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PART ONE : BRUNT :THE PIMPIN VOYAGE 1
PART TWO: BRUNT: THE PIMPIN VOYAGE 2
[2300hrs – VOI TOWN]
At exactly 11pm, there was a knock at the lorry’s driver door. It was not a single knock but a persistent knock. Issa slowly got up from his limbo. He was a bit conscious. He unnoticeably unlocked the door and opened it. Alas! Before him was a young lady, maybe 18 who was dressed in a brown pullover and black lingerie. She had donned white sport shoes and black stockings. Her left hand was holding the door open while her right hand was already exploring the truck’s seats. She twitched and writhed on her standing position as she lifted her left leg onto the truck’s entrance.
She gazed at Issa and softly asked him, ‘May I Get in?’
She maintained that eye contact that suggested something. She continued writhing her back as she massaged the front seat of the truck. Her long black hair was covering her right eye such that she kept swinging her head back and forth to get a closer look at Issa.
Issa was at first flabbergasted by the enticing ‘au natural’ curvy sight in front of him. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and sat on his driver’s seat. This time round, he glared at her visibly. He murmured some words that weren’t audible then extended his right arm to her.
‘I don’t mind. Get in.’ he said as he flapped his maxilla and mandibles in joy as he held her hand and helped her get inside by lifting her. She sat on the seat next to the driver’s.
Click here if you didn’t read Part One
‘Get some strong sticks’ Carl requested
‘Strong…? Are those not strong?’
‘Strong enough to burrow the soil’
‘Okay’ Liz responded as she bent plucking and picking the fallen rods of firewood. She was humming her favorite song.
Carl was digging the graves of their two sons, Greg and Colly. They had only noticed by the lockets on their necks they had bought during birthdays. Liz was busy fetching sticks to excavate the soil. They were no ‘jembes’ or ‘pangas’ around.
After some hours the grave was ready. It was just a minimal trench that would fit the remains of the two sons. As they carried the sooty-grotesque bodies, tears from Liz eyes dripped.
‘Hold the lower part of the limbs as I hold this upper side.’ Carl said as he held the fluffy part of the head.
As they reached the grave like structure, Carl positioned the head down slowly and gazed at Liz.
‘Put it down slowly’
They buried their sons in the island. They pushed the soil back to the grave. They lay wild flowers which Liz had plucked from a certain bush. She sat on a certain granitic rock and stared at Carl. She remembered of her huge house in Washington D.C. where there were teeming city streets, glass skyscrapers, glitters and glitz and also the luxurious landscapes.
‘Was life made to be like this? We have lost our sons. They are barely 16yrs. What a life?’ Liz questioned as she gazed above.
‘Problems come in life Liz. This one was unexpected. You should even thank God for saving your life. You are alive and kicking.’ Carl responded
‘Its…’Liz was cut short
‘That doesn’t mean am not sobbing the death of our sons. I’m also grieving their loss’ he said as he squatted on the grassy area.
‘Carl, why aren’t you sad, I see you smiling; no sad face; is there something you are keeping behind my ass? Liz asked.
‘Honey, men are always jovial; by the way do you see men crying in burial?’
‘To some extent, I don’t. But don’t you feel pain for your own flesh and blood? Did their demise mean anything to you?’ Liz questioned holding her chin.
‘As a man, I feel it in my heart, but I can’t bear showing it physically like you do. Just don’t be angst-ridden.’ He responded
The luxury apartment stood great on the four storey residential house. Carl’s house was the third one from the left. He lived with his wife Liz and their two sons, Greg and Colly. The house was surrounded by brightly colored new tips of trees, the pots of purple and pink geraniums with cellophane drops glistening on the leaves, the clusters of basil and oregano sprouting near the lemon tree.
‘Hurry up guys’ Liz said loudly as she pointed at Colly and Greg.
‘We ready mum’ her first born Colly responded.
‘Where is dad?’
‘Carl outside packing the luggage’
Colly and Greg rushed outside to assist their dad carry the bags. They were all clad in luxury garments. Liz was clad on a red sari compliment with an auburn curl and her glistening chocolate eyes made her look beautiful and ready for a show. Her husband Carl was a young, pony-tailed guy who had adorned a black executive suit.
Liz met Carl in their bedroom.
‘Do I look sexy?’ Liz asked
‘Of course you look young and sexy to me only’
‘Mmm’ she smiled. ‘You only?’ she asked.
‘Yes darling, before my eyes’ he responded.
After they had masticated to their fullest, Colly dug in his pocket a Samsung Galaxy S2 and made a phone call to his uncle in South Africa.
‘Hello uncle Sam? We are flying to Durban today.
I had just woke up. The time was 05.30hrs. My ever-Busy wife was still sleeping. At the corner of the spacious bedroom, I sat on a low-height jewel locker with my iPhone on my right hand as I watched her. Her face soo innocent and beautiful as her eyes closed firmly. The blankets on top of her rising up and down in response to her unfailing healthy lungs. I recapitulated in my short term memory of the episodic matrimonial day when I looked her straight in the eyes and kissed her full eager lips in front of a huge congregation. It was an awesome thought. The first few months haven’t been hard as people say about marriage.
