The heat was relentless, the sun casting a harsh glare over the dusty road as President Ibrahim Traoré and his convoy pushed forward. Their day had begun at dawn, packed with public engagements—visiting communities, making appearances at ceremonies, delivering speeches, and exchanging countless handshakes. The energy had long begun to wane among the group, weariness settling in like a heavy fog. Yet, for Ibrahim Traoré, there was something else gnawing at him—an emptiness in his stomach that had grown unbearable. He sat in the backseat of his sleek black SUV, sweat beading on his brow despite the air conditioning, his…
Author: town gist
It was a bright and peaceful Monday morning in Wagadugu, the capital city of Burkina Faso. The sun slowly climbed into the sky, spreading a warm golden glow across the buildings. At the presidential palace, a guard stood watchfully at his post as President Ibrahim Troué came outside. He was dressed in a simple, clean outfit — a dark brown shirt and matching trousers. His face showed calmness, but there was a clear sense of purpose in his expression. This wasn’t going to be a regular day filled with meetings, speeches, or official visits. Today was different. The president had…
Her name is Zuri. Just 11 years old. No father, no home—just her pregnant mother, her unborn sibling, and the unforgiving streets. Every day was a fight for survival: searching for food, dodging danger, and clinging to hope. But one tragic afternoon, everything changed. A reckless hit-and-run driver struck her mother, leaving her bleeding and barely conscious. They rushed her to the nearest hospital, only to face another cruel blow. No deposit, no treatment. Zuri had nothing. No money. No family to turn to. Desperate and on the brink of losing the only person she had left, she was told…
The general hadn’t walked for 15 years—until the new black soldier did the impossible. “Private Carter, step aside. He doesn’t need help.” Nyla didn’t move. Kneeling on one knee in the soft grass, she held the tensioned straps of the general’s knee brace with both hands. Steady, calm, sure. Around her, other soldiers paused their drills. Some whispered, others just stared, unsure what they were witnessing. General Allan Strickland, silver-haired and stone-faced, sat in his wheelchair, stiff in his dark navy dress uniform. His hands rested on his thighs, unmoving. His expression was unreadable. Everyone knew his story. Fifteen years…
Morning light poured through the tall white curtains and turned the polished floor into a shallow lake of gold. The house was too perfect—quiet, immaculate—the kind of quiet that made a little girl’s silence feel heavier than it should. Emma Carter, a white toddler barely past her second birthday, sat near the windows with her legs tucked under her, tracing circles on the floor with one small finger. She wore a soft beige short-sleeve top and matching beige leggings—clothes chosen because they never rubbed her skin. The therapists had said comfort mattered when you were asking weak muscles to try.…
The reason was, Cole Harrington didn’t expect to come home early that night. The gala had ended sooner than expected—a dull affair stuffed with wine, politics, and people who measured success in gold cuff links and tax shelters. He had smiled, nodded, signed a six-figure check for a children’s hospital, and left without a word. It was nearing midnight when he stepped into his penthouse. He loosened his tie with one hand, the other pulling the door shut behind him as quietly as possible. He wanted silence, a drink—maybe just five minutes of stillness—before collapsing into a bed he hadn’t…
Desmond Carter wasn’t supposed to be home. It was meant to be another long day at the International Finance Summit in Dubai. But when the closing session ended early, he did what any grieving father missing his daughter might do: he boarded a redeye flight without telling anyone. No press. No schedule. No driver. He just wanted to see his little girl. By 9:47 a.m., he had stepped into the quiet, sunlit foyer of his Los Angeles estate. The mansion smelled faintly of fresh polish and linen candles. Everything looked normal. Too normal. His polished shoes tapped across marble floors…
The room was silent, but his heart wasn’t. Oric Lane stood just outside the suite doorway, holding the knob with one hand, his phone in the other, recording. The light from the open safe flickered against the polished wood panels, casting soft shadows across the wall. In front of it stood a little girl barely taller than the doorknob, her back turned, one hand on the handle of the heavy metal door. Her name was Suri—seven years old, dark brown skin, curly hair tied into uneven puffs. She wore a sleeveless cream-colored shirt with a small hole near the hem…
The airport buzzed with announcements, rolling suitcases, and polished shoes rushing past. But in one quiet corner beside a large window overlooking the tarmac, a Black woman lay curled against the wall, two tiny bodies pressed into her side under a pale blanket. Her name was Amira. Her eyes were shut, not from peaceful sleep, but from pure exhaustion. She hadn’t rested in nearly two days. Her stomach ached with hunger, and her throat was parched. The twins—six-year-old Io and Benny—breathed softly against her chest, bundled tightly in the only warmth they had. Their knitted hats were unraveling at the…
The door creaked open before Grant Ellison even stepped inside. His polished shoes touched the tiles of his private foyer, and the wheels of his sleek black suitcase trailed behind him with a soft rattle. He looked every bit the man who’d closed million-dollar deals across Europe—tailored white suit, violet dress shirt, designer watch—but nothing about him looked prepared for what he was about to see. He wasn’t supposed to be back until Friday. A quiet smile tugged at his lips as he reached down and gently touched the small teddy bear tied to the suitcase handle—Lucas’s favorite. He hadn’t…