The sun was hot that day in Wagadoo. The streets were full of people—rushing to work, selling goods, or looking for help. Inside the national hospital, the atmosphere was quiet but heavy. Nurses moved around quickly. Doctors walked past rooms without smiling. The air smelled of medicine and sadness. President Ibrahim Traoré was not there on official duty. He had come quietly to visit an old friend who was recovering from surgery. He did not wear his uniform or come with many guards—only one assistant was with him. He didn’t want to make noise or draw attention. He just wanted…
Author: town gist
The city was alive with noise—cars rushing past, horns blaring, and people flowing along the sidewalks like rivers. Skyscrapers gleamed in the sunlight as shoppers bustled in and out of luxury stores. Among them was a woman dressed in a gray coat and a soft blue scarf, her heels clicking against the pavement as she walked beside a little girl. The girl, about five years old, wore a purple dress with ruffled sleeves and carried a small stuffed bunny in one arm. Her blonde hair was neatly combed, and her curious blue eyes scanned everything around her. Her name was…
The sun was just beginning to rise over the narrow streets of Eastwood when the silence was pierced by cries—two infant voices, sharp and desperate, echoing near an overflowing trash bin. No one stopped to look. In neighborhoods like this, noise and pain were background sounds. But that morning, something was different. Inside a battered alleyway, a white man in a black dress shirt stood trembling. In his muscular arms, two crying Black baby girls squirmed in white onesies, their tiny fists clenched around nothing but air. He looked down at them, expression torn between rage and denial. “Not mine,”…
“Don’t get in the car!”A little Black boy shouts to a millionaire—and it turns out he just saved a life. It was a bright, peaceful morning in the quiet suburb of Woodland Heights. Birds chirped, sprinklers clicked, and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air. Nothing about this day hinted that something dangerous was about to unfold. Adrien Clark, 42, billionaire entrepreneur and founder of Varys Link Systems, was preparing for what should have been a normal event. He was set to deliver a speech at a tech and education gala across town—a speech that would quietly announce…
It was just past 3:00 p.m. at the downtown hospital, and the corridor outside the emergency ward was unusually quiet. Nurses moved between rooms. Monitors beeped rhythmically. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—until a gasp cut through the silence. A security guard at the front entrance stood frozen. Through the sliding glass doors came a sight that stopped him cold: a small Black girl, no older than six, barefoot and alone, trembling as she shuffled into the hallway. She was wearing a pale pink dress that clung tightly to her swollen belly. It was stretched…
The grand estate of the Wexford family stood like a palace on the hill. Marble pillars, glass chandeliers, and gold-accented halls echoed wealth in every direction. Inside, Jonathan Wexford, a 42-year-old self-made millionaire, straightened his navy tie in the hallway mirror. Every inch of him was perfectly pressed, polished, composed. His wife, Isabelle, strolled past behind him in a silky cream dress, sipping orange juice from a crystal flute. “Don’t be late for the board meeting,” she said with a teasing smile. “You know they panic without you.” Jonathan chuckled lightly, but his eyes lingered on her a little too…
A millionaire boy encounters another boy who looks just like him, living on the streets, wearing dirty, tattered clothes, and decides to take him home and introduce him to his mother. “Look, Mom, he’s just like me!” When she turns around and sees the two of them together, she falls to her knees, weeping. “I knew it…” What she reveals will leave you speechless. “But how is this possible? You… you look just like me,” Ashton exclaimed, his voice cracking with surprise as he stared at the boy in front of him. The young millionaire blinked several times, trying to…
It was a quiet Thursday afternoon in the wealthiest district of the city. Birds chirped, fountains trickled, and the air smelled of trimmed hedges and imported roses. A navy-blue car pulled into the long private driveway. Stepping out of the vehicle was Elliot Harrington—33 years old, sharp jawline, clean-shaven, wealthy beyond imagination. Dressed in a tailored blue suit, he walked toward his mansion’s front door with the weight of confidence only money could buy. In one hand, he carried a sleek leather briefcase. His mind was already occupied—merger deals, client dinners, and the next billion-dollar move. But just as he…
It was a cool morning in Wagadugu. President Ibrahim Traoré had just finished a long security meeting. His convoy was on its way to a public event when he suddenly asked the driver to take a different route. “Let’s pass through the old cemetery road,” he said quietly. His guards were surprised but obeyed. As the convoy passed the graveyard, Ibrahim noticed a young girl sitting alone beside a grave. She looked about nine years old. Her clothes were torn, her hair uncombed, and she had no shoes. But what caught his attention the most were her eyes—sad, but full…
It was a bright morning in Wagadugu, and the presidential palace was already full of activity. Guards stood at their posts. Ministers walked in and out with files in hand. Inside the golden walls of the palace, President Ibrahim Traoré was in a meeting with his security team. But outside the main gate, something unusual was happening. An old woman stood quietly by the gate, dressed in rags. Her clothes were torn, her slippers worn out, and her hair was wrapped in a dirty scarf. She carried a small brown bag and a walking stick. She looked like a homeless…