I got married the other day

I tied the not a little over 6 months ago and it really has been a experience I will never forget.

 

Ever.

But …this isn’t about me and my marriage, it’s more about the journey towards getting married from everyone else’s experience, lack thereof and all the advice I received, wanted and unwanted that I will write about.

I got advise from elders, young people, spinsters, bachelors, happily married folk, unhappily married folk, pastors, fiends, EVERYONE who pretty much had a mouth and an opinion.

I was told not to do it and that this would ruin my life because he would change after we got married and I’d be his slave disguised as a wife. I was told not to do it because my freedom would be a thing of the past, I’d never again see the light of day and that he’d never let me go out at night ever again! I thought snap then why do people still do it on that show that plays every Sunday at 7pm?  Why is Home affairs filled with bookings until next year?

Those really were confusing times for me…

During the count down to the big day I had all this advice running through my head. I was freaking out…what if I was really going to marry someone who pretended to be a Prince but instead would lock me up in a tower and I’d have to wait for an ugly ogre named Shrek to save me?  They told me I’d have to cook and clean and be a sex slave and I’d never be the same again. They joked about how married people wish to be single and how I was going against freedom.

So…I had a private meeting with myself and the god who created me. I told him to please teach me how to discern, I could not get how a man so sweet would turn into a big bad wolf because a ring was on my finger. How could so many years of knowing someone change after all we had been through.

I couldn’t get how people who didn’t know who he was could say that there was a 100% chance of being cheated on because he was a Zulu man. I asked my maker to teach me how to create a filter that would separate hogwash from wisdom, how to see someone who is speaking from a place of expertise and one speaking from a place of hurt. I wanted my maker to help me remember the advise to keep engraved on the palm of my hand and I asked him to show me the advise to flush down the drain.

He did that. I did that. We did that.

I am in no big place to give advice about marriage as I learn everyday, but what I can say is in all things seek the one who made you to be your ultimate teacher.

 

Blessings

Pops

 

 

 

Ten cents

My father was a great gambler. When he won he came home with pockets weighed down by jingling coins and a nip of brandy. On those days we knew that he got lucky with a fafi number, the chinese game that was so popular in the township;still is. It made no difference to us, my mother and I, whether he won or lost, because we knew that we would not get even a cent from that man.

He was a tall and imposing man. His shoes where always dusty because he kicked up the dust when he walked. He shuffled rather than walked. And when he was drunk the dust went up to his pants. On some ocassions the dust even went up to his shirt. My mother was constantly scrubbing away at his clothes, but no matter how much she scrubbed they never got clean because there was never any soap with wich to wash. My father couldn’t even bring himself to buy soap, but he was constantly complaining about his clothes not being clean.

One day, while I was pushing a brick around the yard, and my mother was inside the house (a one room shack that was divided into a bedroom, a sitting room and a kitchen through various ingenuities) cooking the wild spinach that grew in abandon on our backyard, I saw my father approach. Our house looked directly into the main street, all who came and went passed this way. He shuffled his way through the street, singing to himself. He had a great baritone voice wich made an impression on anyone who heard it. I unfortunately did not inherit that voice, when people hear me speak or sing (if ever they could catch a glimpse of those private moments) I imagine some doubt is kindled as to whether I am indeed my father’s son.
He pushed open the small metal wire gate, wich sagged to the side like an injured dog. Both of his pockets where also sagging, the tinkling coins accompanying the melody of his voice, and the nip of brandy adding a jolly enthusiasm to that rich baritone. The dust had enveloped him from his shoes, to the collar of his shirt.
I stood up from my game, swinging my hands and walking like I was in a robotic marching band, I approached him.

“Pa?” I said.
“Yes, son of mine” he bellowed.
“Can I have ten cents?”

I was not in the habit of asking my father for money, and he was not in the habit of giving me any, but I wanted to test him on that day.
He looked at me with one eye closed, as if I was the subject of a very intense study, and the other eye was getting in the way of close and proper inspection.

