Headlines - By Genevieve Shiaka

Written By: Genevieve Shiaka

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Genevieve Shiaka's "Headlines" is an evocative entry in the Short Story category of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This narrative deftly captures themes of betrayal and personal resilience, set against a backdrop of societal expectations and personal turmoil. As a participant in this esteemed competition, Genevieve's work offers a poignant glimpse into the complexities of human relationships and the struggle for identity amidst external pressures.

About the Work

"Headlines" weaves a tale of emotional complexity, exploring themes of love, betrayal, and the quest for personal agency. The story's mood oscillates between despair and defiance, capturing the protagonist's internal conflict through vivid imagery and compelling dialogue. Genevieve Shiaka skillfully navigates the intricacies of her characters' emotions, creating a narrative that resonates with authenticity and depth.

Headlines

Original Submission by Genevieve Shiaka

Langi rubbed her slender waist subconsciously as she waited for him to answer the phone.

Bzzzzzt.Bzzzzzt.

Bzzzzzt. Bzzzzzt.

She frowned irritably as the cordial feminine voice cut through, ‘The number you have dialled is either outside the coverage area or has their phone switched off.’

Frustration overwhelmed her as she contemplated flinging her brand new Samsung phone at the musty wall.

Dammit. I wouldn’t be able to afford a new screen.

Langi didn’t function well without sleep. A fresh myriad of thoughts penetrated her saturated mind as her petite body rocked restlessly. She analysed her call history and realised that only his name appeared in the call register.

How did I get here?

She reminisced on how the young nurse had coolly ogled her from head to toe after revealing the results. The disgust on her perfectly primed face could barely compare to how Langi felt about herself.

‘We’ll only be able to tell the gender of the baby after approximately four months,’ the statement echoed in her memory as she finally drifted off into a strained slumber.

The light knock on the door jolted her and she inhaled sharply as her eyes frantically blinked open. Her bedroom door stood slightly ajar as the dim corridor light cast a familiar shadow across the wooden parquet floor.

‘Mwanangu, aren’t you joining us for dinner?’

She slowly raised her aching body and crocked a meagre response, ‘Sure Ma… coming,’ she cleared her throat and licked her dry lips as she steadied herself on the edge of the creaky bed.

___________________________________________________________________

‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful.’

He always said the same prayer; his voice calm and steady in true Catholic-like fashion. She smiled as she made the sign of the cross and peered across at him. Her father. Her Superman. He opened his eyes and exhaled contentedly, smiling back at her as he begun to uncover the small plates. Her despair was momentarily forgotten as she watched them converse… about the day’s events, the latest church gossip, the vegetable garden.

The way they flung around amorous titles coated in calm tenderness.

‘Yes love.’

‘Ofcourse my darling.’

This is how it’s supposed to be.

She peeked down at her inactive phone screen in silent disappointment.

‘Sweetheart…’ her father’s concerned voice interrupted her morbid musing, ‘Are you okay? You’ve barely said a word,’ he glanced at her, furrowing his brow as he analysed his only child. A habit she had inherited from him. She felt unnerved, fearful that his observation would reveal the ugly truth.

No Daddy. Her panicky eyes screamed out. I’m not okay. I’m carrying your boss’s baby.

‘I’m okay Dad,’ she smiled curtly, ‘Please pass me the chibwabwa,’ He obliged and handed over the steaming vegetables.

As she sluggishly crept back into bed, her phone buzzed lowly.

I told you not to call me when I’m at work.

No greeting. No emojis. Just words. Laced with what she could only imagine was a heavy sigh or irritable shaking of his head. She rolled over, sighing heavily as she glanced out the window at the full moon as it shone through the murky clouds.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to my love

She paused and deleted the ardent designation.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m pregnant. I tested twice.

She sat up bow legged, anxiously clasping one of her puffy continental pillows as she sent the text.

After what seemed like an eternity, the phone buzzed again.

I know someone who can take care of it. I will advise tomorrow. Goodnight.

