A Summer in Harlem
  • Reads 11
  • Votes 1
  • Parts 2
  • Time 18m
  • Reads 11
  • Votes 1
  • Parts 2
  • Time 18m
Ongoing, First published Dec 08, 2019
Thad is your run of the mill fourteen year old from Beloit, Alabama in 1948. When his grandmother offers to send him to Harlem for the first three weeks of his summer break Thad is ecstatic. After all it is the birthplace of the Harlem Renaissance. All Thad knows about Harlem is Jazz music and Langston Hughes. When Thad finally gets there it is hardly the Harlem he's heard and read about. Harlem has now become a crime and poverty stricken area where shootings and drug addiction have begun to run rampant in the former Black Arts mecca. The old Jazz clubs are all shut down and the corners are filled with hustlers and former musicians turned junkies looking for a fix. With the help of his cousin Willie, Thad will get a crash course in life outside of his rural Alabama town. This insightful look at the end of the Jazz era offers a gritty real world perspective from the creative mind of novelist Brendan Whitt. This historical fiction piece is one that is sure to keep you turning the page.
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This was my first time. I patiently waited for the man Dua Begum told me would be my first to bed with. After starting to bleed two years ago, my stepmother left me at a pleasure house when my father abandoned us. Since then, I've accepted the pleasure house as my new home. He walked in a black Kurta with subtle green eyes and a deep voice. The moment he asked my name and age and then proposed to me for the wedding, I fell in love. There was no denying it. I was just fifteen, and he was nineteen. But, ever since the night of our wedding, he has not come back to take me with him to his home. He left me alone, stranded, burning for him. I did not know who he was. What did he do? All I knew was that he was the soul of my World. My Jaan-e-Jahan. Seven years later, he came back as a storm in my life. As Sultan Rehman Sulaiman. The son of the man who took everything from my family, even before my birth. The reason I ended up in the Pleasure House in the first place. But my love for my husband, the Sultan, is bigger than the mountains, deeper than the oceans, and wider than the skies, even though he is himself a Mountain, impossible to move, an ocean, scaring people to stay away, and a wide sky, impossible to reach. Discipline is everything for him. He is full of love and respect for his family but equally heartless and dangerous toward those who cross him. And, in all of this, I entered his life as a burning flame, a tiny candle's flame, dancing for his attention, crying for his affection, and dying for his love. Until he killed my only loved one. My love died. And, his never bloomed. I was once a bud, unbloomed Rose, who opened my deep red petals for him, and he turned them black, leaving me forgotten inside the dying pages. Was I always forgotten for him? Did he never consider me anything more than a mere responsibility? Will I always be remembered as Bride of Sultan ~ The Forgotten Rose? Mature Content!!! @Copyright 2025
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