“Ten cent, ten cent, ten cent…” he said, as if contemplating the wonderful concept of a ten cent.
“Ten cent…Matemusho,” he called to my mother.
“Eya papa.” answered my mother from inside the house.
“This child of yours is asking me for ten cent, did you send him to ask me for money?”
“Ha ah papa Temusho, I did no such thing.”
“Children of today…When I was your age I never asked my father for money. When I was your age my back was already bent from hard work.”
His back showed no trace of that particular childhood affliction.
“But I am too young to work” I said.
“Too young to work? Listen to this boy…Matemusho, how old is this child of ours?”
“He has ten years papa.”
“Ten years? And he says he is too young to work? Children of today, have you ever heard of such a thing…”
He shuffled off and is swallowed by the door, to regale my mother with tales of wich she has no interest.

I went back to my game of pushing bricks, with a plan formulating in my head. My father didnt care anyway. He didn’t care that I wore the same shirt to school five days in a row, washing it once a week in the gentlest way because I was afraid of getting it torn. He didn’t care that my pants were riddled with stitch after stitch, that my feet licked the ground because the soles of my shoes were gone, eaten away by one too many steps.
I knew that by the next day the money would be gone. He would drink it all or gamble it away, and arrive home looking like a wet cat, not at all like the jovial singing maestro he now was.

At night my father gave me his dusty shoes to polish, or atleast make them look presentable for another tussle with the dusty streets. My mother had already gone to bed, and I could hear my father fiddling with his belt, getting ready to get into bed as well. I brushed the shoes slowly, letting the time pass. When I heard him snore, I went into their bedroom and put the shoes under the old chair next to their bed where my father put his clothes, folded neatly and ready for another day. I was always amazed at how he managed to fold his clothes with such military precision, even when drunk. I took another look at him to make sure that he was still sleeping. He snored with his mouth open, drool running onto his pillow.
I tool all the money from his pocket. There was a small amount of brandy in the bottle of nip. I thought of drinking it, but then decided against it. I was about to leave when an idea occured to me. I went back to the chair and left a ten cent coin in his pocket.

In the morning I was woken by my fathers bellowing voice, as I expected, and I tossed my blanket aside, bracing myself for trouble.

“Wake that boy up, I’m killing someone today, I swear it.” said my father.

My mother came into the living room slash place where I slept, my father following behind with a belt in hand. I stood up immediately.

“Did you take your father’s money?” asked my mother.

“No I didn’t…”

“Hey don’t lie tome boy, give me that money!” said my father.

“I didn’t take it I am telling you I didn’t take it, I don’t know what you are talking about.”

My father raised his hand, the belt came down, I ducked and he missed. My mother had positioned herself on the door. when I ran towards her she opened the door and we ran out, my father following closely behind. There we where, me in only my underwear, my mother still wearing her once white but now yellowing hand me down silk night dress, and my topless father chasing us around the house, vomiting all manner of expletives known to man. At times he stopped and ran in the opposite direction hoping that we would run into him, but we we also stopped, and waited to see him turn the corner, at wich point we ran in the opposite direction. He would never catch us with that shuffling run. He soon got tired of chasing us, so he made his way into the house to get ready for work. We could hear him cursing to himself inside the house while we stood shivering in the early morning cold.

“Mama, I did take father’s money.” I confessed.

“I know…”

“You know?”

“I saw you last night when you took it,” she said with a smile, “Where did you put it?”

“I put it in a tin and buried it in that patch of ground where the wild spinach grows.”

“You did well, but you father is going to be angry for some time, so as soon as he leaves we get our things and head to mama Josephina’s house.”

Mama Josephina was the old woman next door who always provided us with shelter whenever my father went on a rampage. We stayed for four days at her house. After wich my father, singing with a jovial baritone, his pockets rattling with coins, came to fetch us.

“Mama Josephina, give me my people, I have come to fetch them”

He looked with one eye closed at the new shoes on my feet. I lifted them up for inspection unconsciously, my hands in the pockets of my new pants. he patted me on my head, rummaging in his pockets, and gave a ten cent coin.