Up until now, she hadn’t allowed the full weight of emotions to ravage her delicate heart, for fear that her unravelling would pour out like a cascading waterfall. But just like the waterfall, it felt natural. How else was she supposed to feel? The neglect, the insignificance, the blatant disregard. She’d had enough.

What had she expected anyway? That he would be the one man who would actually honour the age old fable?

I’ll leave her… and I’ll marry you.

Sure he would. He would cast a scandalous spotlight on his political aspirations; ruin his well earned respect as a church elder; walk away from his perfect marriage. Childless… yes. But still perfect. From everything she had heard about Maria, Langi knew from the start that she couldn’t possibly compete. She was beautiful, eloquent, well read, educated yet domesticated. A woman worthy of the ‘Mrs. Njovu’ title.

Why had she believed him when he said he was tired of the pressure? Tired of living up to societal expectations?

‘All I yearn for is a simple life, with you,’ he had whispered, as he kissed her on her forehead. She had lain in his arms and believed every word, glistening with more than just a post coital glow – but with the hope and radiance that a woman feels when she is in love.

And now… the repercussion had reared its microscopic zygote sized head.

She said a prayer as she drifted off once again, into the confrontation of her conscience.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. Give me the strength to protect this child.

Her trembling hands ran over the cool, intricately patterned duvet cover as she sat anxiously on the edge of the king-sized bed. The distinct sound of the V12 engine rumbling to a halt propped her up and seconds later, the gaudy mobiliser went off. He opened the unlocked door without knocking, just as he always had in the past. Except this time, he didn’t seem eager… excited… wanting. He shut the door behind him and headed for the plush arm chair.

‘Hello Langi,’ he took off his gold rimmed spectacles and loosened his striped navy tie.

As he settled into his seat, she mentally scolded herself for wanting to reach out to him. Embrace him. Maybe even sit in his lap.

‘Hi,’ she eyed him in anticipation.

He gradually placed his elbows on the armrests as he leaned over to take a closer look at her. For a moment she thought she caught a glimpse of sympathy emerge from his deep set brown eyes.

‘You’re sure?’

She nodded in response, briefly tucking her long, wavy locks behind her ears as she caught a glance of her sullen face in the wide mukwa framed wall mirror.

‘You know you can’t keep this baby,’

His ambiguous tone insinuated uncertainty about whether it was a question or statement. Yet knowing him the way she did, she figured the latter would prevail. She felt insulted by his audacity. As though this was something they had previously discussed and there was a written contract lying on the empty coffee table separating them, which justified his nonchalant attitude.

‘Why not?’ she dared to spit out, louder than expected.

‘Excuse me?’ he muttered dryly, peering at her with a ‘I-heard-what-you-just-said-but-I’m-giving-you-the opportunity-to-take-it-back-right-now’ look on his face.

‘I said. Why. Not.’ She gazed at him defiantly, through puffy eyes.

‘You will not have this baby!’ he snarled, visibly clenching his jaw in an attempt to restrain himself.

‘I think that decision is mine to make, but thank you for your input,’ she feigned confidence as she stood up and headed for the door. The speed at which he jumped at her made her wince and she covered her face in anticipation of a blow.

He didn’t hit her. His words did.

‘So you want to trap me now? That’s your plan? It’s pathetic! You’re pathetic!’ he glared at her, visibly fuming as he went on, ‘This wouldn’t only jeopardise your life, but the lives of those around you,’ he whispered haughtily, in obvious reference to her father. She felt overwhelmed as she caught a whiff of whisky on his hot breath. The only kind of whisky that he drank. The kind that was usually years older than she. ‘I’m only going to say this once. I will not leave my wife. I will not change my life. I gave you everything you asked for… fancy phones, those wigs of yours, holidays with your friends… I mean, your tuition is paid in full! Thanks to me! Why give up your dream of becoming a doctor because of this tomfoolery?!’

She leaned back and scowled at him through freshly misted eyes and he leisurely retreated to the chair. He paused and ran his hands through his greying stubble before clasping them together over his broad torso.

As she began to sob, he slowly reached out and awkwardly placed his hand on her shoulder. She reached out and clung onto him. More out of habit than anything else. The hero-cum-villian who had promised her the world… and now he was launching a nuclear attack on it.

