It was not the usual clang clang sound of two rusted iron tied together that always preceded Bruno, Mr Fagbem’s dog, that called my attention this one time. It was a snarling. The snarling of horror mixed with madness. It was the sound of being majorly pissed and at the same time scared shitless.
Bruno was a German Shepherd, notorious for he’s ferociousness with strangers and he’s playfulness with allies. But the allies were not necessarily people that Bruno saw frequently, they were people he trusted, people he chose. You could come to our compound every day and bring a sack of bones for Bruno each time and it still wouldn’t like you. And if Bruno didn’t like you, he wouldn’t touch your bribes. But not just that, if Bruno didn’t like you, you would not enjoy your stay in our house very much because Bruno would almost bark his head off. And once you come out, make sure your back was not turned to him at any time.
Continue reading “Bruno’s Death, A Rite of Passage”
It was the end of the work week for me and the first thing that I thought of was how my weekend would go. For the past three months, my weekend routine had been the same: catch up on life. And life for me was my writing and my girlfriend, Lola. My relatively new job did not permit me to live the life I wanted as it took almost all of me. But my weekends? Those were mine to control. The first order of business was to get a bit less uptight. I would enter a bar few blocks from my office, on the corner just adjacent to a bank and an insurance firm. I would go in, order two bottles of cold beer, down them and then while still clearheaded, head home. Lola would have prepared something light and tasty by the time I get home. After eating, we would then cuddle and get cosy as we talk for an hour or two about how our weeks went. I would complain about my job and she would tell me, at least I’ve got writings and soon I would not need the silly ass job anymore. How the rest of the night went, was up to fate.
Continue reading “Meet My Crazy Alter Ego”
From the start of the night, the atmosphere held a premonition of evil tidings. When later, it started drizzling and everyone went inside early, A hooded figure stood lurking in the shadows between a dilapidated building and the public toilet on Crystal street.
Biola just left her boyfriend’s house and despite all his effort to make her stay the night, even with the rain, she had refused. The last time she tried it was with a guy she was seeing before. They had chemistry quite well, but their compatibility was shit. It had been raining that day as well and she had decided to stay till morning. Against her better judgement, they had had a sweet night, one that felt so right but she knew was so wrong. Once beaten, twice shy…so she was not going to let that happen again.
Her boyfriend, fairly new, but very compatible was the worst person she could stay the night with in a drizzling night because the chemistry was mad–crazily mad. Unresistably mad…
So as it started drizzling, she knew it was time to leave. Rain at night with her in a dude’s place had never been good for her. Continue reading “The Ghost House”
It was a totally new and different situation I found myself when I said it again. The first time, I had been in a tight spot I’d put myself in and I had said it as the last resort to get out. But this time was different, and this time I meant it. I was in bed next to Monica. I looked at her. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling.
That smile was what attracted me to her in the first place. Her dimpled round face was accentuated by that radiant smile no one else in the world could wear so beautifully. It was heavenly. Purely divine. And to not want to explore beyond that surface smile to see into what beauty lies beneath it was, to me, the greatest sin I could ever commit.
I looked closely at her now. The smile was radiant all right. But now, I could see something else in it. It was a flutter of uncertainty that creeped out when she was lost in thought. Continue reading “Scars To Your Beautiful”
It didn’t occur to me to go over the note she sent since we already agreed on what we were going to do. Later that night, after I had tucked the note in my jacket to be delivered on the morrow and to expect a quick response in form of a golden opportunity, I went to bed.
That night, I had a dream.
I was in a room all alone. It was a square room, full of lights so bright is was almost blinding. In the middle of the room was a table, empty save for two envelopes, both addressed to me. Behind me was a closed door and before me was a high window that opened skyward; I could see the expanse of the blue sky and a white cloud the size of a fist—almost invisible. Continue reading “The Dream”
It is not about my issues. It is not even about my good deeds. It’s always been about me – my very self. I am my worst enemy. I know this. She knows this. Everyone knows this. But still, they let me be. Whether to see if I can find a way to save myself or if I will self-destruct, I can’t say.
It is past noon and she is seated adjacent to me, her voice calm. “You still have to try. For me” She says.
I normally would stare back silently till she gave up but today I sit up straight, my eyes out of focus. I want to answer her. I’m dying to tell her the truth. I want her to see that I’m trying for her but I just can’t focus.
“Are you high right now?” She asks.
She comes into focus briefly, but then whirls out. I shrug. “Numb.”
I clear my throat. “Numb.” Continue reading “Therapy”
I am the master of my fate, the captain of my soul, I repeat to myself over and over while standing on the window ledge of our home, eyes closed. We live on the third floor and I have a full view of the street and market below from the comfort of my room.
I would sit by the window in the boring afternoons and look out into the street, at children playing or at women that were friends a minute ago now trading abuses. Bored still, I would move my gaze to a shop few buildings down the road where a television set was placed outside and various musical videos or movies were being showed and I would allow myself to be distracted by that for a moment, until I grew bored again and finally decided to look into the market, at the various people who had come to shop. I would classify them based on gender, the type of clothes they wore – English or native – their height and size.
On fuller market days, animals often got into the mix, until I finally grew weary of that, too and got up from the window, to lie on the bed and close my eyes and dream.
Continue reading “Invictus (Unconquerable or Undefeated)”