Big news! I’d love your support on this one.

Hi everyone,

I am so excited (and, I’ll admit, a little nervous!) to share that the official launch post for my ebook, When Memories Become Nightmares, is finally live!

This collection has been a true labor of love for me, exploring the ghosts we carry and the memories that refuse to let go. Now that it’s out in the world, I would love your help to give it a little boost.

Could you do me a quick favor?

I’ve just posted the official announcement on social media. If you could take ten seconds to click the link below and "Like" the post, it would mean the world to me. (Engaging with the post helps the algorithm show it to more people!)

To find me and where we connect visit https://www.rakiaari.me.

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✨ For my amazing proofreaders & early readers: If you were one of the kind souls who volunteered to proofread or preview the book, I have a special request! Could you please leave a comment on the post sharing your thoughts or mentioning your favorite story from the collection?

Honest feedback from friends like you is the best way to show new readers what this book is all about.

Thank you so much for being in my corner and supporting The Akua Projects. I can’t wait to hear what you think!

With love and gratitude,

Rakia Ari The Akua Projects

🎧 New Podcast Episode & Newsletter are LIVE on Substack.

 "The tongue is a small thing, but it can destroy the world." (Ethiopian Proverb)

We are back with Part 2 of our "Take Care with Your Words" series. This week, we are talking about the sheer power of that tiny muscle.

If you’ve ever regretted something you said in the heat of the moment, this Sunday’s Check-In is for you. I’m sharing my personal strategy for taming the tongue (hint: it involves the pen you see right here ✍🏾).

🎧 New Podcast Episode & Newsletter are LIVE on Substack. 

When Memories Become Nightmares...A Written Series from The Akua Projects by Rakia Ari

 

When Memories Become Nightmares...

It will have been ten long years since he left, this month. And as every year previous, he haunts my dreams, summoning me here to this dark place. A place I’ve only ever seen in the deepest sleep, yet it feels as real as the calloused palm of my hand. The air is thick with a chilling mist, clinging to the skeletal branches of ancient, gnarled trees that claw at a perpetually grey sky.

Tonight, the summons felt particularly insistent, pulling me from the edges of a fitful sleep. I stand at the edge of a withered field, the dry stalks rustling with an unseen breeze, and before me, in the oppressive gloom, looms a massive, dark figure. It’s him. Or rather, a twisted, monstrous version of him, carved from shadow and stone, with eyes that glow with a malevolent crimson light. It sits on a throne of twisted roots and sorrow, its form both familiar and utterly terrifying. He’s waiting for me. He always is.

My breath hitches, a cold knot tightening in my stomach. I want to turn, to run, to scream until my throat is raw and the dream shatters into oblivion. But I can't. A silent, invisible tether pulls me forward, one small, hesitant step after another, across the whispering field towards the looming terror. Every rustle of the dry grass, every creak of the ancient trees, sounds like a whisper of his name, a reminder of the decade of absence that has warped him into this nightmare.

"You came," a voice rumbles, not from the stone figure, but from deep within my own mind, a voice that once held such warmth, now a chilling echo. "You always do."

My voice is a fragile thing, barely a whisper. "What do you want?"

The glowing eyes narrow, and a shadow that isn't quite a smile plays on its stone lips. "To remember," it rumbles. "And to remind you."

And I know, with a dread certainty, that this night, like all the others for ten long years, the memories will begin. Not the sweet, cherished ones, but the sharp, painful fragments, relived and twisted until they are not just memories, but nightmares I must endure until the sun, real or imagined, finally breaks the spell.