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Creative Fiction

DIARY OF JANE; The Murder Series (Part 3)

By

#3 Sin
He stood at the precipice of the world,
Watching the cacophony of
Automobiles
Tear through neon-lit storms
And asphalt clouds,
Turning shadow earth into walkways
Where
Sky winds kissed star dust.
He was an artist,
A prisoner to everything
That was beautiful,
And he willingly succumbed to its
God-crafted temptations
As if it was a
Blessing
To adorn its sin.
She watched him in his element,
Listened to the way
Her demons
Roused
To the music his presence sung,
Tasted the longing
That collided with
Bittersweet words he left
Unspoken
At the edge of her tongue.
It was hard to tell
What sin
She would do next,
Plunge herself into the rippling
Echoes
That called to her desire,
Or drive a knife
Into depths that were deeper
Than the extent he
Destroyed her.
Then again,
How bad could it be
If she did
Both?

***

She wasn’t prepared for this. Pain ruled her world now, & it seemed as if the world was daring her to die… to take the knife she’d been watching for the last 30 minutes and finally lift the veil that hung between her and the Other world. Time seemed to be irrelevant. She had been chasing it all her life, but now when she gave up on it, she was drowning in an anguish that tore its way through her, leaving separate pieces of her soul to drift into grey realities of Forever. It seemed ironic, that sorrow made her feel immortal, and not love.

Her cell phone kept buzzing by the minute, calls from family and friends sending condolences and making haste to conduct the funeral ceremony and get it over with, as if keeping her dead sister too long from the grave would disturb the reality of the living. It was hard to tell, part of her was angry that they were rushing her into the earth, far away from her reach, but another part of her didn’t really care. Why would she? Katherine was part of the reason she was broken for the better part of four months now, she probably got what she deserved.

“I can’t be thinking like this right now”
She murmured to herself, trying to latch on to the loose shreds of humanity she still had left within her.
“She was still my sister nonetheless”

She couldn’t hide the fact that the way she was killed was chilling in every way. She remembered Tiffany’s face cringe as she described the scene of her murder, keeping the urge to puke away long enough for her to be able to tell the entire story. T was strong, the strongest girl she’s ever known, seeing her at her weakest like that was like a sign that the world was truly coming to an end. She even fell sick in the morning, and it fell to her to get her kids ready for school. Redd, her husband, had decided to stay behind as well and look after his wife, not letting Luna do everything that he could do as well.

“Trust me Lu, I won’t hear the end of it when she gets better or if the roles reverse. Plus I love her just as much as you do, in the least, I have to do my part don’t you think?”

And so with that she was left to her thoughts by mid morning after exhausting every physical activity that she had set out to do that day and distract her mind. It felt strange somehow, spending days hating everything about someone to feeling completely alone when they are no longer there… when it felt like thinking about them was the only solution you have for making you feel like you haven’t lost as much as the whole world is telling you. When memories are all that you have of a life that makes you feel more alive than you are at the moment.
She let herself indulge to the days she grew up with Kat. The first time she knew she was getting a sister was when she was 3 years old, her mom heavily pregnant back then.
“Mom how come your belly is getting bigger than dad’s?”
“Well Luna, that’s because there’s a baby in there who is about to come out”
“There’s a baby in there? How could you mom?!”
“How could I what, honey?”
“How could you eat a baby?!”
That was probably the first time she ever saw her mother laugh that hard.

When Kat finally came to the world, Luna realized that her mom didn’t have a mouth big enough to swallow a whole baby, especially one that was as big as Kat. Then again, she was 3, anything she carried on her hands always seemed to be bigger than her. Her sister though, was as adorable as her name. She had a heavenly scent that was addictive whenever she came from being bathed, something that reminded her of the warmth of home…of waking up to eggs and fried sausages and pineapple juice in the morning…a scent that grew from the endlessness that their mother loved them. In a way, it made them inseparable. In the end, she learned to love her like anyone would love their own sister: to infinity.

And now here, she sat after having spent what felt like eternity hating her sister. Building up waves and waves of anger that never met the shores of her lips, cleaving away the stone cliffs of her mind with every splash the memories of pain spilled from the seams of her shattered soul.
“*sigh* I hope God can forgive you Kat. Wherever you are, I hope He can.”

She thought about Sin, and everything he took away from her after he came into her life.
“With a name like that, I must have been a fool for not knowing what I was walking into!”
Finally, with relative ease, she put the knife aside, and set out to get another kind of poison to kill the bleak voids of her mind. It was only when she opened the door that she stopped short at the figure that was now walking toward the threshold.
“You got to be kidding me?!”

