I am ready to help with your next Project.

Dear valued client,

I have 10 years’ experience in fictional and non-fictional writing. I have self-published six books and collaborated with seven other writing projects. Two of them are devotional books, Worthy to be Loved and one in Afrikaans, called Skakels in my Ketting.

I have a keen interest in Christian Living and apply this knowledge in my writing to give the reader a better understanding of the topic.

I have written articles for an English online magazine for a time and was a content writer for an internet radioprogram for single women.

I have a quarterly newsletter and will add the links to the newsletter for greater reach.

I write both in North American and British English and make use of ProWritingAid to assist with the grammatical areas. A proofreader will polish the final manuscript to make it publish ready.

I create all book covers on Canva or ask graphic designers to assist when in doubt. I understand the entire process from beginning to end and would like to assist.

I help with page layout and create the conversion to Kindle.

I can create all profiles on relevant platforms and do the uploads. 

For a complete list, click here.

Snippets of my Work

How I work:

I write the first draft and send it back for your reading and feedback. 

I am a very diligent writer that likes to complete a project in time. I have a good eye for detail and will be in contact with you regularly.

Once you are satisfied with the manuscript, it would be sent to the proofreader for a last read. 

Once completed, and you are satisfied with the end result, the project is completed. 

I can assist with the following:

Page outlay, printing quotes, book cover, ISBN, and create profiles if you don't have. 

I trust we can establish a good relationship. I await your response.

Kind regards

Lynelle Clark

Author / Freelancer / Coach / Virtual Assistant

Linktree

Contact: lynelleclark@outlook.com for a quote

Christian Snippets

 

Christian articles

As a visionary, it is imperative that you remain blessable. Translation, you must adhere to a set of beliefs and behaviours that reflect this connection. Your creativity may want to develop in a certain direction that will set you apart from "competitors", however, you must embrace the standards set forth by your connection. If you follow Christ, the Scripture will be your guide. If you follow a more spiritual or traditional belief, you follow that guidance.

Since I am a believer, I can advise from the scripture. Take it with an open mind and see the results at the end.

2 Chronicles says that the Lord strongly supports those whose hearts are completely his. Question: How important is it to you that the Lord strongly supports what you are doing? If it is important, then your heart must be completely his. When you embrace what is important to him, you bring your heart into alignment with his. When your heart is completely his, you are blessable.

We can divide your core beliefs and behaviours into two categories: general and specific.

General beliefs and behaviours are what every person/believer should adhere to. Things like honesty, purity, and integrity should be embraced regardless of our vision.

Failure to follow the general standards has caused countless visions to come apart at the seams. We have all seen visions damaged by mishandled finances and unresolved relational conflicts. Or miscarriage and abortion had taken place before fulfilment because of jealousy, pre-mature speaking, etc. It accounts for just about every failed vision I know of.

Specific beliefs and behaviours are specific to your particular vision. I can't tell you what these would be for you. You must figure them out on your own, with God's help.

Non-Fiction Snippets

 

Dream Till God gives You Assurance.

I am not a person who always says what's on my mind and seldom what's on my heart, but I am prompted to do so today. A revelation that lifted my spirit.

Maybe someone needs to hear it as well.

I start to write in 2010.

I wrote to block out my reality.

I wrote to block out the empty cupboards, the demanding phone calls of creditors. Writing kept me from looking out the window to see the tall grass that could not be cut. My eyes swimming in tears as my children left their safe place because we could not provide in their needs anymore. I felt like a failure, worthless and purposeless.

I wrote to block out all the anger and pain, the rejection we have experienced from church, the lack of support from anyone we thought were our friends at that time. Standing alone in a very harsh world, without support, it is a harsh place to be.

I wrote of lost dreams and empty promises all in fiction form. Because in fiction I can write a happy ending. Though my world had nothing to offer me.

I wrote 22 books during that time. Only five books were published so far. Many of my books started off differently from its conception. But as I grew, the stories grew, changed, and developed where they are now: published and read.

At that stage, there was still a ‘we’ in the equation. After 2014, ‘we’ became I...one. though I took the step to walk away, I was off balance with no understanding or idea of how to move forward. I had no form of financial support, had no income and no earthly possessions.

Then I began to dream. It was a slow process of trusting myself first, then others.

(This was a long process and one I will not talk about now. I want to get to the revelation part.)

At the end of 2019, I was invited to attend an Eksderde camp where Marié Bosman (van den Berg) spoke directly into my life. Infused with God's knowledge, she said, "God has given you a blank page."

It elevated me, but I didn't understand. I ran with it like a thirsty beggar but still felt unworthy, not sure where I fit in. I was still off-balance, unsure and desperate. And very much in lack.

Was God's promises of yesteryear still effective? Did my current dreams coincide with God's plan for me? How did it all fit? Were some questions I faced.

Then I met Joe van den Berg, and he said, "Your past is the past, you have a new slate. The words you received, the promises you received, they are over. It is time for new ones."

It was like a click within.

It is a clean slate. From this moment forward, all promises and dreams is a new beginning.

The revelation part:

I read the Fourth Dimension from Dr Cho, where he talked about receiving assurances from God for your dream.

And the second click happened.

Back in 2010, I wrote to forget; I wrote about anything. From spiritual stories to erotic and everything in between. It was my saving grace during a difficult time. It blinded me from reality. But it also blinded me to many truths. At the times the lies became bigger, and my sins had a field day.

Since 2019, my writing has changed. My fears and anger do not surface within the pages nor my desires or longings of things not meant. It is more focused now.

My dream is to be a New York best-selling author, to own a book and coffee shop and create a safe environment for all creative beings, not only writers. 

To get back to Dr Cho's book and to cut an exceptionally long story short, he said to keep on dreaming and talking about it. For others, it might seem foolish or a pipe dream. Sometimes I feel neglected and even looked over, but He encouraged me to keep on dreaming and planning until God gives me the promise, the red seal, so to speak. God will approve or object, but my work is to continue with it until...

When you step away from a long-time marriage, your world tilts dramatically. In this time, God will allow you to make decisions and even allow you to make mistakes while He keeps you safe... Looking back I can point you to all the times He provided and protected me from myself and others that meant me harm I am still in awe about it.

