Juliet Lubega

Being a baked bean-what next?

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Juliet Lubega

I couldn’t see who was below or above me for it was dark. I then heard a cranky noise above, in slow and swift motion. One, two, three, four, I counted in my head as it became louder and louder with each turn. Slowly and steadily the light appeared. I could see a solid piece of metal with a sharp end piercing the roof top. A hairy hand with contoured wrinkles and large solid fingers gripped the two metal rods. I started to smell fried bacon. As the top lifted the sizzle of the fry became more audible.
I felt frightened of what was to come once I was out of this tin.”You cannot trust humans” I murmured. I mulled over all options. I could end up in a pan next to that bacon feeling hot or in a bowl in the fridge freezing. Either way I will be eaten…

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Author: lubega1

Among other things an aspiring UK based African writer with particular interest in African/Western cultural divide..

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