He watched her with artisan eyes, taking in every color she spilt into the hollow canvas of the world, seeing how darker her shadow-brown eyes were, how tears ate away the blush from her cheeks, the storm that weighed down the feather-light wings of her hair, and the pain; pain that took everything else God gave her. His steps were careful, but with intent, like he could see dragons rouse in the spark of his presence. His black suit did nothing to drown the devil in his smile, even though he tried to make it seem sympathetic. A light wind pulled at his tie, and it hung to the gale like a cape tied to darkness as infinite as his sunless eyes. He stood a few feet in front of her, minding the space he left between the artist & the living portrait of anguish he created.

“Luna”

Sinclair finally called out, agitating the dead leaves of her heart with soft words that pushed through his lips & to the ghosts of skeletons in her closet. Her hands coiled into raging fists beneath the sleeves in her sweater, trying to lax the fire that burned in her mind as anger rose like a new-born phoenix. Between the split second moments, she found herself wondering why she left the knife on the kitchen counter.

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DIARY OF JANE; The Murder Series (Part 2)

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Blood.

The night was silent.
Moonless stars gazed down the dark
From the inky banks
Of their depth-less oceans,
Their milky eyeballs
Hooded
By the backs of
Stray clouds cursed
To endlessly chase the sun
Into the edges of
Forever.
She remembered breathing,
Summoning the free air
To the broken halls
In her chest,
Where shattered glass lay next
To empty mirrors
That wore reflections
Of the world that died beneath her skies.
She remembered water,
Born from the heaviest silver,
Melted by fires that dared to point
Fingers
At sacred flames of the sun.
She remembered its false smoothness,
The way it washed down
The spines of her hair,
Turning her copper mane into
A deeper brown,
& felt how it
Pricked
At every corner of her mind.
She remembered it all,
& then at once,
As if by her own will,
Let it go,
And threw the knife back
To the other broken parts that were as
Lifeless
As herself,
And walked on to the silence
That the dripping blood
Sung to.

***
She was exhausted. Tired to the point where she couldn’t remember when she ever got this tired before. There was a throb at the base of her cranium, rippling waves & waves of a silent chaos in the already collapsing haven of her mind. She wanted to sleep, desperately. But the events that had transpired that day were nails that pinned her eyelids awake.

“Oh God! How can anyone sleep after seeing such a thing?”

She let her mental thoughts out to the empty room, to the walls that have ears. Sighs escaped the worn out spaces of her lungs, seeking out for her relief like they were prayers from a hopeless heart, but they found only silence & wind as absent as God in a sinner’s heart.

Thankfully the kids were asleep, and her husband would probably be sailing with them in the distant shores of slumber, riding night mares to dreams she now longs to reach. She walked up to the coffee machine, let the whirl of its mechanism agitate the eerie quiet of midnight, as she let her mind loiter to the events of the day.

It was well past 10 o’clock in the morning when she received the call, a couple found dead in a suburb apartment, one body torn beyond recognition. She thought she’d be walking into another episode of CSI, waiting to find a team of forensics at the crime scene drawing up chalk marks on the floor where the body lay while they looked for clues around the murder site. But what she saw was something television never prepared her for, let alone her 2-year police training.

The local police had issued a quarantine around the building, evicting everyone out and conducting procedural questioning of the tenants as was the protocol. Inside, there were some federal agents and a few detectives, but no one dared to go beyond to the room of the murder.

“I have a bad feeling about this!”
“Detective Lall.”
Tiffany turned to see her boss walking over to her with a smug that (she was completely convinced) never left his face, even if he got rid of the stubble he called a beard that seemed to make him look like a living fossil.
“Chief?! I didn’t expect you of all people here. I thought you had a meeting with the mayor to discuss resource management & distribution?”
“The mayor is here. We were forced to cancel everything after we got this distress call. Its messy inside detective, I don’t think you’re gonna want to see it. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, I’m sure I can handle it”

I was wrong.

There was blood everywhere. Too much blood, it was impossible to think all that came from the woman lying dead on the mattress. She could still hear it dripping on the floor after having soaked the entire bed. Its only when she came closer that she saw the thing next to her…
“Is that human?”
A torso…
“…what the hell…”
A leg where the left arm should be…
A huge tear on the right leg, a too muscular leg to be another woman’s…
“A man…her husband! Wait! Where’s his…”
His head was being cradled by the woman, intestines slung around her neck as if they were ornaments…
“Dear God! Are those from…”
The man’s torso had been gutted, the insides removed…
“Oh my God!”
The woman held his head on her lap, held lover-like in her own hands…
“I need to sit down…”
Vertigo swirled in her head in rhythm to the flies that circled around a blood red wine glass on the bed stand…
“Don’t tell me that’s…’

Flies danced at the tip of the glass…inside the brim…and on the droplets that had spilled over to the flat of the table. Right next to a white note…
“That?”
“Suicide note”
Chief police Said spoke for the first time after watching her horrified reaction.
“It just says ‘sorry’. There’s a bottle of prescription pills at her side if you look closely, so we are assuming it’s a murder & suicide.”