IS THERE LIFE AFTER DEATH

thats the question is everyones lips. others agree that it seems like they are more concerned with the idea of dying than accepting that indeed the’ll die. if someone dies he/she will be born in a different country or continent and that particular person wont recall that he/she once lived. somehow this is true, there is a time in which you might bump at someone who looks exactly like someone you know from somewhere. you may consider this a coincidence, but i guess that’s how god wanted you to think when a person diesw, another one is biorn to rep,lac e the one who has departed.this whole thing is like a spiral, that’s we wont figure out if there’s life after death.the only thing that divides us is religion. for example; indians ; when a baby is born they cry and mourn for the fact that the baby has come into the world of problems. on the other hand when someone of their race passes away, they celebrate gesticulating, this shows that the departed person has been subdued from all the troubles and sufferings of this life

The Deceased Socks

Maybe I should be arrested. Maybe I should not be here reminiscing about my art of killing. I left the scene quietly, no one saw me; no one can point to me. I left her lying there, with only her socks on. Her hair was red, from the blood running from her neck. Her smile, had dried up into a death grin. What is a death grin? Oh well, I am not trying to –

Maybe I should have taken the socks off too. Oh! What a messy crime scene. Who commits murder and leave the socks on the scene? My mind was scattered everywhere, my heart pounding like athletes on the track. So, what now? Do I go back to take the socks off or do I continue to run away from the scene. Maybe I should make a few calls, ask Nandi to go and remove the socks from the scene. I cannot go back there now. I cannot face my deeds – although perfect, even if I have to say so myself.

Phew! I have never felt so free after taking a life of a person like the one I did tonight. I should do it again soon. Maybe this time around remember not to leave the socks behind. Wait, what’s that? Is that a knock at the door? Could it be the police already? Should I open the door or should I leave them knocking? Perhaps it is a guardian angel, coming to drop off the socks. Mh! That would be nice.

Alright, they are gone now.

Let me switch on the television and see what is on the news. Maybe the socks are talking through the channels, who knows.

Oh no! The socks are here.

Keep Your Dreams

I’ve always wanted to share my story, I somehow felt like I needed to leave the world in awe. They deserved to know, I always thought. I lacked one thing though , an ear that would listen carefully as I spoke in riddles. Riddles that only the brave could and would understand. Life happened too fast, I couldn’t keep up. One moment I was human, the next I couldn’t even recognize myself. Seven in the morning was my fear. That’s when everything changed, that’s when I took form of something I couldn’t even explain. At first, I thought it was a dream but then it hit me that I’ve never experienced the wonders of a dream before. Dreams, I heard, took place when you were asleep or deep in thought. That was Spanish to me. In all of my 20 years, I didn’t know what it was like to dream. Envy was not my thing so I pretended not to care. Who needs dreams anyways? A friend of mine told me that at times, you felt like they were dragging you down. He called them ‘nightmares’ if I’m not mistaken.

The Dark In Me

I people watched heartbroken whilst sitting outside a small unknown cafe. One of those questionable days. Asking myself who what how’s and why’s and knowing the answers to many. My phone sat on the table, and every time I looked at it an anxious grip took over the beating heart, squeezing agonizingly. I exhaled and grabbed my chest as if to massage the organ out of its agony.

I found myself repulsive in the moment. Everyone around me seemed ethereal. She stood under an umbrella talking to her love, beads of rain caught in the shroud of her gold hair like tiny crystals. When she looked at me I looked away, pretending my eyes had never been on her. On them. I hated them.

I started regretting coming out to a public space, only to find myself continuously suppressing the urge to cry. Once again my eyes shot to the silent phone. Once again my heart fluttered, as if it was trying to become origami. A waiter came to the table and looked at me. Aha, the look of dreadful understanding. He knew enough by the red-rimmed eyes. I knew on any other day I’d never look at him twice. He was plain and inconsequential, a cog in a machine offering me old grapes. But today against me he was an Adonis.

‘More wine?’ he asked. I could not help but wonder is he loved. I held out my glass while staring outward into the drizzling rain and clouds of exhaust fumes, and the crushed newspapers, and the hand jammed in the pocket while dragging on a good looking cigarette. I lit one to keep busy and my phone finally buzzed. My heart that had just so recently been assaulted by the flutters now began to beat uncontrollably. I felt my chest slowly cascade inwards. Crushing my ribs and tugging at the huge invisible hole that had so recently been blown out of it. So I took a deep pull while narrowing my eyes, and picked up the phone.

 

It’s not that. I just need space. You overwhelm me. Even now you do.

 

The eyes scanned the sentence over and over until it blurred. I didn’t care who saw. The blow was crushing. The steam filled streets and sudden burts of laughter grated against my every fiber. I didn’t hesitate. Did my pride matter? It didn’t. Loneliness did.