The best part of this long tale is that when God gives you a new page, he means it. But he also wants to see how serious you are. By giving you a clean slate, He gives you a second chance. We all begin anew at some stage of our lives. All you have to do is keep on dreaming and doing until God gives you the red seal, the assurance.

That dream will propel you forward. It will help you grow and it will help you find your feet again. Just hang in. God is in control.

If you are unsure or off balance because of life's knocking around, push through. Get the dream on paper. See it. Live it until God comes and put a stamp of approval on it. If not, then it still will not be wasted time. Because you have learned new skills. Who knows where it will lead?

Trust God when he says he has given you a new page.

Copyright Lynelle Clark 2020

 

Newsletter 

It has been a while since my last writing. With so much that has happened the last year, I never really felt to say something specific. As if words failed me. Or maybe it was just how the Lord has worked with me. But it doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that we do as God leads us. On this road of recovery/returning, I am more aware of what I do, and how I do it.

Those who know my path till today know how much of a financial struggle it is to survive. There are days I wondered if I am listening correctly. Days I don’t stay connected with God as much as I should. There are even days that I miss reading or listening to the Word of God.

Ever since the lockdown has begun in 2020, I knew that many things have changed. Looking for work has ground to a stop, but God has supplied in my needs even then. Small favors of grace, actually.

When the government announced the special grant for unemployed people, I submitted my forms as well. When that R300 dropped into my account, it was like manna, sweet as honey. International writers would request a review and pay me for a blog post and so with every payment, when added with the R300, gave me enough of an income, and faithfully I tithe where God directed.

Writing

Maybe your writing lacks punch. Or you’ve hit a brick wall.

Don’t give up! With help, your message still has the potential to reach the masses.

I can’t turn you into a bestselling author overnight, and I urge you to suspect anyone who says they can.

But I believe I can help improve your writing immediately.

1. Don’t aim to write a bestseller.

That’s the last thing I think about when I start a new book. To have any chance at success, my manuscript must come from my passions, the overflow of what I really care about.

I have no control over the market, sales, reviews, and all the rest. All I can control is how much of myself I give to a writing project.

What’s your passion? What drives you?

Write about that.

Your passion will keep you at the keyboard and motivate you when the writing gets tough—and if you’re doing it right, it always does.

2. Always think reader-first.

Write Think Reader First on a sticky note and place it where you can see it while you’re writing.

Your sole job is to tell a story so compelling that your reader gets lost in it from the get-go.

Treat your readers the way you want to be treated and write what you would want to read.

That’s the Golden Rule of Writing.

Never let up, never bore. Always put your reader first.

Newsletter

The last couple of months were the most exciting but also hurtful times I had in a very long time. Although silent in the sense that I wrote nothing, my life had undergone twists and turns; each opportunity a learning curve where I discovered so much of myself, as a person.

As a woman walking this path alone, I realized my vulnerability and how people would use you, sometimes even with your permission. For a long time I lived in a very safe cocoon allowing others to think for me but since I made the bold step to stand on my own, taking responsibility for myself, I realized that my understanding of life was very much shaped by my circumstances, and the people or culture I lived in at the time. In short, I wasn’t street smart, and I had to learn quickly how to fit in or be devoured.

Because of the safe haven, I perceived people in black and white with little or no grace towards them. Now those unyielding glasses had fallen away and my awareness of life became more colourful; making room not only for my own mistakes but those I’ve met. Life isn’t rigid or set in stone but a kaleidoscope of laughter and passion, where I discover new opportunities at every corner—venturing out in the unknown to find incredible prospects and beautiful things along the way. I’m amazed at my boldness walking into places I would not have dreamed to do previously and, in the process made friends. My pioneer spirit revelling in the new person emerging from the cocoon.

In my vulnerability, I’ve learned to trust my gut; I made mistakes when I disobeyed that little voice who diligently watch over me. While doing this I learned to have fun laughing more than I did in a long time. I learned that it’s okay to mess up—no longer do I chastise myself in doing so—and at times ate some humble pie, but it taught me valuable skills that serve me in my daily life and work environment. I work with people every day and I experience the good, the bad and the ugly all in one week. As human beings we have different perceptions, but when finely tuned in—making the effort—the ugly turns out beautiful, the bad good and the good sometimes bad. Life is a fine balance between them all.

Billionaire Romance

 

Billionaire Contemporary Romance

My laptop was sitting on my coffee table, staring at me, as if daring me to pick it up. I refused to do so. I knew, the moment I did, I would check my email, and I didn’t want to stalk my own messages because it was bad enough that I was constantly thinking about what might be there. It would be worse if I was obsessively checking my inbox like I was dying to.

“Laurel, can you forward me that coupon you have for those boots?” my roommate Jane Banner asked as she came into the living room of our shared apartment. “I want to order them before they run out of my size.”

“Sure,” I said, trying not to show my disdain. My roommate, Jane, is so sweet, it’s hard not to do what she asks despite how I felt about my laptop at the moment.  It was the last day that applicants for the prestigious MBA program at Cambridge University could expect to be notified of whether or not they had been accepted into the program, so I hadn’t even picked up an electronic device in the last three hours. Normally on a Saturday, my phone would be glued to my hand. Not today. While I really wanted to know if I got in, part of me also knew if I never checked, I couldn’t be disappointed.

“What’s that face?” Jane asked, standing in front of me with one hand on her slender hip. “I thought you weren’t going to use it.”

“No, I’m not. The coupon is yours. I just don’t want to check my email.”

“Oh! Laurel, please!” Jane said, bouncing over to me as she rolled her eyes. “You’ve got this. There is no doubt in my mind that you got in.”

I made a face at her and opened my email, deciding to search for the email she wanted from the swanky boutique I just happened to have a coupon for first. I found it and forwarded it to her and then quickly scanned my inbox.

The door opened, and he got out, offering me his hand. We weren’t at the front of the hotel, though. We’d pulled into a private garage I didn’t know existed. AJ tugged me along behind him, and we entered the building, going straight to an elevator that was near the entrance. He pushed a button, and the door closed.