There was too much gore around her for her to find sense in what he was saying. She looked up to see the girl now for the first time since she walked into the room, and the swirl in her head grew ferocious.
“I know her!”
She realized, horror choking out the air in her throat.
She closed her eyes trying to shut down the memory. Shaking her head over and over again, waking up to find herself in the hush of her own home, away from the violence the world had thrown to her feet. She let out another sigh…
And another…
And another…

Slowly, she downed the coffee into the depths of her that had turned cold, bracing herself for her last duty of the day.
She walked to the guest room, where Luna had been sleeping for the while as she sorted out her fall out with her fiancé.
“Hey, Lu. You awake?”
The girl in the bed whirled in absolute laziness, turning her face through the colossal tide of her pillows and waves of sleep to see what her best friend wanted in the middle of the night.
“What? Is it morning already?! I swear I have just slept for five minutes!”
“Luna… You have to hear this…Its about Kat.”
At the mention of her sister’s name, she was awake. Tiffany considered this moment, knowing very well that the mere mention of her name was a thing Luna especially forbade. She saw the anger rouse in the shadow of her eyes, lingering behind an invisible leash as 3 month old ghosts zombied in her thoughts with memories she prayed to forget.
“She’s dead”

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DIARY OF JANE; The Murder Series (Part 1)

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Photo Courtesy: Unknown

It Began With Death

I looked on
At the death of your
Laughter,
Watched as tears came down your face
Like angels of
Life,
Gleaming like silver-winged diamonds
Caught in the gold beams
Of the sun’s web.
One after the other
They carried your laughter down
To the surface,
Where the rest of the world
Received everything that
Your sky eyes let go.
There,
The wind brought forth
Loose fragments of the memories
You left behind…
The blushes…
The love…
The kisses…
And gathered it over the grave
Where broken hearts lay.
And I could only watch
As your world
Collapsed
Into yawning black holes
Filled with
Undying ghosts of the
Non-existent.

***

She watched the world in silence, letting the solace of the cold winter wind wash out dying embers of a once raging inferno that still charred the inner parts of her being, drowning any semblance of light inside with blackness as ancient as night itself. It has been days, and time still persistently dragged her back to empty avenues of memory lane where pain rained on the reminiscence, soaking her reality in gloom that doomed blooming colors to a grey hell.

“Hey! Hey Luna! Are you listening to me?”
Tiffany was at her side, her black eyes straining to find the open latches to the windows of her soul, finding only hollowness instead. They had been sitting at the restaurant for hours now, steam dancing between them like misguided ghosts from the heat of their coffee cups.

“Lu I know what he did to you was wrong, but you have to let me in, I want to help you. You have to let him go. I have to see you letting him go.”
“I want to, I really do T. But I don’t know what kind of person I’m supposed to be anymore. How can I let you in when I don’t even know myself anymore?”
“I know its not easy. It can’t be. But I know your pain won’t last forever. Don’t look back, there’s nothing there…”

She was right. As cruel as Tiffany’s words were she was still right. She always was.

Looking back felt like she was looking for things she could never find…light she could never see…the touch that she would never feel…a face she’d never wake up to again…

“I’m trying, but its hard letting go of someone who could love you like that!”
She could hear how soft the words fell from her wounded lips, torn by the endless nights she spent sobbing, as she watched the girl in the mirror crucify her lips upside down. Tears that dwelled from the seams of her ashened depths were now rounding the corner of her glass eyes, willing them to break one more time. She held her breath, hoping to suffocate the growing buzz of his voice…
His words…
His eyes…
His deceit…
“…I just don’t understand! I just don’t understand at all! Am I cursed to be this way?! Do I fall in love too hard every time just so karma can stab another knife through me deeper & deeper again?! What did I ever do to deserve this?!”

Familiar hands wrapped themselves around her own, as Tiffany moved her seat closer to Luna to comfort her. She hated it all. Hated how this angel she has always known to be the kindest girl in the world could never be given the love that she deserves. She was perfect to her, more perfect than she could have ever been, and had a beautiful soul. And today is the third time she’s seen it crushed, but the hardest she has ever seen her hurt. It made her angry…vengeful…almost like she could walk out there & kill him right now…
“He deserves to die.”

It was a surprise saying it out loud like that. And they both laughed at the thought. It was the first time she successfully made her laugh in a long while since the breakup 3 months ago.
“Damn right he does!” Luna added.
They laughed harder this time. For once, talking about death didn’t feel like a bad thing. It was just simple. Innocent. A release from the grip of an already dying reality. An escape from whatever fate time had conceived for her. And they laughed on, chiming out the gloom like church bells in the rain.
…That was how it all began.

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MR. MONDAY BLUES

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If Monday had a low esteem then this is how he would look. But he doesn’t. In fact, he is very self-assured, assertive with several saltbae (I just had to mention him somewhere 😀 ) pinches of an ego.

