It was a bright afternoon in Wagadugu, the capital city of Burkina Faso. President Ibrahim Traoré had just finished a surprise visit to a local school. As he was heading back to the presidential convoy, something caught his attention. A man sat by the roadside, his back against a dusty wall, a tin cup in front of him. His clothes were torn and dirty. His hair had patches of gray, and his eyes were tired. People walked past him without a second look. President Traoré paused. Something about the man seemed familiar. He asked his security to wait and slowly…
Author: town gist
The girl cried at her father’s coffin and said, “He’s still alive!” When the cops opened it, they freaked out. The funeral of Officer Daniel Reed was supposed to be simple, formal, final. The white marble casket lay on a polished base, surrounded by flowers and uniformed officers. The sun glinted off polished badges. The American flag draped across the coffin rustled lightly in the wind. Everything was by the book except the girl She didn’t cry like the others. She screamed, “That’s not my dad!” Six-year-old Naomi, Daniel’s adopted daughter, was nearly hysterical. Her small fists pounded the side…
The sun was just rising over the city of Wagadugu. Birds flew across the bright orange sky. The people were already waking up and getting ready for their day. But inside the presidential office, President Ibrahim Traoré sat quietly at his desk, reading a secret report that had just arrived. The report came from a trusted security officer named Captain Sorro. It spoke about something very strange. A large cargo ship called The Golden Arrow had been spotted at the coast of West Africa. It was not listed in any trading records. No one knew where it came from or…
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky over Abidjan, casting a golden glow over the busy streets. It was the kind of day when people slowed their pace, shops prepared to close, and warm breezes whispered through the trees. Two travelers—a man and a woman—walked quietly along the pavement. They each carried a small suitcase, rolling it behind them. They looked like an ordinary married couple, tired from a long journey, hopeful for rest. But they were far from ordinary. The man was Ibrahim Traoré, the President of Burkina Faso. The woman was his wife—graceful, calm, and quietly…
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…
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…