 

But please I need you, I’m sorry for everything can’t you see that?? Please I’m sorry. Don’t walk away from me.

 

I couldn’t have been the only one. As long as there are humans there are breakups. I held my hand against my chest and put a shaky cigarette down. The breaths came a bit short. I made some uncomfortable eye contact and then quickly looked away, trying to pretend this was some other kind of ailment. Why was he being so stupid? We all knew what ‘space’ meant. It meant space, up there, that is never-ending. Couldn’t he understand I was suffering? While he sat and ate fine and slept fine I was up suffering and starving while suffering? Couldn’t he see his power over me? The power to make me suffer? Some distant recess of my mind told me he knew all too well that I suffered. He knew it, and the dark side of him enjoyed this power over another human. For instance his last reply was half an hour later while I anxiously paced and paced inside my head for his reply.

I lifted what was left of my cigarette and took a sip of the wine. Shivers ran up my spine. I was hoping nobody was paying close attention to me. I fought the urge to send another message, and then another, and another…. I felt the need to explain in every religious, scientific and philosophical term why we belonged together and that he was making a mistake. I imagined another hand running its course through his hair.

I tipped my head forward unable to handle the surge of emotions and thoughts. My shoulders jerked forward as I let the tears run freely. All I needed in the moment was him. It hurt knowing I needed him but he didn’t need me. It peeled off my skin slowly and painfully. My phone buzzed. I didn’t hesitate.

 

No. I don’t want you anymore.

 

I didn’t understand why a knife in his hand was not a better option. I saw nothing around me, I felt nothing in me but empty destruction. I was repulsive, he was simultaneously repulsive to me and irresistible to me. The people, the woman and her lover, the waiter all repulsed me. I felt the need to bang the table or be extremely rude to the waiter, or to go missing so that he can worry and have many regrets. Elbows on the table I held my face in my hands and looked up slowly at the grey sky and began questioning love again. My heart was in a kind of treacherous pain that seemed designed to be enough to kill while still leaving you alive. I felt nauseated. The situation was completely useless.

There in the blurry distance I could see why in all honestly, as I tried to convince myself, it was all a huge mistake. It was such a life altering decision and it changed too much for me to be prepared for. But I stayed in my seat. I became a zombie. Until the dark told me to leave. But I didn’t. The dark in me was all I could see.

 

How a sunflower changed my life.

I don’t know why I went out drinking last night, my head is pounding. Why did I agree to an early morning hike? Why am I up so early? As I drive to fetch my students a feeling washes over me, I have to go on this hike. The students pile into my car and begin to chatter. I can honestly say that I don’t want to be here but I must interact, I must make the best of this situation. I can see that one of the girls is not herself today; I wonder what the problem is. It’s a 3 hour hike, I am pretty sure we will get to the bottom of it.

 

We park the car and find the trail. It is another immaculate day in this city that I live in, I am hugged by the warm air and my skin is kissed gently by the morning sun. As we round the first corner of the hike I look up from monitoring my footsteps and there it is, there is the reason I live here, there is the reason I get up early even with a hangover…for kilometres below me I see an impeccable shore line and an eternity of ocean.

 

Melanie is walking in front of me and I can still sense that something is wrong and in an attempt to cheer her up I casually ask her how her boyfriend is. She stutters through her words and finally tells me that they broke up. My heart hurts for her because I know what it is like to be so young and not understand the intensity of your first love leaving you. I walk and listen, there is no better space to express yourself than in nature and I let her start the grieving process. The entire time she was speaking I kept thinking about my first love, she was beautiful but the agony that she left in her wake was destructive. I could relate to Melanie.

 

As I was listening to her, I concentrated on my footsteps; I was wearing a cap and couldn’t see what was ahead of me. I looked up briefly and my heart sank, my mind raced and everything happened in a split second. There she was, how could this be? Does she even live here anymore? She recognises me immediately and I her, how can you not recognise a soul that you have loved for an eternity.

 

I began to shake and we gingerly greeted each other, a little small talk was made but I was eager to move on. I could not let my students know that a nuclear bomb of emotions had just gone off inside of me, I must remain calm. So she said goodbye and continued with her run. I turned to Melanie and said “And there goes the girl who first broke my heart”. It was an eerie coincidence that my first love was standing in front of me on a random Saturday, at a random time, on a random path, on a rather large mountain.