Mr. Monday always had the ability to get your attention even when after you had sworn upon your own death to NOT even glance at him. He is irresistible. Maybe not the prince-charming kind of irresistible, but the You-can’t-ignore-me kind of irresistible. You can totally close your eyes with the heaviest , darkest blanket yet he would still appear in your nightmares.

Monday is a short, stout man in his mid-thirties. He is brown, a bit plump, with dark hair. He always wore his suits in such a magnificent manner. His attire was so neat, so well-pressed such that a housefly would die just upon his landing on such an attire. His shoes were always extremely polished. They were black, blacker than black because no shade of black was ever going to describe this kind of black. Would make you wonder what is he using? Because hell no, even kiwi is not that black. I mean, you could look at his shoes and see your ugly face reflecting right back. Even the shoes have a prettier look than you do 😀 Monday walked tall always, confidently putting his hands inside his side pockets. If you wear your heart on your sleeve, sweetheart, please meet this man who wears his ego on his sleeve. Despite very well knowing that most people didn’t like him (sometimes for no apparent reason), he would still carry himself with so much aura of awesomeness. So yes, you just. somehow.had to look at him. One way or another. Nonetheless, believe it or not, sometimes Monday was just but a victim of unfortunate coincidences and awful circumstances.

So on this morning, Monday walks up to the stage and meets a crowd of other neat men and women waiting for the bus to arrive. He decides to stands at the far end of the stage, a few steps from a young man drinking his coffee. The young man raises his eyebrows from his coffee cup and looks at Monday. He doesn’t just look, he stares at him as his eyes scrutinize him from head to toe. Monday stares back as his huge bulb eyes narrow as if squinting at the young man. All of a sudden, an old lady bumps into the young man and the good tasty coffee all ends up being swallowed by the plain, sparkling white t-shirt. The young man exclaims with anger. He curses. Then curses again. The old lady tries to apologize but the young man is busy wiping his shirt desperately. He then looks up at Monday with a glare. Giving him that ‘it is your fault’ scowl. Monday shrugs his shoulders and looks away at his watch. He is running late.

The bus finally arrives and everyone quickly rushes in. Monday takes the front seat next to the driver as he watches the young man rush away; probably going back home for a quick change. He adjusts himself in his seat and focuses ahead as the bus takes off. The driver strikes a conversation but it is rather a boring one. Who wants to talk about the weather on the beginning of a fresh week? Monday doesn’t respond to him. The old driver tries once again to bring another topic when a cat suddenly appears on the road. He desperately reaches for the brakes as the bus screeched to a halt. The back passengers start yelling at the old man. “I hit my head!” “Old man you need  spectacles now!” “Urgh! can’t we have a peaceful morning?!! Is that too much to ask for?!” The yells keep coming. The old man frowns before apologizing. He glares at Monday and he stares back without a word. He adjusts himself in his seat then drives off.

Monday walks steadily into the office. He doesn’t greet anyone because no one needs his ‘hi’ anyway. Except Positivity. Right when he passes by her desk, she’d always have a kind word to say or a greeting or just a bright smile. So as usual, Positivity enthusiastically extends her hand to greet him.

“Goodmorning Monday! I hope you had a lovely weekend!”

“Oh hey, goodmorning Pos. My weekend was fine. I hope so was yours,” Monday speaks for the first time.

“Oh yeah…I even got to make my favourite home-baked cookies. You wanna taste?”

“Why not?” He smiles as he takes the cookies from her. He then wishes her a good day before disappearing into his compartment.

Human noisily slides her chair to Pos’ desk.

“Ahem ahem…Pos huh?”

“What is it Human?” Pos laughs lightly without moving her eyes away from her computer screen.

“So now your new nickname is Pos huh?! Nice!”

Positivity laughs again.

“What is the issue anyway?”

“I just don’t get it! How on earth are you able to strike a conversation with Monday, make him talk back and even smile! God! How?!!”

“Because I don’t have an attitude like the one you have.”

“But everyone dislikes Monday. Except you.”

“Okay,” Pos turns around her seat and looks at Human, “So tell me, what wrong has Monday done to you?”

“Can’t you seeee it?!!! The guy is always frowning. Full of negative vibes. I don’t even want to look at him, he might just ruin my entire day. Bad omen…”

Pos laughs at Human’s expression and sits back comfortably.

“Okay, let’s do some profiling here. Have a look at Sunday and give me a short profile on her.”

Human laughs loudly as she looks at Sunday who is fast asleep, her head bowed down on her desk.

“Sunday is always tired and sleepy and lazy…but then…she always makes people happy. She is a nice soul.”

“Okay. What about Saturday?”

Human stretches her neck to peep at Saturday who is busy working on something while whistling.

“He is full of enthusiasm and energy. Always.”

“Friday?”

“Oh my good Lord! Friday is the happiest being on this earth!”

