Pillow Lust

So I subscribed for daily 10 minute writing prompts and today was ‘write about a character named Pillow.’ At first I was blank but once I got writing, I amused even myself 😀

 

We have a thing, he and I. I always seem to think about him whenever my eyes are at half mast and my body wants to collapse, or when tears threaten to overtake me. Pillow… I say his name dreamily, as though he was here with me. But alas, he is! There, in my thoughts he lingers. He floats by depending on what I dress him. Today he looks girly- he looked manly in pink last week- yea, he can pull it off.

I am tired, I want to sleep, so when you tell me to write of a character named Pillow, I will write about him as though he has breath.

I want to inhale him, I want to touch him softly, let my finger tips linger at the edges, caress him gently whenever I want to turn. I want to sink my head into him, laugh into him and sigh in relief and pleasure; the ease he brings to my mind. I want to occupy all of him. Not greedily but piece by piece and leave his other spaces yearning for my skin, for warmth. I won’t be long love, I whisper. I don’t like him wet, no, he is not that type. I leave my mouth shut and let my digestive juices rest in a pool inside my cheek until the next swallow.

O things I could and will do for you!

You take me to a world that I yearn to stay in where honey flows, but you are still my comforter when crimson themes slamberland. I can’t wait to see you tonight Pillow. Heck, it’s the only action I get- everyday. I love you.

Yours truly

Sleep depraved (and slightly nuts) Wambaire.

Death of Me

Melvin:                Woman do not try me! Bend over!

Candy:                *whining* I can’t go any further! My knees hurt  and I will tip over if I move-

Melvin:                    Hold still! I am about to-

Candy:                That is what you said five minutes ago! I am no longer young!

Melvin:               Almost… *lets out a huge sigh of relief* done!

Candy:               *collapses onto the ground* I can’t believe this is happening in our garden.

 

Ten minutes before

 

Candy:               We need to move it.

Melvin:                  You think?

Candy:               Don’t be sassy with me! This is not my fault!

Melvin:                  Well if you hadn’t let him in…

Candy:               How was I meant to know that he would turn psycho?! And you uncaring husband! He tore at my dress! And look! *lifts up dress almost to her crotch* and the marks on my thighs!

Melvin:               Hey! He is dead! Woman what the hell is your problem! I killed him, didn’t I?!

Candy:              Yes *voice fading* and screamed like a girl while you are at it…

Melvin:                *with a raised voice* WOMAN! Don’t you be trying my patience this early in the morning!

 

Five minute before

 

Candy:                 We could have put him in a trash bag and dumped him. I swear he will rot and smell!

Melvin:                 That ratchet diplomat would have known it was us.

Candy:                 *grumbling* what is the worst that she could have done?

Melvin:                 Sue us for our entire net worth perhaps?!

Candy:                 *Sighs* Fine. He was adorable though…

Melvin:                    Shut up and lower him down. *more to himself* I just hope that four feet under is far enough.

Candy:                 So rude *lowering the creature*

Melvin:                 Mary mother of-! What kind of knot is that?! How in the world am I meant to untie that!

Candy:                *yelling* Then you should have done it yourself! And this rope isn’t long enough!

Melvin:                  Because of your stupid way of tying knots!

Candy:               Can’t I just let go of the rope?

Melvin:                  Then how will I get back out?

Candy:               *grinning* What was that? I should let go?

Broken homes

She sat down gracelessly, not caring that her short pink pleated skirt was well up her thighs. Her ‘father’ frowned at her brown legs, all too familiar from the years he had visited her room at night. Neema tacked her legs under her, sinking in a bit further into the brown upholster. Her mother walked in a few seconds later, her boyfriend diverting his gaze to the plasma screen on one side of the room.

‘Frown all you want Baba but the government will never change!’ Kerwa said as she sat down next to him. She noticed Neema’s legs but choose to remain silent. She knew what was happening between her and her boyfriend but was not going to say anything-they had a roof over their heads, a comfortable life and expensive gadgets and jewelry as penance for ever sin committed against them. She let her eyes roam up and down her daughter’s body; she was indeed her seed. She was just as light skinned as she was, long kinky hair, delicate facial features and a petite frame.

