We All Have to Start Somewhere

It was a meeting, a session. Private. In the studio of budding designer Genevive J'maine. It had taken her weeks to complete each piece. Afraid of dissension from the critics, she had been meticulous about each detail, sequin, hem, you name it. But it wasn't her fault to be such a perfectionist. Who wouldn't be when, Paul Hudkinson, one of the greatest magazine editors of all time, would be coming?

The guests have arrived: high-end models, assistants, stylists, editors in-chiefs, sitting in front of a make-shift stage. Genevive appeared from the white curtains, said a small speech and began her introduction to her newest collection: Shining sequined mini dresses, colourful batik themed jumpers, feather skirts....The critics, even Paul Hudkinson, gave her pieces a nod as they assimilated her masterpieces!

And that was the start of Genevive J'maine's fashion career. After that day, there has been calls after calls coming in asking her to present it to the public, Central Park, and even during the New York Fashion week! Now you can see all her designs in each top magazines in the world. All of them lionizing her artistic palette.

The Case of the Diamond Catcher

It was 10 o'clock on a Friday night and I am sitting there in my office in 125A, 50th Street, Waterloo Avenue with the lamp shining on my latest case: a series of puzzling robberies in jewelry stores around the Glasshouse town, leaving the staff of the stores in a state of anarchy. It was no ordinary robbery, mind you. What was taken was only diamonds. Yes, diamonds, ingeniusly picked out of their rings like plucking strawberries out of the bush under the cover of darkness. The Diamond Catcher, some have nicknamed. Who or what would conspire such a bizzare burgurlary?

I puffed on my cigar, musing on the information I had gathered today. I had stopped by a jewelry store that has not been robbed to loan a diamond ring; I wanted to study how this rock could be taken out with sheer delicacy. Then I rememeber meeting up with Olie Benson--one of the witnesses of the robberies--and had some coffee on Broadway while he told me what he saw. When we were done, I had decided to get the lights I ordered for the apartment, since the shop was right across the street. The shop, I noticed, had a dark green van parked outside, the same van Benson had mentioned. I noticed a chandelier being made as I paid for the lights. I recall, when I was leaving, seeing the maker using a special plier taking out something from a...ring.

I reached for the telephone, I am very sure Inspector Menken would like to hear who to apprehend for the case of the Diamond Catcher.

Magic Hands

You meet him at a petrol kiosk at night, when not much people are around. The kiosk is open with only the accountant counting on the desk. He sits you down on a red plastic chair. You tell him you have headaches in the morning when you wake up. He laughs and says he knows exactly what to do.

Then you feel pain when he swipes your arm with only his fingertips. This small man, with a light blue cap with silver stars all over. That means your blood circulation isn't so well, he says. This small man, with a long, grey braid streaming down his back.

Then he pulls across the skin of your arm. You feel it burn. He pulls your fingertips. Pop! Pop! Pop! You feel relief. Relax, he says. Now up! Your arm rockets to the air. Again, he says. Up one more! Pop! You feel light. He does the same to the other arm. You feel like a feather.

This small man, whose teeth are black to the gum, smiles in delight as he watches your face glimmer in awe. Thanks god, he says. He swipes your arm. Not even a flinch. He swipes the other. Nothing. He laughs. I told you I knew what to do! You pay him, he smiles as he shakes your hand.Thanks god, he says again, thanks god. And you both leave.

This small man, who wears a white singlet and a pair of jeans, who lives with a psycic in his apartment, walks back home--denim jacket in hand--his brown skin blending into the night. This small man, has magic hands.