“Thursday?”

“He is not in yet…as usual. He doesn’t come to work much or in time but when he is here, he does his best to make it up. And you wouldn’t even have to complain about how good his work is.

“Okay…Wednesday?”

“Wednesday is a hardworking chap. Got no complaints for him.”

“Tuesday?”

“Tuesday is such an ambitious soul. She knows what she wants.”

“Owwkayy! Now Monday?”

“Urgh!! Told you! Monday is just Monday. No more no less. Or wait, there is a bit more 😀 Monday just brings the gloom to the office. Pos, just look at him! Look at his tight lips that almost never form a smile! He reminds of Trump you know. Gloomy; gloomy miserable chap. Or maybe I shouldn’t compare him with Trump, that would be extreme 😀 But then he.just.doesn’t.give a good feeling.”

“Well, he smiles at me!”

“Ah isn’t that a miracle already? But you are an open-minded soul; a kind one so maybe…or it could just be because of your delicious cookies that you keep bribing him with!”

They both start laughing.

“We both know it has nothing to do with cookies. He has his good side too. You just need to stop focusing too hard at his ugly side. Yes he has issues; maybe too rigid and angry, but maybe he’s got something that makes him this way, something from the past or present, something that makes his plate full always? We can’t ever know. Remember how long it took before he could ever say hi back to me. Yes he isn’t such a charming soul but we all have our off ugly sides too. He probably just needs more friends and he’ll change. If you could find something nice to say about everyone then you can never miss a nice thing to say about him too.”

“Owkaaaayyy Mrs. Mondaaayyy, I’ll think about it maybe! I said maybeeee,” she says as she laughs again; sliding her way back to her desk.

Positivity shakes her head with a sigh, “Attitude. Attitude everywhere.”

 

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MR. LOVE’S BLINDNESS

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Photo Courtesy: http://www.andysavage.com/

Mr. Love was not only blind, he was bipolar too. Every other day I would see him take a morning walk around the park. On one day you would see him waving his hand enthusiastically to all the neighbours who called out to him on his way, grinning all the way from teeth A to Z, his head held high, his sunglasses worn in style and his dimples adding spice to his beautiful smile. But the next day? You would see him walking head down. His cheeks would be swollen like he just rubbed off some yeast on them. His forehead would have lines formed that wouldn’t disappear for the rest of the day. On such a day, you wouldn’t want to shout, “Hallo Mr. Love” like you’d always do. On such days, he was untouchable and very unpredictable. At the smallest thing he would create a scene, or cry or get so furious that his face would turn pepper red. So on these gloomy days, everyone in the neighbourhood would give him space. Ignore him, avoid him and sometimes totally run away from him.

As I grew up, I couldn’t help but wonder why Mr. Love was the way he was. My grandma would tell me his stories from time to time. He was an extreme person, we all knew that but despite all that, we also knew he had the purest soul ever. He loved children and whenever he was at the park, he would sit at his favourite spot on the bench right in front of the playing field. He would then call out to the children and hand them sweets. My friends never got tired of conning him. They would always come round two for more sweets and pretend to be other kids. He loved helping people despite his disability and was the most affectionate person in the neighbourhood.

“It is because of his blindness; that is what makes him so bitter to life,” my grandma would justify his behaviour from time to time.

“That doesn’t justify his hysterical behaviour you know mum?” My mother would debate, “God tests us in different ways. He should accept his condition and be happy with life.”

“But he IS happy!” Grandma would insist, “It is just sometimes he can’t control his emotions…”

Rumour had it that Mr. Love was once married to a lady called Pride. I wasn’t born yet but everyone talks of her dazzling beauty. She was too beautiful, they say. Elegant height, almond shaped eyes, thick lips, some said she was more beautiful than Angelina Jolie, some said she was a little bit less beautiful than her. The theories were many but no one could out-rightly reject that she was beyond pretty. Everyone wondered why she accepted Mr. Love’s proposal yet she could have been married by some Saudi prince or some tycoon somewhere. But as they say, the heart wants what it wants. Perhaps her beauty was somehow a threat to him because he was always too protective, too attached which ended up in them having a divorce. Pride no doubt loved her husband, he was handsome anyway, but she had a great impact on him that made him drift away from the people. She had set standards for her husband and herself. She chose whom Mr. Love should talk to and whom to not get involved with. Her classy and sassy personality pressured her to maintain an image, and for her to do so, she also had to control her husband excessively so that he doesn’t destroy her image. As such, Pride was not all that much liked in the neighbourhood. She had changed their lovely Mr. Love.

There was another rumour about Mr. Love although everyone who talked about it, would do it in whispers, with heads close together, with fingers on their lips. “Mr. Love almost killed a man with his cane once. He was messing up with Pride.” Mr. Love was too jealous, they say. He didn’t want any man getting too close to his muse.

“But isn’t that how all couples are? Jealous?” Grandma would justify again.