He didn’t push her away. He merely stood frozen as she sought solace in him.

‘Okay,’ he muttered quietly, under his breath, ‘I’ll give you time to make a decision. I’ll leave it in your hands and you can let me know how you feel after your scan two months from now. I know a specialist and I’ll schedule a meeting for you. Once a date and time are finalised, William will pick you up.’

She paused and looked up at him, seemingly gratified with his new found notion, finally recognising the man she had fallen for. She hugged him again - this time she was not seeking comfort, she was embracing him.

‘I have to go back to work now. We’ll talk.’

She smiled to herself as she watched him readjust his tie and straighten his blazer before exiting the room. It wasn’t an apology, but it was better than nothing. Honourable Peter Njovu never said sorry. To anyone.

Her expanding waistline became increasingly difficult to hide and she regularly found herself altering her usually form fitting clothing. She waved out to her mother, who was standing in the backyard, visibly engrossed in planting a fresh bed of Tengeru tomatoes in the moderate garden.

She emerged from the kitchen door, carefully packing her lunchbox into her laptop bag and headed for the small wire gate. Her daily walks to the local bus stop were starting to feel more and more wearisome and a sense of panic was looming. Despite it all, her lectures had become more interesting and at least for a few hours each day, she could escape to the land of the logical, level-headed and well informed.

Two months. He had said. It had been three and a half. Whenever she attempted to call him, all she got was ‘The number you have dialled does not exist.’

Her daily glimpse of him would usually occur around the same time every evening. Today was no different. The local news was on and her mother called out animatedly, ‘Oh! Langi! Come and see! They’re in Western Province now!’, she dragged herself to the horded lounge and simulated excitement as her father stood, dressed in an overpriced suit, next to this snake-of-a-man, watching in admiration as he made idealistic promises. The crowds would go wild, shouting and screaming his name in genuine belief that the change they were so desperately seeking had finally dawned. They would wave thousands of citenges and dance around in matching t-shirts with his lordly face strewn all over them. The face she had come to despise.

‘Oh great Mum! I’m so proud of Dad! He’s such a great campaign manager,’ she would smile meekly and mumble generic responses to please her Mother’s supressed aspirations. That maybe one day she would be the First Lady. Maybe one day she would travel the world and meet diplomats, mingle with high class society and shop in stores with French names, without inhibition or budget constraints. Langi peered at the tiny television screen, panning from the man she loathed to the man she loved. ‘

Oh Tata, I don’t know how to fix this.

They sat in the first class lounge, listening to generic melodies amidst hushed whispers of excitement as outside, the moderate aeroplane circled on the runway, gradually coming to a halt. The roaring engines drowned out by shouting and cheering from hordes of cadres kitted out in apt regalia.

The drummers commenced their systematic pounding and traditionally clad dancers wriggled their way onto the tarmac, trailed by a handful of photographers streaming in from the general area in anticipation of the travellers.

Langi’s mother squealed excitedly, clutching her hand as they stood and headed out to welcome them.

He emerged first – as always. Waving out to his hoodwinked supporters with a sly grin on his face. It annoyed her that she still found him attractive. Her father followed closely behind, garnering an even louder response from the hundreds. She smiled at him feeling a sense of pride overcome her as she beheld him rush past all the other dignitaries and embracing his beaming wife.

‘Hello dear!’

‘Bashi Langi!’ she giggled excitedly as he planted a kiss on her cheek.

‘Hey Dad!’

He opened up his arms as she trotted over and snuggled close to him.

‘Ah! Jeff! The family should join us for the luncheon this afternoon!’ his boisterous announcement interposed their moment and Langi’s father spun around briskly to respond.

‘I’d rather not Sir… it’s been a long...’

‘Thank you for the invitation!’ her Mother chirped ecstatically, as she smoothed out her brand new second hand dress excitedly.

‘Well then, there you have it! Be sure to bring your beautiful daughter along now!’ e winked at her generically as he headed back towards the parked black Landcruiser and hopped in as a stern looking, suit clad gentleman held the door open.

The nerve.