Kerwa reached for her iPad on the table, noticing that the bruise on her arm was well faded by now. Baba, or rather, Peno, noticed that as well and grabbed her hand before she could get the iPad. Kerwa flinched. She looked up into his eyes and saw tenderness in them. Peno pulled her hand toward him, pushing the three quarter sleeve further up his lover’s arm, lowered his head to her arm and gently kissed the fading bruise. Kerwa was speechless. Neema just looked on, her expression bored. Her mind then wondered to her mother’s designer top and how she would wear it with a large buckled belt she had bought on sale the previous day.

When he finally let go of her arm, he reached for the gadget and handed it to Kerwa, who took it and placed it on her lap, still gazing at Peno, wondering, fearfully, what this gesture meant. Was he going to do something to hurt her-them again or did he genuinely mean it?

Neema looked back at the television, listened attentively and jolted down notes on her iPhone. She was a journalism student and had an assignment to do. She would otherwise have been in her room or her boyfriend’s place, as he liked to say, ‘shagging her brains out.’ The reference never amused her- it was what Peno had first said when he went into her room that first night they moved in. After eight years the phrase evolved from ‘who’s your daddy?’ to ‘who gives it better to you than Baba?’

She couldn’t tell anyone about what was happening to her once or twice a week. She understood what it meant- moving back to live in the whore house where she was a bonus package when a client saw her clinging to her mother’s skirt. Neema couldn’t figure out for the life of her why her mother exposed her to such a life. Did she just not care or was she genuinely that ignorant?

She became conditioned to believe that to have a good life (she had everything she could want) you had to give something of you. After years of pleading with a Higher Power to end her misery and nothing happening, she gave up. To survive she began to learn to enjoy Peno’s visits and letting go of the shame she used to feel the morning after. Looking her mother in the eyes became easier until she could have a normal conversation without an ounce of conviction.

And so life continued until she moved out of Peno’s, got married to her boyfriend and had a daughter.

And when her daughter was five the night visits from her father began.

And so the cycle continued.

Just Not into You

Jules:     We are NOT doing this right now.

Kate:     Doing what?

Jules:     Put that phone down. We both know there is nothing on Facebook to do, nothing could have popped up on Instagram since you refreshed it ten minutes ago and everyone on WhatsApp is asleep. And you are not active on Twitter

Kate:     Man Jules…

Jules:     He has not replied. Take a hint

Kate:     Just saying hi… and goodnight. The last one was an open ended text…

Jules:     That makes no sense.

Kate:     Like-

Jules:     Woman put that phone down. Don’t you dare text him. I am tired- literally- of telling you ‘I told you so’ and rationalizing you back from the brink of depression and heartbreak!

Kate:     Life is short and I like him.

Jules:     Woman!

10 minutes later…

Kate:     Maybe he is asleep.

Jules:     His time stamp keeps changing. Like now; online… and now… last seen at… 00:29. Oh! Look! He is online again!

Kate:     I am such an idiot.

Jules:     Yes.

Kate:     This sucks… we hit it off. Like he kept ditching his friends-

Jules:     I was there.

Kate:     Ya… and he kept telling me-

Jules:     I said I was there. Look at you, you never listen.

Kate:     Wah this stings… let me watch Big Bang then maybe-

May:      Oh hell no. If I have to give you a headache at this moment to make you sleep I will. We have an early morning tomorrow and I refuse to look like a stoner. Damn it why do you never listen to Jules!

Kate:     Sighs Fine… but I will keep thinking and replaying and analyzing-

May and Jules:  Sleep woman!

Kate:     Y’all need to stop cutting me off! Argh!

Silence.

Kate:     Jules?

Jules:     Yes Kate?

Kate:     He is just not that into, me is he?

Jules:     You are quoting movie titles. No.

Kate:     Okay.

Jessica puts her phone on silent and switches off her laptop and the bedside table lamp.

Her phone lights up.

Jessica:     He is awake!

Jules and May howl in laughter. Kate is sulking.

Jessica: Oh… my bundle balance is low… Maybe that is why-

Jules, May and Kate: He is just not into you!

Village Christmas tales: Superwoman

Two things are true.