“Mum! He almost ki…”

“Shhhhh!!!! He might pass by and hear you!” Grandma would say in a low tone. “What is wrong with you anyway? Why are you always against Mr. Love?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know Ma. He broke Kind’s heart remember?” My mother replied.

“Who is Kind?!” I whispered quickly.

“Kind was Mr. Love’s second wife. After that incident of Mr. Love almost killing a man with his walking cane, Pride asked for a divorce. She thought it was healthier for Mr. Love to be away from her, and safer too. She claimed that Mr. Love was becoming insane with his emotions. Well, she made a right decision. Many of us wanted her out of the neighbourhood. So they parted ways. Then after about two years he met Kind. She was a short, curvy lady. She was her own kind of beautiful and she worked as a social worker at the children’s home. Nonetheless, no one stopped comparing her to Pride. How more beautiful she was, more classy, more elegant bla bla bla…” Grandma explained.

“She was from down-town. A very simple lady with a great heart unlike the town princess; Pride. Plus Mr. Love was way more handsome to suit her beauty. So everyone now thought Lady Pride suited him better. Nonetheless, Mr. Love had his own kind of attachment to her too. You know, they all forget how smart, intelligent and soft-hearted Kind was. AND, she was able to mend back Mr. Love’s relations with the community.” Mum said.

“So why did he break her heart?” I lower my neck closer to them and whisper again.

“Because his heart was already broken by Pride…Once your heart is broken dear, you can only patch your holes with rags but never to be fixed again. You can never be whole again.” Grandma said, shaking her head sadly.

“Still doesn’t justify what he did to her mummy!”

“What did he do to her?”

“He left her. Just one day he woke up and told Kind that he can’t live with her anymore, that his heart was too damaged, that he couldn’t totally love her like she deserves to be loved. He then asked her to leave before he was back from his morning walk.” Mum explained.

“But you previously said he was already getting attached to her! why would he do such a terrible thing to an angel like Kind?!”

“Well…no one can ever tell. Some say he liked her too much it made him afraid she would leave him too like Pride did. Some say he still loved Pride. Some say he was still hurting from his past…the theories are many…”

“I say, it all has to do with the inferiority complex he suffers from his blindness. Perhaps he believes he doesn’t deserve all that affection so he doubts all those that love him. I feel sorry for him. He is just a lonely man…” Grandma says.

“There he is!” I say as I climb on the coach to look out of the window. There he is; Mr. Love with his walking cane, head bowed down, his cheeks swollen. “Just one of his gloomy days,” I sigh.

Mum follows me to the window, stares at him for a moment before saying, “That poor disturbed man really needs divined intervention.” She sighs too and I sigh again, this time louder than before, “Oh poor Mr. Love!”

 

 

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DHIKI ZA MAHABA

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SAFARI YA MBINGUNI (sehemu ya mwisho)

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Mwandishi: Mtoto wa Katama

Mtaa mzima ulipata habari ya yale yaliyotokea na mamake Khamisi alikuwa mmoja kati ya waliokuwa wakimtafuta Khamisi. Maafisa wa usalama walifika kwenye eneo la tukio, wakauburuza mwili wa marehemu hadi katika gari walilokuja nalo na kuupakia mwili kama vile wamo boharini. Wakakaa kidogo na kujifanya kuuliza maswali wale waliokuwa katika eneo, huku wakitikisa vichwa vyao tu, kama kuonyesha kuwa wanajali sana majibu yaliyokuwa yakitolewa. Kisha hao wakatia gari moto na kuchomoka na maiti.

Mamake Khamisi baada ya kumtafuta kwa muda na kiza kikawa kinaingia bila ya mafanikio yeyote, hakujua afanye nini. Hakuweza kukubali matukio yaliyotokea siku ile, cha zaidi aliomba tu! Siku ingeanza upya, huku machozi yakimdondoka bila kilio chochote. Alikuwa amechoka sana lakini alijiburuta, akaingia jikoni na kujitengenezea kikombe cha chai, mdogo wake Khamisi alikuwa amelala asijue lilotokea. Aliporudi kukaa, alijiuliza Khamisi atakuwa ametokomea wapi. Na wakati ule ilimjia kuwa Khamisi alikimbia na panga mkononi, hivi atakuwa amemwaga damu zaidi huko alikokimbilia au na yeye kapata mbabe aliyemmalizia mbali. Akaanza kugeuka huku na huku, jasho likimtoka, alikumbuka kuwa Khamisi ndiye mwana aliyemtegemea wakumshusha mzigo wa kumlea mdogo wake. Lakini kwa jinsi mambo yalivyotokea, na picha iliyobaki ni aidha Khamisi atauwawa na wanakijiji au aishilie jela milele kwa mauaji ya ami yake. Ndoto zote alizokuwa nazo juu ya mtoto wako zilianza kufifia moja baada ya nyingine. Katika hali ile ya kufikiria na kujilaumu kwa masaibu yake, afua ya Maulana ilimjia na usingizi ukamchukua na kulala chali kama kitoto licha ya masaibu yote.