She shuffled behind her parents as they walked arm-in-arm towards their vehicle. Her phone lit up and she paused briefly.

‘I think I’d forgotten just how gorgeous you are.

She blushed and carefully scanned the area before responding.

I missed you.

She gazed at the screen anxiously before her Mother’s distant voice cut through, ‘Langi! We’re going to be late!’

She peered up startled, and hurriedly walked over to the open car door.

By the way, you can’t attend the luncheon. Come up with an excuse. Your appointment is tomorrow with Dr. M. Banda. She’s an experienced gynaecologist. One of the best in the country.

Her smile fell as she read his text.

Will you at least attend the appointment with me?

‘All geared kiddo?’ her father peered at her through the rear view mirror as he slowly backed out of the densely occupied car park.

Ofcourse not. Kitwe is a small town, you know how people talk.

She cleared her throat, attempting to control the swell in her neck, ‘Em… actually Dad, Yvonne and I have to study for an upcoming test so you can just drop me back at the flat,’ she spoke slowly in an attempt to mask her disappointment.

‘Oh! I haven’t seen her in a while… I actually thought you two weren’t friends anymore,’ her Mother harped on, visibly excited by the upcoming festivities.

‘You know what dear? I’m a little exhausted myself… maybe we should just head home,’ he added, as he loosened his crimson tie.

‘But darling!’ her Mother wailed dramatically. He gazed at her momentarily, half shocked and half amused by her outburst.

‘No Dad, you go. This is important.’

As she closed the low wire gate behind her and waved her folks off, her phone buzzed signifying a low battery.

She noticed he had sent another message.

10 o’clock. William will be parked at the corner. Don’t keep him waiting.

She walked into the house and flung herself onto the withered couch in collective exhaustion. She didn’t bother charging the phone.

Her eyes fluttered open and a bright white aerial light heightened her pounding head.

Hushed voices filled the sterile room as she gaped down at the tubes invading her left dorsal veins.

‘Listen to me,’ she recognised Dr. Anna’s voice – seemingly tense as compared to her gregarious greeting.

‘You’ll have to insert them, whilst she’s still unconscious,’ they stood at the door of the airy ward, Paul stood staring vigilantly into the vacant corridor.

‘Madam… we can’t keep doing this,’ his quivering voice echoed across the wide white space. Despite their whispering, Langi caught every word.

Dr. Anna ignored him and shut the door abruptly, pushing her spectacles up her dainty bridge as she stomped closer to the steel gurney.

Langi quickly shut her eyes and lay as still as possible, quietly hoping that the isolated sound of the beeping heart monitor would not give her away.

The goosebumps on her skin peaked as the Doctor paraded around the bed, like a shark in pre-attack mode. Her warm, fresh breath inhabited Langi’s face as she observed her vitals. Langi froze fearfully as she felt the perfectly manicured nails run an icy path along the underside of her free arm, stopping calculatedly at the wrist area.

‘Get over here!’ she shrieked impatiently, catapulting her helpless assistant closer.

‘Where are the pills?’ she leaned back and rubbed her neck intensely in an effort to rid herself of the underlying tension.

‘Here they are Ma… Madam he stuttered surreptitiously, handing over a foil packet. She grabbed it and eyed it analytically, ‘My-fepri-stone,’ she pronounced it calmly with the type of familiarity and ease that one would convey when re-encountering an old friend.

‘You see? Now you’re learning dear. This is the right drug,’ she chuckled in satisfaction, as she started to systematically pop out the pills into her steady hands.

Langi frantically recalled her most recent pharmaceutical exam.

Mifepristone. Used for treatment of high hyperglycemia… caused by high cortisol levels in the blood… sometimes prescribed for treatment of ulcers. Oh no… do I have ulcers? And where exactly does she want to insert it? It’s an oral tablet…

‘Madam… we’re not sure if she’s allergic to it or not… remember what happened with…’ Paul’s trembling voice cut through her panicky thoughts.

‘Shut up! Just shut up!’ she raised her voice sharply in festered frustration, tossing the pills into a silver pan by the bedside, before turning to address the feeble young man, ‘You think I care whether she’s allergic or not? That last whore deserved everything coming her way! It’s not my fault he keeps being careless and sending his mistakes my way!’ she panted, rubbing her hands through her tight bun.

