Grab your shades and sun loungers! Dive into this feel-good collection of winning short stories for the LGBTQIAP+: Sun-Kissed Summer Anthology contest.
New stories added every other day.
Congratulations for earning a spot in the LGBTQ+: Sun-Kissed Anthology! ♥
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Author's Note: All characters are age 18 or older, therefore they are able to legally purchase/consume alcohol and cigarettes in South Africa. Keep in mind that this story is fiction and therefore may not be a completely accurate representation. The Pride Parade Divya talks about took place in the beginning of March this year. Most Pride festivals I know of in South Africa take place during the summer so from late November to about late March.
* * *
I had always felt a sense of security in the routine of the weekend. I loved the weekend like no other teenager in my town. It was difficult to understand why. My parents were both migrants from India. All they wanted was a better future for me. A future they knew I could have but on the weekends, they set me free.
It started with Friday afternoon. I was not obsessive enough to count the seconds but I did keep track of the periods. A mental countdown of a sort. I spent less time on Friday's looking at my watch and more time listening to gossip. Friday was a good day, the tuckshop even sold hot chocolate and even though it was of the store-bought variety, the milky and creamy warmness of the drink made up for the quality.
The final bell would ring and for a moment the school would become quiet before a different variety of people came out. Home-fixtures were my thing. I loved being a part of them. I liked first-aiding or making sure there were enough lunch packs for the visiting school teams.
I did not run the show by any means. I just did my part and I know I did it well when teachers and girls from the other schools felt welcome. The break I had from not staring at books was nice although worrying about my future was a constant issue.
Then came Saturday, I dreamed of Saturday mornings. I left the house earlier than anyone. It was also the only day where my parents let me drive myself, as neither of them needed the car for most of the day. The astroturf and rugby fields were a good half an hour away from where I lived. I would not be dressed in sports uniform or have my orange first-aiders jacket on.
I smoked my one cigarette of the week, bought off a few unsavoury characters the previous day. It was my second biggest secret. The first would deadly.
The first was actually smiling at me as I parked. The first secret. Our secret. The one that was kept behind bushes or in the dark corner of the rugby field. The first secret with her bakkie and karate tracksuit, freshly showered and waiting for me before she had to leave. My first secret, who knew my second secret.
Charlotte DeWalt, was a fine woman and I was fiercely hers for as long as she would have me. The winter cold felt nippy on my exposed fingers. Typical really for a June morning in my part of South Africa. Her hands as always were colder than mine and she cringed when she saw the dying cigarette in my hands. Karate was her sport and she had made it into the junior national team every year since we started dating. Four years, to the exact day, since we recognised each other at the grade 8 social. It was kind of stupid really and scary.