Mamake Khamisi alipofungua mlango alimwona Bi Sofia amesimama huku amefungata mdomo wake kwa kiganja chake. Maneno yakimtoka kwa kigugumizi “ Ah! Ahhh!, mwenzangu, Innalilahi… waina ilayhi rajiun, sote ni wa Mungu tunaelekea huko huko” alisema kwa masikitiko Bi Sofia. Lakini mamake Khamisi alikuwa kachanganyikiwa, kwa  kweli hakujua anamuongelea nani haswa. “ Hivi bibiye nikuulize, nani katuacha haswa?” aliuliza mamake Khamisi. “Hivi huna habari kabisa mwenzangu, mwanao Khamisi amepatikana pwani huko na wavuvi walioingia alfajiri ya kwanza, kajinyonga kwenye mti ufukweni” Bi Sofia akasema. Hata kabla ya kumaliza maneno yake, mamake Khamisi aliishiwa na nguvu, miguu yake ilishindwa kumueka tisti na akadondoka hadi sakafuni.

Fahamu zilimrudia mamake Khamisi na alikuwa tayari anafarijiwa na wenzake. Uani, majamvi yalikuwa teyari yametandikwa, ile hali ya ‘umatanga’ ilikuwa imeshafika katika nyumba ya mamake Khamisi. Watu walikuwa nao wanamiminika pole pole. Kuna wale waliokuja kutoa pole na kuenda zao na wale walioeka kambi mpaka shughuli nzima itakapomalizika.

Kati ya waombolezaji wale, alitokeo mvuvi mmoja na kumkabidhi Bi Sofia karatasi na kumpa maagizo ampe mamake Khamisi. Karatasi ile ilikuwa ni waraka uliokuwa umeandikwa na Khamisi kabla ya mauti yake, bila kusita mamake Khamisi alifungua na kusoma barua ile ya dhiki japokuwa alikuwa na hamu nayo…” Utakapo soma barua hii mamangu mpendwa itakuwa tayari nimekufa, na la zaidi ungetamani niwe hai ili upate majibu kwa yale niliyoyafanya. Lakini sijutii lolote kwa walimwengu, ila ninahofia Mola wangu atanipokea vipi?. Kukujibu na kukuondeshea makiwa nilifanya hayo yote ili mamangu mzazi uweze kurithi kile alichoacha babangu mzazi, Nishamuondoa nduli aliyezuia haya yote. Nataraji utapata nafasi katika moyo wako na kunisamehe na kama hamna nafasi hiyo, tafadhali niombe kwa Maulana ninapoanza hii safari yangu ya ‘mbinguni’…..

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Coast & Culture

SAFARI YA MBINGUNI (sehemu ya 5)

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Mwandishi: Mtoto Wa Katama

Fujo ziliendelea mle ndani, kweli mapambano yalikuwa yamechacha vyombo vilisikika vikianguka. Watu nao nje hamu na hamumu ziliwazidi kila mayoye yalipozidi. Waliamua wasingeweza kukosa uhondo wote huo, maana milango na madirisha yalikuwa yamefungwa yote na hawakupata kuona lolote. Jagina moja likatokea ili ‘kutafuta suluhu’ na kusukuma watu nyuma, akaanza kuonesha madoido kwa kukaza misuli yake ya mikononi. Watu walimshangilia na kumtia mori, akajawa na ushujaa akaja mbio kwa fujo, na kupita na mlango wa nje kwa bega lake. Naye kweli alikuwa na nguvuze, ule mlango kuuvunja kwa kishindo kimoja ni jambo la kupewa kongole kwa kazi nzuri aliyoifanya. Naye ‘ushujaa’ ule ulikuja na gharama alianguka kwa kishindo ukumbini na kujipiga na meza. Maskini ya Mungu! Alilia kama kitoto kidogo, bega lilikuwa khalas! tayari lilikuwa limevunjika.

Watu wakaanza kumiminika kuingia mle ndani, hata hawakudiriki kumpa usaidizi wa kwanza ‘shujaa’ wao aliyewavunjia mlango. Walimuacha akigaragara chini na kumruka bila hata ya kumjali na lolote. Punde si punde kila mtu alionekana akikimbilia kutoka nje. Mlango ukageuka ‘mdogo’ watu waliparamiana na kusukumana ili wapate nafasi ya kuregea walipotokea. Vilio viliskika tu sana kwa wingi,na wale waliokuwa nje walishindwa kwa nini wenzi wao wanaregea tena kwa kishindo. “Anakuja tayari kashamaliza huko ndani!”

