Saturday, 29 August 2015
DIRTY LAUNDRY PART 1 by Daisy Waitherero Wambua
Sweat drenched the t-shirt, seductively revealing her bosom, one could clearly make out the color of her bra and the size of her waistline, strands of hair appear skillfully separated from the band as they lie freely on the shoulders and some clinging to her face. She was tired. Cold sweat would not have enough of this woman as if it had an unknown history with her. It drips from her forehead, trickling in between the eyebrows almost creating a stream on her nose. A tingling feeling is felt. Ankles become wobbly, no longer supporting the weight as they did a few hours before.
She had walked for two hours but had been weighed down for longer than that. She knew her actions were irreversible at that point and she could not possibly go back. However, she neither felt remorseful nor petrified at any given moment. Different situations bring out the insanity out of people, to some the world is a whirlwind but to others it’s Crystal Meth. Walter White from breaking bad series gave Kenyans the hope of one day becoming drug lords, Kanyari soon after killed that dream, buried with a shovel six feet under, put a flower on top and built his Church. The devil is a lie. Thank you Rick Ross.
His body was becoming heavier, she could feel the struggle as she dragged him along. Her heart beat a little more vigorously than before, her back began to strain; her t-shirt was now all wet. The moon had reached its peak. Trail of thoughts baffled her; was it right? Is there such thing as right or wrong? Did it even matter? Would it be misconstrued? Who is she asking?
Guts never lie especially when it comes to a woman. A woman would think with her heart, reason with her mind but will always consult her gut. It’s the ultimate punishment; the confusion is unbearable, you are cornered to either deal with reality or make your own reality. She knew chances were slimming down. This nevertheless did not seem to be her noose by the throat, she knew exactly what was required and would not let anything get in the way.
When life ceases, nothing else is of importance, actually there is no such thing as nothing else. It all become nothingness. She robbed him off the chance to be forgiven, a chance to reform; she had no mercy for him as he had shown no mercy to her. She would strip him off everything; his mental peace, his unforsaken love, his gullible nature, she would take it all and burn it to the ground but not out of spite; out of love for someone else.
Down on her knees, the gravel pricked her hard enough to penetrate the knee cap, her hands laying on her head shaking like a starved addict, her head held high revealing blood on her chin running down her neck, her eyes cold like the silver gaze of a predator on the hunt. She looked ahead, probably into the future or perhaps stuck in between two realms of psychological war. Police surround her, the body still lying next to her feet like a sacrifice unto the gods, he seemed to be at peace; I bet he would be smiling if he wasn’t already a corpse. He was dead and so was she.
To be continued……………….