Too many waters have indeed passed under this bridge. The red-brown of walls and hues of indigo on paths to dyers’ homes have become the stuff of funerals, the despondent and those dreadful workplaces.
It has been three days since the burial and ten since I found my youngest son’s body in a pool of faeces and vomit. I have grown tired of being asked how my heart is faring. How does a heart fare at times like these?
My oldest child would not look me in the eye; he fears I may recognize the mix of grief and relief his’ carry. If only he would look cautiously, he will see that it is not his secret alone to keep. I wear mine in dark corners of rooms.
Efuna, I do not pine for you. We made a pact we both must honour.
Adulthood makes fools of us all; it makes martyrs of some and beasts of others and we each have a hand in which we become. You should have chosen carefully. My child, a woman’s life is difficult. She bears the weight of her children’s choices. It is only fitting that she be allowed a veto in such lives; adults or not.
So I strolled into your room and requested your audience, I said to you “a child’s fingers are not scalded by the piece of hot yam which his mother puts into his palm”, I presented you the empty calabash; that ancient symbol of a people’s desire for a life that has outlived its usefulness. In a final demonstration of self-piety and perhaps cynicism, you accepted and here we are. Why the tugging?
Efuna, I am the mother-duck that has left behind her corrupted late-budding duckling. It is the way of things that surround us.
Here is another lovely story by one of my friends for a competition. Please vote for her by clicking here.
PS: I’m dedicating the Fiction Friday Posts in November to my friends who wrote for the competition. Please be kind and vote for the stories you like.
So I desperately flagged down a taxi. To the driver, I said ‘take me to the cheapest hotel here.’ After what seemed like days, he finally reached a hotel in the middle of a vibrant street, bursting at its seams with shops, kiosks, food stalls, and lots of what looked to me like vagabonds.
How did I get here? First off, in an unsafe hotel on a bustling street. Lastly, in a petite room with only 3 stupid channels. I spent my whole day cooked up here gasping for some oxygen and praying that I don’t pass out or that I don’t get jacked. Thinking back on the fact that the only meal I’ve had was an oatmeal bar. I guess that’s why I am not in grouchy bear mode. Smirk!
I just can’t sleep. I keep tossing and turning from one end to the other of my bed. I keep hearing footsteps go past my room. Now this was a real doozy, all that stood between me and any impending danger was a flimsy wooden door. The night seemed against me, the heavy, cloying heat dragging my skin. I think a movie is on, “7 pounds”. I am looking at the screen but they are just images flashing by.
The real movie was in my memory. I remember her; her lovely heart-shaped face. The one I thought could do no wrong. Forever was her name, or so I thought. I remember her face, her smile. That cold, rigid smile as she pulled the trigger, never breaking eye contact with me.
And then my breath stops. I can feel it, as I hear a set of footsteps stop right outside my door, waiting. Is this what bass drums sound like; my heart beating heavy against my chest.
This was a story written by a friend of mine for a competition. Please vote for him by clicking here.
PS: I’m dedicating the Fiction Friday Posts in November to my friends who wrote for the competition. Please be kind and vote for the stories you like. ❤
I’m a man. I’m a good man, I think I am. Yeah, I should be. I try to be a good person. And I hope with God’s grace I will be. I live a calm and happy life. Calm in the way that I like it. Comfortable enough for me. Yeah, a good life. I want the good things of life; yeah I do, who doesn’t? While trying not to cross over to the other side- lust. I pray for Grace.
I want to make the whole world a better place, and I believe I’m working towards it, with grace on my side; a whole lot of her, LOL. I think I just wrote down ‘LOL’ for the first time in my life on paper. I have a grin on my face right now mehn… Continue reading “Anon.’s Musings: WHO AM I?”→