Curator Angelus

Description

Lisa had witnessed the tragic consequences of an innocent game with a Ouija board, but never told anyone.

Lisa and her sister Susan were just a couple of normal teenagers, but Lisa was a loner and suffered bullying at the hands of her father, John.  She was glad when she could leave home to escape his violence and lead her own life.

Despite the pressure Lisa found herself under socially, she was determined to remain a virgin until she met the man of her dreams.  However, things didn't work out the way she planned, with unexpected results.

Her mother, Elizabeth, had also suffered years of abuse from her bullying husband, but when she ended up in hospital she decided that the truth should come out.

Her confessions, after all these years, were life changing, but finally Lisa could unravel the mystery of the black shadow.

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About the Author

Author Name : Paula Jane Rodgers

     Paula Jane Rodgers was born in 1971 in Huddersfield, West Yorkshire, England. She attended the local schools and college there. Taking time out from working in an office she became a housewife and during this period she wrote down her dreams and ideas, accomplishing one of her life ambitions in the form of her first novel.

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Latest Poem

My great grandfather was a Slave

My grandfather was a Native

My grandmother was a Bantu

My mother was a kaffir, Nigga, Negro

Names imposed by shackles

But an Afrakan I am

An identity my forefathers were deprived of

 

An identity I am now polluting with the fumes of cigarettes

In dope I am giving it another face

In ecstasy I am giving it a comical image

My drunken stupor gives it an unstable belonging

My borrowed accent contradicts what it represents

My imitated dress code conceals its beauty

My adopted religion undermines my intellectual prowess

My language deafens my ancestors

My values are valueless

My mind is discriminatory

It repels anything indigenous

Whilst absorbing all that is alien

None can identify with me

Even those I am emulating

Patriotism I reserve for my kind

I look down at my patriots

If I were xenophobic

I could have been my own victim

I pride myself in my slanted inferior education

An education promptly deleting my true history

Ignorance is my custom

I am dreaming dreams my forefathers cannot interpret

I am singing praise songs for my dying culture

I am branding a heritage

I cannot inherit

Knowledge of freedom is embedded in my subconscious

But suppressed by fear

Fear to develop my culture and identity

Fear to be rejected by the world

Fear to be different and still love myself

Yet with no identity I remain

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