One is that this post might get me banned from my friend’s life and two, this is the scariest funniest memory I have.

I am not sure what time of the year it was (this would make for a nice Christmas memory) but my parents had packed my elder brother and I into a matatu with one of my dad’s sisters and sent us off to the village to spend time with our grandparents. Of course it was always a new experience because there was always a challenge to face, the constant ones being the fierce bite of safari ants, ticks lodging into our skins and the art of using the pit latrine without losing a shoe or slipper.

It would be false to say I always had fun. Being there for two weeks would get boring very fast especially because there was no one our age to play with at the time.

So when superwoman and her brother (bear with me) came to visit us at our grandparents, my brother and I were overjoyed. I am two years older than superwoman and her brother is a year older than I am and my brother is two years older than him. I am not sure why that confusing detail is relevant. At 6 or 7, your roles are pretty clear cut. Girls stay home and play house while the guys go out to adventure.

I do not remember what happened before this incident, but given that we were getting back into the homestead, I can only assume we were from playing at the swings in the local Catholic Church. The area my grandparents live resemble an excavation site; the land slopes from the main road and after ten meters or so, there is a small cliff, creating almost an earth wall on one side of the homestead. The house is then on a flat part of the land before it drops again to the shamba, where the land slants to a valley before sloping up again. Almost like a gully design of sorts.

For this reason cars were usually left by the road.

It was imperative that one takes great care when coming down the sloping path into the homestead. There was a curve on the path and if you dared walk down at night without a light, you would fall about two meters to the ground below. Nothing would be broken but it would surely hurt.

It was broad daylight when this happened.

Superwoman was rather excited about something and she ran down the path. Instead of taking the curve on the path she missed it and ran straight. Before we knew it, she was sailing through the air for about a meter before landing heavily on the ground. She bounced and skidded to a halt near a cow’s trough.

Superwoman

You can imagine the grazes she had on her face, arms and legs. Oh and the power of her lungs was felt!

I have never seen a human, to this day, fly the way she did.

Have a Fly Christmas, won’t you?

 

First Kiss

She snorted with laughter; some of it landed on his arm. She pretended not to notice but put her hand over the spot it had landed and laughed even harder and buried her head in his surprisingly toned chest. She let the loose braids fall on her face and when she finally sat upright she brushed the remnants of her snort from her nose using her sweater sleeve.

‘She is so perfect…’ Hector thought, fascinated that Lisle had gotten his RoboCop joke.

Their hands were intertwined, legs dangling off the pier looking off into the man-made lake that supplied the city with drinking water framed by wild vegetation. No one was allowed to swim or row a boat in it, but for the right price you could get close to the water, otherwise everyone was restricted behind the gate twenty feet away. And that is if you knew about this particular access route.

Lisle looked up into Hector’s eyes fascinated by how blue they were, not minding of one bit that it was a genetic mutation. She put her hand on his cheek and guided him to her lips. They held the kiss for a long moment. When they finally parted, Lisle had a tear in her eye.

Hector, both confused and concerned wondered what the matter was. Upon asking, Lisle, void of many words muttered under her breath ‘sorry’ over and over again. She drew away and stood up with a lot of help from Hector’s wheelchair. Her ankles were swollen for the much walking she had done that day, pushing Hector around in it.

Lisle was embarrassed; she was nineteen and this was her first kiss but she was not going to tell Hector that. She knew for a fact that he had gotten a lot more kisses than she had.

As she was walking off, her intention being to walk up the pier and down again hoping she would have by then regained her composure, she heard a splash, then a plop.

Turning around, both Hector and the wheelchair were nowhere in sight.

Screaming, she ran- at lease she tried- as fast as her one-twenty kilogram body could carry her to find help. The caretaker was not far away and hearing her panicked cries, he ran toward her from the ramp that led to the pier. It took a rather long time to figure out what the matter was through her panting, but when he looked down the pier and say no one and nothing, he understood what had happened.

He couldn’t swim either.

Five painful minutes later, the guard who was on his way to the washrooms resurfaced with Hector’s body. His lack of legs made him lighter than he had anticipated, but the shock was not any easier on him. He had never seen a dead body before, let alone touched it. It was hard getting the wheelchair off the young man that had pinned him to the lake’s floor. Looking at the lifeless body, no one knew what to do. CPR did not cross their minds.