Immediately, he backed me into the corner, and I was lost in his blue eyes. His lips were warm and soft when they came crashing down on my neck. His hands settled on my waist, my arms wrapping around his neck. I hoped no one else entered this elevator and imagined we were giving the security guards watching the cameras a show.

His hands travelled up from my waist, higher and higher until they were so close to cupping my breasts, I gasped with anticipation. His kisses became deeper as he sucked and nipped at the flesh between my neck and shoulder. I lowered my head and found his ear, dragging his lobe between my teeth and closing my teeth gently until he moaned.

The elevator chimed, and without letting go of me, he pulled me along through a short hallway and into what had to have been the penthouse suite. His lips found mine as we entered a bedroom with a massive bed and a spectacular view that I only got a few glimpses of. When he began to unbutton his shirt, there was nothing else in the world that could’ve kept my attention more than the lean physique I was staring at. His chiselled abs were rock solid and disappeared into his pants in an intoxicating V that drew my fingers to trace along the edge.

I quickly took the cash and my phone out of my secret hiding spot and kicked off my shoes as he discarded his shoes and socks and took off his watch. Whatever it was he’d been messing with earlier, he set on the nightstand along with his wallet and the room key. I wondered if he had a condom, but I wasn’t about to ask. At this point, I wasn’t going to ruin the moment to ask about protection when I wanted him so badly, foolish as it was.

His eyes were dark and smoky as we met each other near the bed. He tugged my dress down and out of the way, leaving me in only my thong and demi bra. My hands rested on his belt, and his mouth came down on my neck again. This time, his hands found my breasts easily enough, and through the thin lacy fabric, my n*pples hardened instantly at his touch, leaning into him as he pinched and kneaded my sensitive flesh. I unhooked his belt, but I struggled with his zipper when his mouth kissed a trail down my neck to my breasts, and he began to suck me through my bra.

I thought I saw a shadow cross over his eyes then, something akin to recognition, as if that hazy notion that perhaps we’d met before was playing in the back of his mind as well.

But then it faded. He blinked. “Good, good. New Yorkers are tough and hard-working.”

“Sir, I have the notes from the reports you were asking for on my desk,” Mr. Sanders inserted as if he felt the need to let the business owner know he was still there.

“Yes, just a moment, Sanders,” Mr. Grant said with a nod. “Since Ms. Rockwell will be heading such an important project for us, I’d like to ask her a few more questions to make sure she’s fully prepared to handle the matter at hand.” He stared at me, but I didn’t waver. “Something tells me she is.”

For the next several minutes, Mr. Grant asked me many questions about the company. Some of them were pertinent to the project I’d be working on, and some of them were general, posed simply to see if I’d done my research. Of course, I had. By the time the inquisition was done, Mr. Sanders was irritated, but it was clear that Mr. Grant and I had a good rapport and we could converse well with one another.

“Well, Ms. Rockwell, it’s been nice speaking with you,” Mr. Grant said as he took a few steps toward Mr. Sanders’s office. “Welcome to the company. I’ll be expecting a lot from you.”

“Thank you, sir. It was a pleasure meeting you. I am certain I will deliver.” I gave him a confident smile and started to step back into my office—but before I did, I thought I saw that strange look cross his face again as if he was trying to place me.

I went back to my desk and took a few deep breaths, glad to have that over with. The other women in the office were right; the boss was hot. But I wasn’t going to let that serve as a distraction. That wasn’t what I was there for.

Out of nowhere, Valerie, his secretary, whooshed in, closing his office door in my face. “He’s on an important call at the moment, Ms. Rockwell,” Valerie said, folding her arms beneath her bosom and jutting out her jaw.

I knew it wouldn’t do her any good to make Valerie angry since she was the gatekeeper, and it seemed that the secretary didn’t like me already, though I wasn’t sure why. “Thank you, Valerie. Would you mind letting me know when he’s free?” I asked, smiling sweetly and channelling my inner Jane.

She rolled her eyes and blew out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll let you know.”

Something told me I would be waiting a long time.

Frustrated, I looked over the list again, wondering if I would be better off just trying to fix the problems Myself. Mr. Sanders was my boss, so I felt that I should have his input when it came to solving the issues, but the project was mine to run.

I was on her way back over to talk to the key players involved in the project to check on their progress when I noticed Jeanine, one of the women I had gotten to know from working on the project. I had and realized fairly quickly that she was a straight shooter. She was beckoning me to come toward my office.

Something about the way Jeanine was acting made me think she was being secretive, so I fought the urge to tiptoe in that direction, like I was in a cartoon, but headed in that direction. “What’s going on, Jeanine?” I asked her in a low voice.

She pointed inside of my office, and I followed her inside and closed the door.

“Mr. Sanders won’t talk to you, will he?” she whispered.

“No, not really. Why? Do you have any idea what’s happening?”

She nodded. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything, but I really like you, Laurel. The thing is, he keeps doing this. He’ll hire a new project manager. The work doesn’t get done. It falls further behind, and he doesn’t care. It’s understaffed and doesn’t have the budget for such an extensive project. Rather than fixing those two problems, Mr. Sanders keeps blaming project managers and running through those. So… I am guessing his plan is to give you a month or two, wait until you fail, and then blame you, fire you, and hire someone else.”

I think they were wrong then, and it seemed like I was wrong now.

At least the project was still moving along. The team might’ve lost their faith in me as a person, but they were still doing their jobs. Jeanine knew that my sons were triplets, and while she didn’t know the truth about their father—that they were the product of a one-night stand that I had never seen again—she did know that there was a complicated story behind it.

The truth of the matter was, I hadn’t even been on a date since the boys were born, let alone slept around. I had told Jeanine I didn’t date much, and she believed me.

We spent a lot of our time together. Almost every day, we went out for lunch together, which kept me from having to go into the break room.

One day, Jeanine had a dentist’s appointment during lunch, so I went into the break room to purchase a sandwich out of the vending machine to take back to my desk.

“There she is, the office sl*t.”