 

The rest of the hike all I remember is Melanie’s voice in the background, every so often I acknowledged what she was saying but the rest was a blur. I was shaken; I kept running the encounter in my head. Around and around she went. After the hike and once all of my students had left, I found a spot to think and regroup. A flood of memories came back to me and I sat in my silence and let the tears roll down my face.

 

Weeks went by and still her presence haunted me, I could see her running on, still holding that piece of my heart that she took with her years earlier. She was my first, it was for her that I came out and consciously changed the course of my life. We had a strong bond but a volatile relationship. I realised that I had never really let her go and during a day dream I toyed with ideas of how to get over her and all I saw in this day dream were sunflowers. Beautiful sunflowers with their vibrant petals that resonate a feeling of hope. I used to buy her sunflowers when I could. In that moment I decided that every month on the same day I would return to that hiking trail with a sunflower and place it next to where we had bumped in to each other and I would take 30 minutes to reminisce, I would do this until she no longer haunted me but made me smile. My plan was to truly remember, to let myself feel and to find a way to leave the beautiful and the haunting memories on the mountain. So here is how the sunflower changed my life:

 

Month 1:

 

I was nervous today because there was a real chance now that I could bump into her again. I couldn’t let this deter me though as my goal was clear, it was time to let go, for me. I placed the sunflower and put my hand on the soil, I felt that if I connected to the earth that somehow the universe would sense what I needed, I needed to leave her there. I sat down facing that view I love so much and I took a deep breath and let my mind wander.

 

Memory is a wonderful thing and mine took me to the first time I bought her a sunflower. We were still students and money was limited but I had to show her what she meant to me, I had to give her something tangible. I purchased a single sunflower and her favourite chocolate. After class I walked some distance to her house, placed the sunflower and chocolate on her doorstep and left. I often wish that I had been there to see her face, I also wonder if the beautiful surprise meant as much to her as I intended. In that moment, on that mountain, I let those feelings I had then wash over me. It’s like watching your favourite movie again, its familiar and it’s warm. I looked down on the city below me and I was grateful that once in my life I had the opportunity to love deeply and that I had the means to show it.

 

Month 2:

 

Vivid dreams had plagued the month that had just passed. She danced through my mind on more than one occasion and it had left me tired, but I had to continue. Off I went to the same spot, I looked around, and there was no evidence of the sunflower I had left a month ago. I thought to myself, what if she was here? What if she saw the flower and took a moment to remember me too? Was that my intention all along?

 

Regardless, I followed the same ritual as before; I placed the sunflower down, put my hand on the soil, closed my eyes and asked the universe for a moment of peace, a moment of clarity. I leant up against a tree and watched the clouds come over; rain was on its way. Rain. Cleansing, purifying rain.

 

How many raindrops fell while I loved her? I remember one evening we went out, it had been raining all night. At two in the morning we looked onto the street and saw that the road had been deserted: no cars, no people, just puddles and rain drops. I asked her to dance. We made our way onto the street; I held her hand and pulled her close. A scent, a touch and a warmth I knew so well. I did not feel one rain drop that night but I can remember the laughter, the twirls and the freedom as we danced our way down the street.

 

As a rain drop fell, I got up to leave and let the water take her with it.

 

Month 3:

The third time I made the trip up the mountain carrying my sunflower I felt like I was in a darker space. Anger had crept in, I felt that here I was once again giving more of myself. Where was she today? Did she know that up on a mountain there was a soul trying to detach from hers?

 

The routine wasn’t as gentle and heartfelt as before, the ground felt cold and I cursed the universe. When I sat down to contemplate I decided to try work through memories that hurt. What was it that poisoned a potentially great love? I thought about Melanie at this point and I remembered how I had thought that at that age, you cannot deal with the intensity of certain emotions. There is a fine line between good emotions and bad ones and all it takes is a split second to push you over the edge. My split second popped into my mind. One evening I decided to surprise her at a pub, I was meant to be studying. As I walked into the pub I could sense something wasn’t right. I looked at where she was sitting and saw her kissing someone else.

 

Cold. Numb. Broken. Words used to describe that moment when you realise that things will never be the same again. I left the pub unnoticed. I stayed with her for three years after that, I never asked, I always wondered. I never loved her the same after that. I never loved myself the same way either.