Unable to cope with the amount of water in his lungs, Hector gave up a minute later.

Her

It had been long since she had been home. Home… if she could remember how it looked like. Vague memories of her mother waking her up the first hint of light in the horizon to go to school flooded her mind many nights. The graceful lines on her face courtesy of age gave mom a storybook face, like an angel lived within her…

250 KM

Another signboard whooshed by at the corner of her eye, head rested on the window, her eyelashes barely touching the glass every time she blinked. She smiled. Soon she would see her mother, the only person she knew she would be safe with in this fair but evil world as she had come to conclude. All the pretty things, and people, in this world had turned against her. They broke her, forced her to trade in her dignity from a day’s meal, eating from a bowl on the floor as her master and client changed notes with a man’s face on it, a man she had seen in nothing but his skin. Money.

 200 KM

 Closer, soon, mother. Happy thoughts. Drinking tea, not too hot and not warm, after watching mom pour the liquid from one cup into the other, distance increasing between the cups as the highest one emptied out its content into the other like a waterfall. Soon she would feel her mother’s soft lips on her forehead. She still remembered the look in her eyes when she kissed her those many years ago, like she knew something… she had seen that same look before in her master’s eyes the day life was forced from within her out into the world when she was still new in the trade. The look in her eyes spoke pity, pity as she cried over the lifeless male, barely formed to completion. Pity because the donor of the Y was an evil man and there she was crying over his evil spawn.

 150 KM

 She barely saw the sign this time as water played balance at the base of her eyelids. A quick wipe brought the scenery back into focus. Vast green grass scattered with huts, herds and their owners. She did not know where she was but she knew home was at the 50 kilometre mark, just before the rural town. She could get off and pray the strange yet familiar man staring at her did not get off at her stop. She was beautiful, a concept she detested. The men had all picked her first. The oldest and wealthiest she hated most. Wisdom and old age in men to her was a lie told in books she read when she was young. Their gold wedding rings mocked her.

100 KM

 Her thoughts were a mess. Her heart wanted to burst from within her. The anger, the pain, the years wasted. Yet she still chose to cling to life. Drug, alcohol, heck, even rat poison, were at her disposal. But she consumed none of them. So many girls had removed themselves from the closed and secret life they lived, none remembered, more to replace, you know, to keep the business going. But still she remained. Her mother’s face playing in her mind over and over again, a love filling her from her soul, not even the men could penetrate that far. And here she was. Free, but running. No one would ever find her.

 50 KM

She was at the door. The bus came to a stop. The man stood up too. She got off the bus. So did he. She began walking on the dirt road leading to her safe haven, looking back occasionally, the man keeping a distance, looking disinterested in her now. Suddenly, so though magically, the thatched roof came into view, smoke coming from the red brick chimney. She broke into a run, her breath hard and loud, too loud to hear the footsteps behind her. She ran into the compound, it’s memory rushing back. The granary behind the hut to the left, the chicken house right next to it, and the small vegetable garden to the right blooming with color, greens, oranges, reds…

10 steps

The man ran past her, knocking her to the ground, causing the red dust to rise in protest. She looked up just in time to see him ran into the opened door of the hut. Protest. A scream. That scream. That piercing scream. Then silence. That silence. The strange familiar man appeared at the door way. Looking into his eyes she saw her own.

‘Cruel world, isn’t it my love. No one runs away from the master.’

She now remembered him, and her mother’s warnings, ‘Don’t talk to strangers, especially men, my daughter!’ The man who stole her mother’s innocence came back to steal and sell hers to pay for his drug use. Seven years of her hope had been murdered. Purpose lost.

Shouts, screams, hoarse voice, a slap, silver blade, struggle, steel on skin.

She watched her father dust shoes retreated from her view, leaving her to share her mother’s fate, her heart beating frantically, almost.

He had to pay for the blood of her mother that now spilled from the severed throat, quenching the dry earth floor in the hut. She had found new purpose, the earth could not have her just yet.

 

 

I published this last year on my old blog and thought it would be nice to bring it here. I still can’t believe I wrote that.