That was Valerie’s voice. I’d know it anywhere because she’d hated me from the moment I stepped foot in the office, even before the rumors began.

I kept my eyes straight ahead and looked at the choices in the machine.

“I bet she chooses tuna,” someone else said. I wasn’t quite sure I understood the reference, but I knew it wasn’t nice.

“Well, she practically begged Calvin to take her home with him, and when he wouldn’t, she ran out of the bar crying,” Brad told them.

“Guess she just wants more kids to add to her collection.”

I didn’t know who that was, but it stung. A lot. I loved my children, but they were certainly not a collection.

“You know what I heard?” That was Wanda. “I heard that she slept with Mr. Sanders just to get that job to begin with.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Valerie said. “I don’t think that Mr. Sanders would sleep with someone like her. He has higher standards than that.”

Everyone at the table laughed.

I must’ve been tired and imagining things; there was no way that Mr. Grant was interested in me outside of work. Who would want to take on a mother and her three wild men?

Not that the boys weren’t behaving. They definitely were.

“I can definitely read through the articles before Monday. Thank you,” I said.

“Be sure to bring your laptop, too,” he said. “I’d also recommend getting there a little early. The room tends to fill up quickly, and if you want a good seat, you should get there early. Oh, and I’m told it tends to get a little chilly in the building, so maybe bring a jacket.”

I tried to mentally take note of all he was saying, but without something to write it down, and the fact that my children were winding in and out of pedestrian traffic, I wasn’t sure if I would remember all of that on Monday. Not to mention they often dictate what time I can leave the apartment.

“Thanks again for coming to meet me here,” I told him. “I know it’s sort of unorthodox having a business meeting in a zoo amidst the animals and with my children tugging you all over the place.”

“No, it was fine. It was interesting to see you outside of the office. I had a feeling you were good at multitasking. Now I know for sure.”

“Thank you,” I told him. I prided myself in my ability to handle multiple tasks at the same time. I was glad I had the chance to show him that.

“It’s important for me to get to know the people I work with inside and out, Laurel. I like to know what makes them tick, what motivates them, that sort of thing. You understand?”

His eyes seemed to be looking into my soul, and even though I knew he meant in a clearly professional manner, the intimate choice of words he used made my cheeks flush.

It was Saturday morning, and the boys were in rare form.

During the three weeks of the conference, I had spent so many late nights and early mornings at the office, I don’t know if I ever qualified as having slept. It was more like a late night power nap before leaving early to do it all again.

Nancy had been my silent partner in crime, and was about one toothbrush short of living with us. I owed her fortune in overtime, but the leaps and bounds it had for my career were worth it—at least, I hoped so, anyway. Now, Nancy wasn't coming in on the weekend, and the boys were feeling the power shift and testing their boundaries.

While my circadian rhythms might have been all over the map, theirs were perfectly on target, kept in sync by the trusty nanny and a regular school schedule.

They woke up at around 7 am., and saw that I was still sleeping and, well, let’s be honest, suffering from the teensiest case of the wine flu. Being the little angels that I bore in my womb, painfully delivered, and tediously raised for the last five years, they decided to let mommy sleep and make their own breakfasts.

From the investigation that followed, I concluded that they snuck into the kitchen, and from what I could feel on the floor, got spoons and ate raw sugar straight out of the glass canister, which, miraculously, did not break. Then, they dragged a chair to the freezer and helped themselves to not a bowl, but an entire gallon of ice cream, much of which now covered the floor and had been turned into a Haagen Dazs-brand slip and slide.

It was then that Luke, who had missed the majority of the action on account of still being asleep, arrived at the scene. He realized that all hell was going to break loose once I awoke. He, oh-so-rationally, explained to his brothers that I needed to be informed of said activities before the shenanigans, and by extension, subsequent punishments, got any worse. This was not met with enthusiasm, and so Linus masterminded a plan with Liam to lock Luke in the bathroom.

The math added up. The boys looked enough like me. Why would she want to keep them from me? Why would she deliberately choose to raise them alone? To make a point? Out of pride? Out of spite?

The longer I thought about it, the more questions I had. I could provide for her, for my sons. For a family. She was living in an apartment in Queens, spending almost no time with her children in favor of climbing the corporate ladder.

That wasn’t fair, though. She was doing a phenomenal job raising those boys without me, even if she was barely scraping by. They obviously adored her. She seemed to be balancing her work life with her home life. The boys didn’t have any complaints; they were clothed and fed and cared for, they went to school, they had toys and games. Their needs were being met, at least physically.

But what about emotionally? Was Laurel home enough to truly be involved in their lives?

It was so d*mn complicated. More so than it needed to be. I could barely wrap my head around it.

I needed a new plan. Something that might convince Laurel that this was for the best, that I deserved a place in both her life and those of our children.

Our children. Ours. It felt surreal to even think the word.

It was clear, though, that Laurel needed space first. Time to cool off, to distance herself from tonight, and everything we’d said to each other.

It was only fair, then, that I take some time to distance myself. Maybe even to talk to someone else, to get their advice on this.

Mike was a great friend, and dead useful as a personal assistant, but in the end, he was wasted on anything romantic. I was fairly certain all of his romantic experience added up to a high school sweetheart and a secret passion for romantic manga—not that I’d ever tell him I knew about the latter.

My parents were right out. I couldn’t imagine their faces if I told them I had not one illegitimate child, but three. My mother would faint. My father might very well shout his way into having a stroke. That definitely wasn’t how I wanted to end up inheriting the company and all of its assets.

I sighed and started the long trek down the rest of the path. The walking helped me think, just like running did in the mornings.

I stopped suddenly.

Was it really them? Two of them, anyway? Were Linus and Liam over on the other side of the fountain?

No, it couldn’t be.

My hand instinctively reached for Liam—it was definitely Liam, after all—as he teetered on the edge of the fountain. He almost fell into the water.

The man they were with grabbed him by the shirt and set him back on the ground. He seemed okay; they were all laughing.

I jumped behind a tree so they wouldn’t see me as they passed.

Who was this man with my kids? Why was he with them? Did Laurel have a boyfriend she hadn’t told me about?