So today was to be a huge day for us since a certain Cabinet Secretary was to hold a Welcome-Home ceremony to his Abroad kid who would be arriving in the country in a few hours. My wife and I were qualified photographers who were well experienced and had degrees in photography too. We would be called in almost all the big events due to the sensational images and our daring professional prowess to impress on such events. Our work was a sure gate pass.
I looked out of the large bedroom window and gazed at the city roads. The city looked beautiful. There was no traffic jam at the time. Some mega supermarkets and stores were still operating. Thanks to big business investors who understand the art of making money and satisfying their clients.
THIS IS PART 6 OF THE STORY ∇∇∇
He walked to the red wall on the side where there was a white socket. The socket contained two buttons. A red and a green one. He immediately pressed the red button and the machine started grinding. The sound it produced was so loud such that I felt a buzz in my ears – tinnitus. Despite having the jacket that Baron had given me, I still could feel a cold shiver breaking through my spine. I tried to urinate but there was nothing on my bladder. I was restless with my mind soo preoccupied. I had seen what he was capable of doing and I did not want to be the victim of his acts. I swore to die trying to save myself rather than be pulled like a headless chicken. I sat on the cold floor, just next to Boyka. He seemed to be regaining his power as he moved far away from the machine. I too could not want to be near it. I moved away from it too. Baron stood just in front of us, watching us as we tried to escape out of a roundhouse. There was no way out for sure.
‘What did he want to do with us?’ I asked myself.
I could not want the thought of me being grinded by the machine coming anywhere cross to my mind. I trembled.
Baron took on of the wooden chairs and sat before us. I spaced again far away from both of them. I trusted none. They all had left scars in my life both physical and emotional. I hunched up my knees to my chin and covered myself completely with the jacket hiding my thighs.
‘Boyka!’ Baron called out on him. ‘How could she have overpowered you?’ he looked at him straight in the eyes, as he seemed to be quite ungrateful with him.
‘Tell me the reason as to why she beat you up like this.’ He asked again as he seemed to get bitter. He started biting his lower lip as the huge vein on the forehead started protruding.
That the math between us was presenting problems
What crap! And you have the nerve to point it out!??
What difference does it make? I bet whatever I have is more real than what you think you do.
Why not let me fall, and regret my own mistakes?
Why not let him leave when he tires of fixing my self-esteem and failing at it?
Why not let me call it quits when I spend hours on end checking his nonexistent replies to my short texts?
Why not let us know each other’s depths like none ever has?
Why not let us kill each other when we start cheating and lying?
Why not let us bicker and argue till we wake up the neighbors?
Why not let me break glasses and walk away only to come back after my wrath subsides? Like a normal girl.
Why let it end before it begins?
Why not let us delve in the magical world of being in love?
Why not let us experiment? For we found that which was so out of reach
Why curtail our open mindedness?
Why not let us lose all our photos only to overcompensate by making even better memories?
Why not let us stand in the rain dancing and professing love? Because the least you could do is hold an umbrella over our heads.
Let us live. Let us break our legs skating and almost drown in the pool.
Let us stay broke for a month because we went to the coast over the holidays.
Let us live like there is no tomorrow.
Let us come out at night like a normal couple.
Let us be.
Normal, boring, and cliché
Let us play normal
And act like our opinions matter to each other.
Let us be a normal couple who decided not to hide their feelings behind phrases like ‘We are not the relationship type’.
Let us have one of those awkward moments at three am. Those that we sit on the bed in our ‘studio apartment’ staring at shadows or that dim light emanating from the radio at the corner, the silence between us almost tangible
Let me lean on his shoulder as we do that.
Let him walk away for genuine reasons. Why the double standards?
Let me walk away when he tires of the kisses on my forehead that he so generously gives.
Let him leave because I no longer turn him on. No longer inspire and ignite his spark.
Let us binge on pizza and wine and spend the next morning jogging for an hour from five am; trying to undo the damage. Let me drag him behind on those runs.
Let us strike a compromise that he gives me a twenty minutes head start. Or better still, let’s decide that I stick to skipping rope.
Let us feed on lettuce, tomatoes and spinach tomorrow, so we don’t feel guilty when reach for that tub of ice cream later.
Let me drown in my grief when he leaves.
Let me nurse my bleeding heart for the right reasons. And grief in peace
Let the love we have for each other be so strong it tears apart when it’s over.
Let him leave me wishing I would find one who so confidently says ‘no, don’t give her this. She prefers that’ for he has known things about me that I don’t.
Let me be comfortable asking for his help on things I could never ask you.
Let me smile when you mention his name.
Let me be vain, and petty.
Let me be a volcano; like every woman in love is.
Let me forgive him when he goes astray, as you would the one you love.
So, if my knight in shining armor gets here, and I happen to have been around a little longer than he will be, I will smile, and go ahead be the princess he saves on that midsummer night.
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