Mifepristone. Precautions… not to be taken whilst pregnant. Could be used as an abortion pill, in conjunction with misoprostol. Unless inserted into the cervix, when labour or …. Can be induced.

Langi’s heart skipped a beat as the clarity hit her. Adrenalin pulsated within her petite body as the Doctor continued to air her frustration to her unnerved accomplice.

‘Why can’t he just stop?!’ her anger dissipated into sorrow as she went on, ‘Am I not enough? Must he continue to humiliate me and make our backyard a burial ground for all his careless escapades?’

Langi cautiously opened one eye and beheld the awkward embrace that the boy offered the shuddering woman. She couldn’t help but feel guilt and sympathy engulf her as she slowly reached for the tubes in her left hand in attempt to dislodge them.

‘Bring me some gloves,’ she muttered matter-of-factedly, leaning back and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Paul slowly let go, seemingly shocked by her ability to swiftly propel herself out of her vulnerable state.

‘What are you waiting for?’ she growled at him impatiently, ‘Unless you want to do the dirty work!’

He stumbled out briskly, in search of the missing tools.

Langi lowered her open eye as Dr. Maria turned back to face her, humming a soft lullaby as she did so.

This is one twisted woman.

The humming stopped as she beheld Langi’s bare left hand. The tubes hung at her side, tied in a messy knot. The Doctor turned her head back slightly as she called out in confusion, ‘Paul! Did you remove the tubes from her hand?’ ‘

Whaaaaack!! Langi watched the white pills scatter onto the pristine floor tiles as the Doctor screamed out. Whaaaaaaack!! She felt the weight of her emotions guide her as she hit her with the bedpan again. This time she made sure not to hit any vital areas or arteries.

I want you to survive this. I want you to regain consciousness. So that when the time comes… when all is revealed, you will be watching. When they dig up your beautiful garden, they will find the horrors that you’ve been hiding. You and your monster of a husband.

‘Aaaaargh! Aaaaaargh!’ she shielded her face with her ring adorned fingers, ‘Paul! Paul! Come back!’

Langi darted behind the door as she heard the increased sound of his flurried footsteps.

Paul entered the room in a panic, just as she slid behind the entrance door. He dropped the box of surgical gloves as he ran to the Doctor’s aide.

‘Madam! What…’

‘Watch out!’ her futile attempt at warning him drowned out by another unsuspected hit.

Whaaaaack!!

She didn’t practice lenience this time as she lurched at him with all her might. He writhed in silent agony as only a person accustomed to pain does, curling up into a self preserving foetal position.

Well isn’t that ironic?

She thought to herself as she threw the unforeseen weapon at them both.

This is the time when you say something to these monsters. Let them know how disgusting they are. Totally unworthy of being labelled human beings.

Yet Langi stood silent, panting in silent fury as she beheld them both, cowardly cooped up in the corner, right next to the ‘death bed’. She spun around and started running. As swift as her short legs could carry her. She burst through three revolving doors… ignoring the passers by in the wide corridors… the old woman being pushed along in a wheelchair. The pristine nurses cooped up by the admin desk, taking in their fair share of local gossip. She didn’t stop until she got to the main gate, flying by the bewildered elderly gateman.

My time to speak will come. And when it does, everybody will listen. Your false campaign promises shall wilt away. The truth will release these unsuspecting people from your manipulative hold. They will discover who you really are. Mr. Njovu. And yes… you will definitely make those headlines.

-THE END-

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar is a celebration of literary excellence, inviting talented writers from around the world to share their unique voices and stories. This prestigious event showcases a diverse array of creative works, providing a platform for writers to engage with a global audience and contribute to the rich tapestry of contemporary literature.

We extend our gratitude to Genevieve Shiaka for her participation in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her short story "Headlines" offers a compelling exploration of complex themes and enriches the competition with its powerful narrative. We look forward to seeing more of Genevieve's work in the future and thank her for sharing her voice with us.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.