I watched them wander aimlessly, joking casually with each other. He swiped Linus’ nose with an ice cream cone. I wanted to punch that guy in the nose.

Jealousy didn’t suit me, and yet, here I was. The idiot, skulking behind a tree.

"Hey, Boss." Mike stepped up behind me. "What are you doing? Is this part of the paleo diet? There are some clubs that re-enact the caveman movement, to really get into the paleo lifestyle. In fact, I think they meet in the park."

Getting back onto the path, I purposefully walked a steady gait. "What do you have for me, Mike?"

"Still looking into the particulars, but it appears your father has never really retired. He merely took himself out of the spotlight."

"So he still has a hand in the business?"

"That would be correct, sir." Mike flipped through pages in his notebook, keeping a steady gait, matching me stride for stride. "He has several people on the payroll reporting back to him on how you’re doing."

I should have known. "Okay, that’s expected. Do we know who they are?"

"Not yet, but we’ll find them."

 

Christian Military

 

Christian Military Romance

CURT WALKED TO THE FURTHEST end of the camp. How could she? Sand drifted into the warm air. And with that person? More sand floated upwards. Out of breath he glanced around, his throat parched.

A jeep pulled up and he waved the soldier closer. The private saluted, but he demanded the keys with a careless gesture. He jumped in and stepped on the accelerator. The engine roared into action as it left the camp in a dust trail.

"That bitch!" he groaned, banging the steering wheel, with tears evaporating in the drive.

Fifteen minutes later Curt stopped at the local tearoom, the owner a well-known patron of the town. Usually Curt refused his subtle offerings, but today he wanted to forget.

Once inside he removed his shades. It took a few seconds to adjust to the dimness.

Elaborated carpets, curtains and cushions divided the room into sections. The cosy place was a favourite amongst the military staff. Satisfied that he had the place to himself, he relaxed. The owner manned the battered counter to the right of him.

As they sped away, a boy waved at them in his run. Up ahead his donkey's gait a two-step as the cans jiggled from side to side.

Each trip to the refugee camps met her with humbleness, the children's toothy grins a personal highlight. What she valued most was their carefree attitude. They cherished life in every moment. With only the bare minimum, they seemed unworried about the future.

For the medical staff it was crucial to venture out to lift the tremendous burden. The influx of exiles gave them no rest while they suffered. She could leave, but the South Sudanese people had no choice. To help them, remained the closest she could come to excellence.

At the hospital they filed out - a tired but satisfied group. Sonia unpacked the van like a robot.

"We will help you."

"Thanks, Alice."

"They shot a doctor today," David informed them when he returned.

"Where?" The weight of their predicament oppressive.

"Khartoum - trapped with protesters inside a house in Buri. They shot him without reason," David said.

"I don't understand this wave of murders. We are here to help them," Sonia said.

"These people have no consciousness," Alice replied.

"We have to be watchful," David agreed.

Reluctant and uneasy Sonia removed the bags with filthy linen. "Take this and I will take those bags inside."

"Thanks, Alice." Sonia placed the clean linen inside the marked crate and closed the lid.

"Good night, Sonia."

"Goodnight, Alice. See you tomorrow."

In the compact kitchen Sonia drank a supplement she always had at hand, showered and went straight to bed. Lathered with enough Tabard, she added a flimsy sheet as a shield against unwanted night crawlers.

It was well after eleven when she flicked off the light. A thick blanket of darkness wrapped around her. A miserable sense which devoured you if you were not careful. Restless she stared out the small window, her thoughts far away. The moment she fell asleep, the woman's face intertwined with her own. It haunted her till she woke. Drenched in sweat she reached for the water. Once her thirst was quenched, she laid back.

"AS-SALAM ALAYKUM, SONIA. What a fine day to do what we love."

"As-Salam Alaykum, Alice."

Alice Abiodun was a local nurse and a dear friend. Her animated nature boosted her energy.

"Here comes David." She waved as he parked. David was the driver, interpreter, their only bodyguard, and liaison.

"As-Salam Alaykum, Dr Wek." He greeted them all. He joined them two months ago and proved to be an asset to the area. His volunteer work gave him the opportunity to serve his country and he did his work with no complaints.

The stoic face of the porter appeared; a set of yellow teeth exposed. "Nurse Main, the matron wants to see you right away."

"Thanks, Max."

"What's up?" Alice said.

"Not sure."

"Hurry, we have a distance to drive today," David said.

At a quick pace she entered the hospital entrance, shivers ran along her spine. With a brief prayer she followed the white corridor. Time and age stained the painted walls. The morning shift rushed around. Lively sounds stemmed from the hospital's walls. The smells and sights were familiar.

At the connected building, a replica of the other, Sonia knocked on Matron Nyanath Haleema's office door at the end of a long corridor.

"Get away from me."

With a dismissive look she picked up her pace to the entrance. Her team waited outside the double glass doors. Alice's gaze turned to the entrance before she looked at her watch. Time was important, by six they must be on the road.

In search of the water, she sighed. She had left her water behind.

"Do you have an extra bottle of water?"

"Yes." Alice handed her a spare. Her gaze focused on Brady. Half-heartedly she made the introductions.

"Major Brady Scott will join us for the next few days. We should cooperate with him."

David moved first and greeted Brady with a cheerful handshake. The rest followed while she got in the packed van. Once seated, she took a long swig.

"Are you okay?" Alice asked, then peered at Brady.

She brushed through the curly hair. "Yes, thanks Alice," and arranged her hair in a scrunchy she had nearby. From her worn bag, the only possession she had left from her parents, she removed sun block.

"You sure? You don't look well?"

"Don't worry, I am fine," she clipped. Her aggravation was palpable.

"Do you know the man?"

THE TOWN BUZZED with people. Their wares balanced on their heads, ready to barter in Bentiu.

Scattered trees lined the gravel road. The rest of the countryside was dry, black and barren. A slight breeze caused toll bushes to cross the veld in a flurry. The rising sun held no promise of rain.

Once they left the busyness behind, the road snaked to the north; dust trailed behind them. The potholes caused uncomfortable moments inside the cabin.

