Angelia Vernon Menchan, Serialist...

Angelia Vernon Menchan is an avid serial writer. Her goal is to engage readers in ongoing stories filled with people like them, who they can grow to know. Some will inspire love and devotion, others rage and ridicule, perhaps. They will all inspire feelings and generate conversation!


Monday, June 22, 2015

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Two months in Italy had been a boon to Donas career and her relationship with Fernando but she wasnt sold on marriage. He proposed in Italy but she told him she needed more time. Marriage scared her. She had never seen or experienced a good one up close and personal. Deep Denton, her producer seemed to have a great marriage but he came from that and no marriage she ever saw seemed as good as the one with Mahad Basari and his wife Sadia but they were for all intents, newlyweds. She wanted and needed more than the past six months, she felt compelled to know Fernando beyond the goodness. Being alone in Italy with music playing and room service could fool a sister.

Fernando understood Donas hesitancy and wasnt sure about his own urgency. It was as if he needed to marry her as quickly as possible to insure she was his. He also wondered if his past as gigolo, for lack of a better word was part of the problem; the week before they left Italy there had been an occurrence.

Fernando.” The soft cultured voice called out.

Turning to face the beautiful and older Italian woman, Fernando tried to keep his face neutral. Dona stood by his side, with his arm draped around her waist.

“Hello, Maria, it has been years.”

“It has. I tried getting in touch with you for a long time but your numbers changed. I hear you are now quite the successful entertainer but you were always good at entertaining.” She simpered. Fernando felt Dona tense slightly.

“Yes, music is now my sole career. This is my woman, Dona. Dona this is Maria Fortelli, an old friend.”

Marias face froze at the word old but she quickly recovered. Finally, she acknowledged Dona.

“You are a very fortunate woman. He comes with great references.” She said as she strode away, elegantly.

 Dona turned back to the festivities and never addressed the meeting but Fernando felt her energy.

He needed her to understand that was who he once was.


Mahad couldnt get enough of Sadias belly. She was huge and he loved on her all the time, focusing on their baby. She was allowing Abia and Nelson and a couple others to run the Bookshop and she was home most days, taking it easy in the last weeks of her pregnancy. He could work from anywhere and was home with her as much as she allowed.

Moans escaped Sadia as Mahad rubbed pure, organic coconut oil on her naked belly. They were on the veranda and she was only wearing panties. Her breasts and belly were fully bloomed. Mahads eyes feasted on her beauty.

“Stop that or you are going to make me…” He said.

“You should. I know I am big but we can work this out.” She murmured. She didnt have to say another word. He maneuvered her so he could have full access.

Monday, June 1, 2015




Anise took one final glance in the mirror before walking outside and getting in her five year old car. She worked as a legal secretary and lived in a decent apartment complex. Her Camry was still in good shape but she felt that was all a miracle. After all the alcohol she had drunk and men she had been with, there should have been booze and sperm oozing from her pores. The funny thing was, if she had felt like laughing at herself, she looked pretty good.


Her face was a bit puffy. She wore a size twelve and was in great shape and pretty toned. Her hair was cut short and her nutmeg colored skin was clear. The truth was, aside from the drinking and men, she was pretty healthy. She walked most evenings and had a bike she rode around the neighborhood but she loved alcohol. After dinner, she mostly drank until she went to bed and though the frequency of the men had slowed down, way down, she still loved that as well. She shook those thoughts from her head as she pulled into traffic. She had thought about going back to church since moving back to Jacksonville almost two years earlier but today would be her first day.


Stidwell Baptist had grown over the years. She heard they had a young pastor, Delbert Owa, from Africa, and he was bringing the Word. People were joining in droves for his preaching and teaching style. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties and his beautiful wife, Krista, was a couple of years younger. Rumor had it, they met in seminary school and got married and he decided to remain in America. They had a seven-year-old daughter.



Chantelle was still ushering and noticed Anise immediately when she walked in. It had been years and for some reason it bothered her how well Anise looked. She had always hated girls like Anise who seemed to grow up like weeds with no parameters. Anise had grown up in the church as well, but unlike Chantelle, she moved out at eighteen on her own and stopped going.


Feeling someone’s eyes on her, Anise looked up and into the face of Chantelle. It was clearly her but her forehead was lined. She was thin and hard looking. Nodding at her, Anise took a seat near the middle aisle. Once she was seated, the singers came out and started singing, Break Every Chain. Anise soon forgot about Chantelle.


After the reading of the Scriptures and a couple of songs, Pastor Owa stood and told them they would read and hear a word from God on Luke 15:11-30, The Parable of the Lost Son. Anise did not have to open her Bible; she was able to recite it from memory.

After she was done reading, she plopped down in her seat. She didn’t have any family to return to and no one had given her any kind of inheritance. She understood and had lived her prodigal daughter experience.


For forty-five minutes, the pastor spoke and taught directly from the message and his words penetrated Anise like tiny arrows. At the end of the sermon when the doors of the church were opened, Anise was tempted to rejoin but her feet would not move.


On the way out, Chantelle stopped her. For the first time in fifteen years they were face to face.


“Hello, Anise, it has been years. What brought you home?”


“I drove in my car. One can always come home, Chantelle.” Anise walked down the steps and into the sun. It felt good on her face.