 

How do I forgive in that moment? I needed a way to leave the mountain with it all buried there. I decided to write the story down, I expressed everything in written words and now under the sunflower, buried deep in the earth is that story, a recipe on how to poison love.

 

Month 4:

 

The fourth trip came quickly. The 30 days leading up to this trip I was not plagued by her. I was plagued by irrational thoughts though. I started to think that perhaps she knew that I was there, that on one of my trips back to the mountain I would find her waiting there, she would open her arms and forgive me, she would forgive herself and two broken parts would become one again. I knew this was irrational, far-fetched and something only stories would allow.

 

So as I walked up the mountain, I made sure I looked good, I had brushed my hair that morning and wore my best clothes. When I arrived at the spot disappointment set in, the remains of my sunflower from the previous month was still there, a sad looking sunflower, untouched but hopefully not unnoticed. I looked at it for a while and I let the disappointment set in and I let my irrational longing pass. I placed the new sunflower next to the old one and as I touched the soil again to try connect to the energy of the universe, I thanked the old sunflower for its purpose in my life.

 

It was a clear day and I could see people on the beaches below me, somewhere down on the beach someone was falling in love, what an amazing thought. I remember falling in love; she became the sparkle in my eye. As I sat there, memories washed over me of all the moments where I fell a little more in love with her. We were sweet together. I remember coming home one day after a relatively tough day, I saw her sitting in front of the TV, I walked up to her and sat on her lap, I wrapped myself completely around her and tucked my face into her neck. She kissed my head and she merely said hello, my heart lifted and I fell a little harder.

 

She was also my rock. It is amazing how one person can make you feel so safe. In reality a mere person cannot protect you from everything but just having her there made me feel invincible. We had gone away on holiday and we were in a strange place in the middle of nowhere. Late one night there was an intense thunderstorm; I woke up and was very panicked. I was unable to move. She woke up and drew me close to her, it took me a minute and I was fast asleep again. I was no longer afraid, she was there. I just kept falling.

 

I started to realise that I was in fact blessed. Thinking back on how much I loved her, I realised that it was a privilege to have loved that human, in a world so big I was able to connect and be seen. All the harsh words and memories that came with this volatile love, the years of longing and sadness all started to fade away.

 

I decided that my process needed to end. I left the mountain and returned later with 4 bunches of sunflowers. Each bunch represented each year that the universe gave me with her. I sat next to the tree where I had been placing the flowers and touched the soil again. My connection with the earth felt rejuvenated, I was allowed to leave this here. As I placed each bunch of flowers, I repeated these beautiful words from a song: “I feel nothing but oceans of love and forgiveness.” As I stood to leave one last tear rolled down my face and I knew that I loved myself again, I forgave myself, I forgave her. That is how a sunflower changed my life.

The Dark In Me

I people watched heartbroken whilst sitting outside a small unknown cafe. One of those questionable days. Asking myself who what how’s and why’s and knowing the answers to many. My phone sat on the table, and every time I looked at it an anxious grip took over the beating heart, squeezing agonizingly. I exhaled and grabbed my chest as if to massage the organ out of its agony.
I found myself repulsive in the moment. Everyone around me seemed ethereal. She stood under an umbrella talking to her love, beads of rain caught in the shroud of her gold hair like tiny crystals. When she looked at me I looked away, pretending my eyes had never been on her. On them. I hated them.
I started regretting coming out to a public space, only to find myself continuously suppressing the urge to cry. Once again my eyes shot to the silent phone. Once again my heart fluttered, as if it was trying to become origami. A waiter came to the table and looked at me. Aha, the look of dreadful understanding. He knew enough by the red-rimmed eyes. I knew on any other day I’d never look at him twice. He was plain and inconsequential, a cog in a machine offering me old grapes. But today against me he was an Adonis.
‘More wine?’ he asked. I could not help but wonder is he loved. I held out my glass while staring outward into the drizzling rain and clouds of exhaust fumes, and the crushed newspapers, and the hand jammed in the pocket while dragging on a good looking cigarette. I lit one to keep busy and my phone finally buzzed. My heart that had just so recently been assaulted by the flutters now began to beat uncontrollably. I felt my chest slowly cascade inwards. Crushing my ribs and tugging at the huge invisible hole that had so recently been blown out of it. So I took a deep pull while narrowing my eyes, and picked up the phone.