Yet the conversations were amicable. Brady's voice broke the monotone trip. He peppered Dr Wek with questions which the doctor answered in a cool tone.

A heavily pregnant woman hustled towards town, four children behind her. Each balanced a can on their heads, waving at them.

She had to admit Brady looked good. The white shirt which spread over a broad chest, the muscular hands in a flurry as it talked with him. It brought back many memories. The shades concealed the bluest eyes she could drown in.

But time left its mark. His laugh lines were deeper, his skin battered from exposure. The crew cut which framed his face gave him a sharp square appearance that was coated with grey. He was still good looking. Back then, his hair had a natural blond wave.

I hope he jotted security as of the utmost importance. Today we were lucky. It could have been worse, Sonia thought.

She relished the updated version, then stopped with the comparisons. He was part of her former life. No reason to go there.

Terrified and tired people arrived at the camp later in the day. "What happened, David?"

"New arrivals. It seemed they had fled from a village a few kilometres from here. They are in a bewildered state."

"Should I come?"

"No, Ibrahim will call if they need help."

Alice bumped against her. "Look!" On the outskirts of the camp more UN military vehicles arrived.

"Sonia, Alice, they need help with the supplies," Brady called and rolled his sleeves on his way. A lengthy line extended between the trucks and tables. Lines of refugees formed behind the table.

The flurry of movement added more people to the existing masses. Experience caused them to evaluate and give what was needed. They promptly sent those with medical needs to the medic tent. The teams worked in harmony till late.

There were no deaths that day.

"Get this behind you. Whatever troubles you, you must get through it."

It was true. She had to deal with Brady and rethink her life. The baby's death would not be in vain.

"Thank you, Matron. I can make my own arrangements."

"No dear, let me. You have worked hard these last couple of months. Every person on the team enjoyed a restful time away. And yes, I have checked. Since you came to us, you never took a holiday or a weekend." Sonia smiled. She could not argue with that.

Voices reached them and Haleema cut the conversation short: "When last did you eat?" Sonia could not remember.

"Get food in you. You are no good to me sick." She touched her arm in encouragement.

"Sure," she replied.

"I have to run."

"Make it quick!" David said.

While washing hands she realised what a mess she looked. Her normal tan was pale, even with the makeup. From her pocket she removed a lipstick, applied it and left.

Once she turned the corner, she walked into an unmovable wall. She yelped in surprise as firm hands grabbed her and pinned her against the wall in one quick movement. She gasped at the sudden intrusion. Brady Scott's warm breath tickled her cheek.

"SERGEANT CLARK, WHERE is the vehicle report? Ralph put it on my table. I'm sure of it."

After a quick search, Doug handed it to the colonel. "Here it is, Sir."

Curt snapped it away. "Get me, Saunders!" he ordered.

Curt peered out the window. The phone conversation he had with his daughter disturbed him.

Jillian never cried. The truth disclosed through tears shocked him to the core. It was not fabricated from a young, deranged woman looking for attention. No, rather from a much abused one. Why didn't they tell him any of this earlier?

How could Vivian do this?

Her lover seduced Jillian, and she did not stop it. Even his son, Mark, two years younger than Jillian, suffered abuse under the man.

He was still motionless when Clark and Saunders returned.

"Sir?" the sergeant said.

Startled Curt looked at both and barked: "At ease!"

"Take a seat."

With the temperature at 47°C, their clothes were saturated with sweat. A slight breeze filtered through the flaps, but it made no difference. The fan did not disturb the air either.

Curt offered them water and returned to the report, the shortages of parts for the vehicles, serious.

CURT HAD CHECKED THE WEBSITE. If it resembled the pictures, he should enjoy the stay.

At 20h00 he rushed to his quarters and changed into civvies. From the shelf he grabbed an overnight bag, throwing in the necessities. At the last moment, he packed a dress shirt and pants. Maybe…

The mirror showed a person of confidence—a faint grin enhanced the attractive face. He still had it and stretched. The broad shoulders looked great under the shirt and the denim gloved his narrow hips sporting well-toned legs underneath.

The moment he sat in the chopper he relaxed.

All the worries would be Monday's problem.

The younger man was kind enough to offer it to him, and he will not disappoint him.

He laid back and listened as the pilot went through the checklist, and then lifted. The swooping blades overpowered every other sound. God, he loved it, shutting his eyes with appreciation.

Once in the air his thoughts drifted to the children. Guilt: a strong emotion he had to deal with. Vivian's lover left emotional scars on his boy. Mark did not know where he belonged. He always believed his children should find their own path, but he will let go of that resolution if he had too. The military a good straightener.

Curt placed his bag at the back. Inside the cab the guide introduced himself: "My name is Armanno," and proffered a chubby hand.

"Please to meet you, Armanno. Call me Curt." As he pulled into the traffic Armanno pointed out distinctive landmarks, his enthusiasm tangible.

"Where did it all start?" Curt's curiosity peaked.

"It goes back to the 16th Century. During the crusade period."

"That long back?"

"Malta has a proud history. We are the smallest capital city in the European Union. In 1813 we became a British colony and served as a way station for ships. We were an important Allied base for the North Africa and Mediterranean operations. We received our independence in 1964 and became a Republic in 1974. Our history includes the Ottoman invasion. You will find noteworthy museums here. They showcase the relics of each period."

"I never knew it's importance and the vital role it played in history. The museums are on my itinerary for the weekend," Curt promised.

"You will not be disappointed. There is always something new to discover."

They followed Route 6. The landscape changed from city to country. At a circle Armanno turned left. They continued with Triq Vincenzo Dimech road. Minutes later they entered another dense region. The imposing wall of the fortified city in view declared a World Heritage centre. It attracted visitors across the globe.

She whimpered, a quiet sound which echoed his own loss.

He struggled with Vivian's betrayal. Still did. To be this possessive was unlike him. Since his undivided attention he discarded his bitter emotions. What mattered was the present.

