the universalizing backdrop of food, and spotlights the smacking differentials within individual power, the hair-raising undertow of relationship secrets, and the prickling chill of unforeseen fates.**

"Her legs were straight out, tiny tan toes unpainted, and she was all flounced in a pretty, a-line, magenta-on-navy floral dress. A new pair of coordinating, navy-colored high heels stood respectably and erect, like a mommy's once-a-month Sunday shoes, at her side. Upon seeing her, taking her in, Rodney exclaimed, "Hah!" It was all he could utter for a moment, amidst the madness and mad talkings whirling within...":

"Her spirit began whispering to her that sometimes you seem so small and the area all around you so big--like the walk to the confessional with a mind full of complex sins; the wake behind the nurse in the doctor's office, as you tread in to hear what you already believe to be a dark result; and that trudge of a woman down a passageway to a bedroom against her will. It all seemed at that instant, the very same. It was so big and looming, trapezoidal and shifting--wouldn't stay still, and was getting fuzzier with each footfall as she swaying, trod. It was surreal and blackening, and rotating off its axis, it was the longest, longest, homestead-unit walkway...":

"Suddenly, in a straight line from one of Rodney's nostrils, a wide trickle of blood sprang out, and began to rapidly roll down to meet his lip. "Damn," he whispered roughly, inhaling hard. Without releasing her, he dropped his head and raised a shoulder, wiping his nose on his jacket. The slick of blood against the smooth leather left a wet trail on the garment that shone, as if oozing, in the bright halogen cast of the kitchen...":