It’s not that. I just need space. You overwhelm me. Even now you do.

The eyes scanned the sentence over and over until it blurred. I didn’t care who saw. The blow was crushing. The steam filled streets and sudden burts of laughter grated against my every fiber. I didn’t hesitate. Did my pride matter? It didn’t. Loneliness did.

But please I need you, I’m sorry for everything can’t you see that?? Please I’m sorry. Don’t walk away from me.

I couldn’t have been the only one. As long as there are humans there are breakups. I held my hand against my chest and put a shaky cigarette down. The breaths came a bit short. I made some uncomfortable eye contact and then quickly looked away, trying to pretend this was some other kind of ailment. Why was he being so stupid? We all knew what ‘space’ meant. It meant space, up there, that is never-ending. Couldn’t he understand I was suffering? While he sat and ate fine and slept fine I was up suffering and starving while suffering? Couldn’t he see his power over me? The power to make me suffer? Some distant recess of my mind told me he knew all too well that I suffered. He knew it, and the dark side of him enjoyed this power over another human. For instance his last reply was half an hour later while I anxiously paced and paced inside my head for his reply.
I lifted what was left of my cigarette and took a sip of the wine. Shivers ran up my spine. I was hoping nobody was paying close attention to me. I fought the urge to send another message, and then another, and another…. I felt the need to explain in every religious, scientific and philosophical term why we belonged together and that he was making a mistake. I imagined another hand running its course through his hair.
I tipped my head forward unable to handle the surge of emotions and thoughts. My shoulders jerked forward as I let the tears run freely. All I needed in the moment was him. It hurt knowing I needed him but he didn’t need me. It peeled off my skin slowly and painfully. My phone buzzed. I didn’t hesitate.

No. I don’t want you anymore.

I didn’t understand why a knife in his hand was not a better option. I saw nothing around me, I felt nothing in me but empty destruction. I was repulsive, he was simultaneously repulsive to me and irresistible to me. The people, the woman and her lover, the waiter all repulsed me. I felt the need to bang the table or be extremely rude to the waiter, or to go missing so that he can worry and have many regrets. Elbows on the table I held my face in my hands and looked up slowly at the grey sky and began questioning love again. My heart was in a kind of treacherous pain that seemed designed to be enough to kill while still leaving you alive. I felt nauseated. The situation was completely useless.
There in the blurry distance I could see why in all honestly, as I tried to convince myself, it was all a huge mistake. It was such a life altering decision and it changed too much for me to be prepared for. But I stayed in my seat. I became a zombie. Until the dark told me to leave. But I didn’t. The dark in me was all I could see.

Spiritual enemity

She could taste the blood in her own mouth, though she was about two and half metres from the him, ‘the high priest they called him’ , to think that here, in the underworld they ought to honour him , while at school he was just the guy everyone made fun of. Mariam was sure that is what got Ben in the occult thing, in fact all of the members of SDL had a sad story , like Jane who ‘s parents are in a middle of a massive divorce ;Peter who is just not good at sport and making friends and not forgetting Keith who just lost his whole family in a car accident .She failed to understand why she was there . She had a lot of friends , was part of the cheer team ,and her parents seemed to be doing okay. She never dreamt that on her sixteenth birthday she’ll be out drinking actual human blood .She should be home celebrating with her friends.

‘Blood of purity! drink purify your souls for tomorrow is the day we will see the great master,’ Ben said walking past them and handing a golden cup to keith who was first in the line, Mariam failed to understand why they needed purifying after all they are of the kingdom of darkness. She realised that this was way too deep for her to handle , it started off as a joke and now , now they killed a person, a baby. Jake’s little brother who had been sick with flue all week. Jake offered to take him to the baby clinic and while his mom went to arrange her sisters funeral. He brought him here , because the master commanded him. She never herself was able to communicate with the master, all crews claim that they ‘ve had an encounter with him .Especially Jake who the master directed to give the blood of his little brother as a purifying sacrifice. ‘how was he going to explain it to his mother? ‘ she thought ‘drink sister drink! ‘ she awoke to the voice of their young occult leader. puzzled, she took the cup and placed it on he cherry lips, the smell alone turned her stomach ‘ I can’t , sorry but I can’t!,’ Mariam protested.’she ran as fast as she could towards the door ‘seize her!’ Bed exclaimed . Keith and Rose ran towards her, Keith grabbed her arm so tight that she felt the pain pierce through her heart , rose grabbed both his legs and tied them with the occult scarf and Ben came and blinded her with Rose’s hair band. ‘ you are a traitor of the religion , your one of themr ! Mariam kept on breathing out hard . ‘answer me!’ Bed fumed .’ for Christ sake let me go’ Mariam commanded, not realising that she was adding patrol to the fire .Rose shouted ‘blasphemy!’ the rest of the pack joined her. the pulled her using her waist bealt and brought her to the alter , Ben surrounded he tiny body with wood and the put wax all over her body…’how about a burnt offering ?’ Ben asked the pack agreed by nodding.