Once again, he connected with her and took the smaller hand in his own, the tan covered righthand sported a faint beauty spot on the side. She was not a child anymore—a working woman that enjoys the outdoors. Long delicate fingers enfolded his own, nails short and neat. All of this he took in as he watched her.

"Is this your first visit to the island?" he inquired when their wine arrived.

"Yes, but not my last. It’s a magnificent place."

"Yours?" She inquired…,

"Also my first. How do you know this place?"

"A friend planned the trip," she explained. "The pressure of work kept me busy. I am grateful she did."

He planted a kiss on the knuckle. "I'm so glad I met you, Sonia. The meeting is unusual for me, but I feel at peace with you."

"Me too. As if it was always this way."

Both sipped their wine quietly. Their thoughts an open book for each other. When he squeezed her hand, she blushed.

"Saturday morning, we stopped at St. Andrews Bastion. They use the fortress as a wedding venue, built with limestone back in the day. It has this vintage look, submerged in a spell of historical beauty. While we were there, a marriage was in progress. They decorated the hall with an elegant style fitting to the place. I wish you could see it. The photos don't do justice to the place. The city's rich history complimented each structure, the museums informative and well preserved." He enjoyed the trip.

"At the Sliema Ferry a water polo game created a buzz. The skill they displayed was a marvel to watch. Our next stop was the Grandmaster Palace. Built between the 16th and 18th centuries, it seems you are stepping back into time." Curt loved the construction of the building, and the weapons crammed on the walls gathered over centuries. But mostly, I liked it when he kissed me. She blushed at the thought and cleared her throat.

"A trip to the Upper Barrakka Gardens granted us a spectacular view over the Grand Harbour. Pictures won't do justice, Haleema, come and experience it yourself."

I wish I could introduce you to Curt. We experienced something unexpected.

"I like you, Sonia," he had admitted during the tour. His hands ignited my skin and we virtually made love in an alcove if not for the guide who stopped us.

Self-conscious she scanned the terminal. Certain she was alone at the bar, she continued with her telling.

"At Grand Harbour we boarded a boat which took us to the Valletta waterfront. The shoreline was exactly as the photos showed. A glimmering city ensconced in history. Palm trees dotted the waterline, added splashes of green against the age-old sandstone." He surprised me with the sail. Every moment was precious.

When she heard her name, she glanced sideways. A man bumped into her followed by a prick on her arm. It went dark as she wilted on the concrete.

Muscular arms lifted her in the back of a decrepit van with no effort. He placed her gear next to her sedated body. A door closed and they drove in a northern direction without her knowing any of it.

Another unmarked car followed; the men glared at him. They knew his intent and they were furious.

If Tau Gbadamosi had a choice he would end his life here, but the leader's explicit orders stopped him.

He would not allow him to hurt her. She was precious cargo and valuable to his people. He would stay on them like a tick on a dog.

Determined he called.

 

IRAQI DESERT

AT 05H00 MONDAY MORNING CURT strode into his office, tired and not in a great mood.

The drive was one lengthy argument with himself. The last day on a loop. The memories pounding waves into his core which crashed against a rock wall.

He was stupid. He had caved. All he wanted now was her. His consciousness berated him with each passing kilometre. He was an old bastard. Why did he promise her?

This weekend he discovered a jewel in Sonia Main. He learned her surname when he booked the same rooms … in six months' time.

He believed in second chances.

He stretched as a roughened hand traced her leg. She squealed under the touch and kicked. A chilling laugh emanated from him; fixated on her breasts. He leaned forward and pinched a nipple through her clothing. She shrieked and tried to kick, but it was no use. He grinned with triumph as he pinched again.

Sonia forced herself to become still, her fear was his fuel. Though difficult, she relaxed. When he spoke in his language, Sonia detected the meaning behind his intentions. His gaze unwavering on her, and she forced herself to be quiet. The smirk disappeared as he pinched her again. Lifeless she met his gaze.

She did not care about his disappointment.

"I will enjoy you. No one will hear your screams. It is just you and me," his threadbare English's message clear enough.

His hands ever-present on her as he continued to touch her. He fiddled with the zipper, but it stuck in his haste.

The small reprieve a welcomed moment, but for how long?

Sonia tried to withdraw herself not to be an easy reach, but he snickered. He held her limbs still, his eyes glazed over as it travelled over her private parts, her insides in turmoil; helpless to protect herself. Lust palpable on his face.

She was in trouble and alone. Her mind in a jumble.

"PLEASE LORD," she whispered, never leaving his face.

He allowed his thoughts to wander. He never showed genuine interest in any girl. Women came to his bed when they needed help. He caved and enjoyed the platter provided. His wife lived with her family. He did not visit her often, as he had no feelings for her. So far she could not give him sons; everyone thought she was cursed and he avoided her.

This woman stirred feelings in him he would not admit to Kwame. He wanted to protect her and claim her. Her eyes pleased him; even her smell turned him on. She was perfect for him. He never considered taking a second wife, but she did things to him. Good things.

Kwame was smart. Maybe he was right. He should ask Roger for her hand; she would make him happy. But, if Roger found her appealing, he would take her into his hut. It would put a stop to his dreams.

He folded his arms and made himself comfortable. With eyes closed he indulged in the fantasy he had concocted of them together. A fantasy so wild that it could not be true.

 

FOR TWO DAYS THEY drove in an eastern direction. The White Nile ever-present as the landscape changed from region to region. Fangak's lifestyle differs from the rest of the country. It was harsher, slower and infested with unknown critters. People were fearful of the place and stayed away, her destination a prison she could not escape from.

They never stopped unless it was for food or to relieve themselves. They drove in silence. Tau never touched her again but took care of her. The driver, Kwame Okiro, took deep puffs from the thin cigar he cradled between yellow teeth.

Each time Sonia woke she watched her abductors, and though they seldom looked at her she knew they were attentive. Their shoulders taught; eyes awake—always scanning the area for any trouble.

"Lift your legs." The action caused discomfort and Sonia helped her. She shrieked in pain.

Tau arrived with more light and the supplies she had asked. From his shoulder a medical bag dangled.

"Where did that come from?" Astounded, she studied him. He just shrugged his shoulders and dozed the fire.

Sonia worked nonstop through the night. The birth was difficult. The woman's tiredness did not help. Fatigued after her own ordeal, Sonia pinched her eyes but kept her vigilance. At dawn she stepped out of the hut with a healthy baby boy. The man's grin faltered as he marched up to her, taking his slumbering son with pride.

"Is Baaka all right?" he asked.

"Yes, she is sleeping," Sonia replied and brushed sweaty hair away. Taking deep breaths, she enjoyed the crispness of the new day. It helped her burning eyes and aching back. People clustered about all watching her from listless eyes.

Her view of the unknown place offered her peacefulness, and she inhaled it. The early morning sunbathed the reeds in golden hues and early birds fluttered in the tops.

The camp's layout was like most camps she had seen, except for the swamp… less dust and bareness. The water stretched all around them, so far back that she lost view. She was in a floating prison, detached from the outside world. Discouraged Sonia realized escape was impossible.

Sonia observed Roger Gisemba, her jailer, inches taller than her for the first time. His gaze fixed on the child he cradled. Pock marks covered his face which gave him a foreboding presence. Like Tau Gbadamosi, he was bald and clean-shaven. The old faded brown chino pants and white shirt, a sharp contrast against his dark skin. A pistol at the belt brought her predicament to the fore front.

There were luxuries she craved, a long soaking bubble bath, for one. Her hair required a wash, shaving would be wonderful and decent food and coffee.

Her overnighter held the essentials which she used sparingly. Baaka gifted her two dresses after her recovery and a headscarf; the gesture moved her. So far from civilization supplies were scarce.

The only other clothing she had was the yellow dress, inappropriate to wear. Happy memories clung to it. Smells, sounds and acceptance hidden within the folds. A weekend cloaked with mysterious freedom. Time gifted her hours of a connection she would love to experience once more. For now, it remained a dream.

Does he remember me? She curt-tailed her thoughts once more.

It will not help you think about it, Sonia. Stay in the present. The past's dreams can do nothing to change your reality.

She scanned the area with a mixture of trepidation and uncertainty, her peace thinly sliced.

"Lord, I have accepted your path though it came at a cost. You gave me hope in the folds of a yellow dress. It holds my future, a future I would love to have. That is my hope. You are my hope. Thank you for the small favours and provision."

This morning the swamp's quietness touched her. Within a week she had found her way and worked in silence. Conditions were not perfect, but she managed.

CURT WOKE WITH ANTISEPTICS which stung his nostrils and gasped. The oxygen tube was uncomfortable, he tried to remove it. His attempt thwarted by a gentle hand.

"Daddy," Jillian's voice broke through the cobwebs.

"Jillian, Pumpkin," he whispered. The youthful face filled with concern. She looked tired.

"Don't talk, Dad, just be still. The nurse will come to help you."

"Thirsty." A glass with a straw appeared before him. Gladly he took the soothing icy water. Tiresome he laid back on the cushions. The worried expression on his daughter's face reminded him where he was.

"What happened?"

"Don't you remember?" Her voice broke. Now he noticed her red swollen eyes, her pale face.

"Pumpkin?"

"Mum is dead."

He gasped in shock. "Mark?"

"He is still alive, but they are not sure if he will make it."

"No," and he tried to get up, but his right leg was heavy, his body tight. Only then did he notice the cast on his leg. Bandages covered his chest and right arm.

"I am so happy you are awake. For a moment I thought I have lost you, Dad."

"I am not planning to go anywhere soon, Pumpkin," he consoled. He reached for her, their hands meeting in a tight hold. Vivian was dead, Mark fighting for his life.

The accident hurried back, brakes screeched, then an overpowering BOOM, the smell of gasoline and then nothing. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

"The court has taken all the evidence in consideration. Each testimony showed Staff Sergeant Castledale brutal obsession towards women." Colonel McGee stated—Major Burger and Sergeant First Class Ralph represented the panel.

"From a psychiatry perspective Dr Rogers had shared his knowledge with this court. Staff Sergeant Castledale had a traumatic childhood."

"We included Nurse Anna Stalin's medical report and statement. It showed the mindset of the staff sergeant at the time." He took a sip from the glass.

"The defendant could not prove maliciousness at the night in question. Sam Gerber protected Captain Main from his brutality. We find the accused, Sam Gerber, innocent of manslaughter." Applause shattered the silence, Turmel's disgust clear as he watched Sam.

"Thanks, Colonel. I knew I could count on you," Sam said. Curt nodded. Lee Ann kissed him, a public announcement that they were together.

"Please have a seat."

Everyone became quiet. Curt cleared his throat and took another sip before he continued.

"I have a few words to say about violence against women." He found Sonia across from him. She smiled. This case gave him the opportunity to address the matter.

"Violence against women are an abomination. In camp their tenacity and strong will cannot be faltered. They are true soldiers. They protect others with their lives therefore need our respect and protection. This is not the opportunity to violate her and think you will get away with it.

THE FLIGHT WAS LONG and difficult on Sonia. Morning sickness was an all-day experience for the last two days. Dr Jourdain assured her it would be over soon. At eighteen weeks she really hoped so.

It was already late the afternoon, the winter sun basked the earth in pale pinks against the backdrop of grey hangers.

Feeling sleepy he almost carried her from the plane. "Mrs McGee, your new home awaits," and she smiled up at him.

Suddenly two bodies shuffled her away with excited shouts, and she stepped away.

He showed her photos of the children and she recognised them. Watching the trio the similarities were noticeable. The daughter was a petite version of Curt with a belly ready to deliver any day now. His son was bulkier than him, but with the same piercing eyes she loved.

When he finally broke their hold, she broke the awkwardness.

"Hello Jillian and Mark."

"Ma'am," both said.

"Please call me Sonia." They had spoken over Skype the day after their marriage, but reality was different, the situation difficult. As she told him once, they were part of him and she would love them as such.

"This is my wife, Sonia McGee." He said looking at her as she smiled, "and these two are my joy, Jillian and Mark McGee." Their greeting was polite, but reserved. Curt drew her in and reluctantly they placed an arm around her waist.