The Hunter Awakes (Intro to a new story of mine)

It is not often that men consider the lot of beings lesser to them.
At their peril they discount the very idea these creatures may hold knowledge they themselves lack the capacity to comprehend.
A humble fly, a pest, a spreader of disease and pestilence, the worst kind of vermin. Reviled and exterminated whenever possible. Yet even now, thousands of their number were being drawn to a place, plain to see were the night not so dark under the clouds of the coming storm, where lay one who the givers of law so fervently sought.
She lay not alone, for within the steady and dispassionate circle of light cast by the electric lamp above stood her killer and no single emotion marred his placid face.
Her remains were not fair to see. Even discounting dirt and blood, the signs of hard use by hand and blade were upon her cold flesh. Had her spirit lingered, as perhaps it did, she would have witnessed the true wakening of that which had slept for long ages past.
Her killer spoke, though to whom it could not be said for he was alone in that lighted circle with only the departed dead.
Had her eyes still seen, as indeed from beyond they might, she would have seen the shaking of his hands, the primal fear belied by his dead eyes and unmoving expression as the blade which had stolen her life was drawn once more from its hiding place upon his person.
Had she been able to hear, and in truth she must have as all the dead do when they are spoken of, bitter would have been her tears to hear his stumbling words of supplication. No laments for her forgiveness, not entreaties to stave her wrath, none even to wish her a graceful rest in the life beyond. No, only worshipful mutterings in some ancient and nonsensical tongue passed his lips.
Up came the blade, and well may she have run, remembering its deadly touch. To heart, to lips he held it, swearing that which should never be sworn. Stillness, absolute and infinite settled. No creature born of night dared give voice. Even the masses of flies stilled, their innumerable wings held as a man would hold his breath.
On and on he spoke, making promises and bartering the tangible and intangible essences of his being and hers to the silence… until…
No sound changed, no great lights broke in the sky, no flicker marred the heartlessly efficient circle of light, no shadow moved, and yet within the circle he stood alone no more.
Eyes were on him, older and darker than those of his departed victim, unseen but felt unto the dregs of his soul. Smells assaulted his nostrils, rain, smoke, fresh turned earth… and blood.
He knew what he had woken, primal and ancient, born of the sacred blade first christened by his own willing blood… and then the blood of prey.
Twice before and now, the final time, he’d heeded the whispers seeping from the shadows, their promises ambrosia to an ashen heart. He felt no remorse for he was pure, and he was blameless. He’d hunted and sacrificed as was demanded, as men had done since the first days, no crime at all compared to what was to be gained.
From the first it had shielded him, showing him what paths to walk, where to sleep and when to flee, and when to take his prey all unawares. The givers of men’s laws were far from him, walking different paths and serving different powers. They could not touch him.
He shuddered as that which he had woken regarded him, coldly assessing its servant.
He’d sworn, he’d sacrificed, yet even now his acceptance into its embrace was not assured. It would brook no weakness, no frailties, no hesitation.
Moments wore on. Each a searing eternity under its scrutiny…
And then it spoke for only him to hear
“Yes…”
Lightning split the black sky and all sound returned in a rushing wave, the legion of flies burst their ranks asunder even as glass rained from the shattered lamp. They would not touch this meat, this prey. It belonged to the oldest of things now, woken from its slumber and returned to a world it had long since abandoned.
And in the darkness as the first rain fell, he laughed.
(Written to set the tone and scene for my main antagonist)