Kila mtu roho mkononi, kwa mda wa sekunde chache kimya kilitalawa sehemu yote, kama vile wakati ulikuwa umesimamishwa na hakuna kilichosonga. Mara ghafla! Bwanamkubwa Khamisi alichopoka na panga likiwa mkononi, nguo zake zilikuwa zimelowa damu ajabu. Lo! Lile panga lilivyokuwa likitiririka ngeu…..Mmmmhh! kweli asiyekuwa na macho haambiwi tazama. Kwani kuna la zaidi l kuambiwa! Kila mtu tayari alipata picha kamili ya tukio lilojiri. Na kilichobaki  ilikuwa mguu niponye, waliokuwa mbele ya tukio walianza kutawanyika na kusambaratika wakielekea kila upande. Walimpa Khamisi njia, utadhani rais keshaingia mjini, hakuna aliyedhubutu kujifanya shujaa….ili iweje? Kwa kasi ile aliyokuwa akikimbia nayo Khamisi, hakuna ambaye angeweza kumkamata au kudhubutu kumzuia.

Khamisi alitokomea baada ya kupiga vichochoro kadha na kuacha vilio nyuma! Mwili wa ami yake Khamisi alikuwa amelala kifudifudi katika ‘kidimbwi’ cha damu, mwili wake alikuwa amechanjwa chanjwa kwa panga. Teyari mtu keshaenda jongomeo, mwenye roho nyepesi asingeweza kumudu kuangalia mwili ule. Unyama ulioje ule, kila aliyetoka mle ndani alikuwa ameshika kichwa na kuonyesha hali ya kutamaushwa na tukio lile. Mamake Khamisi aligaragara chinina kupiga mayowe, alitoa leso yake na kuanza kuichanachana kwa uchungu. Jirani zake walijaribu kumuauni, lakini wapi waliambulia patupu. Hakuamini katu kisa alichokifanya mwanawe…”Laana gani umeniachia babake Khamisi? Mbona mimi tu” aliomboleza mamake Khamisi kwa fujo, huku machozi yakimdondoka kwa wingi. “ Mama utakufuru Mungu sasa! Ebu! Jitande kwanza na umuogope Mungu” mmoja wa jirani zake alijaribu kumsemesha apunguze maombolezo yake asije akavuka mipaka. Kwa kweli ya Mungu ni mengi, hakuna yeyote aliyedhania matukio kama haya yangetokea, siku ilianza kwa uzuri na utulivu, na jinsi ilivyopinduka kwa ghafla! Kwa muda wote ule watu wakiponda jinsi ya kufanya, kila mtu alijiuliza “ Je Khamisi yuko wapi?……………..

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SAFARI YA MBINGUNI (SEHEMU YA 4)

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Mwandishi: Mtoto wa Katama

 

“Kesha pagawa! Wallahi ameshakuwa chizi, lakini ole wake akili zikimarudia atatulipa biashara zetu sote” nyuma sauti ziliskika zikilaani kwa hasira. Lakini Khamisi hakuwa na shida nao, ni umbea wao tu uliowachongea, yaani hivi ukiona mtu akija mbio na panga na nyinyi eti mnaamua kukimbia….eti ehh?  Swali hilo. Yaani mnakurupuka tu ovyoo! Na kujijeruhi na kusababisha hasara biashara zenu…kwani hamjawahi kuona wamasaai wakizunguka na sime zao viunoni? Na wala hamjawahi kukimbia, bivi leo mnamuonea ajabu Khamisi. Khamisi naye yeye alikuwa anakimbizwa na ajenda zake, mbio zote hizo alikuwa akielekea kwa ami zake.

 

“Mamake Zeituni hivi umemuona Khamisi!” mamake Khamisi aliuliza kwa mshangao, baada kuona mlango wa chumbani mwake uko wazi na sio jambo la kawaida. “Huyo fedhuli wako bangi zimemparamia! naskia anafukuza watu na mapanga huko nje” akajibu kwa jeuri, “uliskia watu wanazaa na wewe ukazaa! Utakoma this time!” Akazidi kuleta kejeli na kumsazaa mwenziwe “subiri kuitiwa mzoga, maana waja hawatambakisha”.

 

Maneno hayo yalizidi kumkang’anya na kumtia wasiwasi mamake Khamisi hata mwili ukamuisha nguvu na kushindwa kujibu, ila alisimama na kutafakari maneno yale, “hivi kweli anamuongelelea Khamisi ama naye keshapigwa puza”. Maana alimjua mwanawe Khamisi kijana mpole sana hivi leo alfu ulela za kuzunguka na mapanga wapi na wapi na Khamisi. Moja jumlisha moja haikuleta mbili kwake kabisa, aliingia chumbani na kuangalia taswira mle ndani, kile kimya kilichokuwa mle ndani kilikinzana na fikra zake, maana akili yake ilikuwa fikra za ghasi tu. Mboni zake ‘zikaangukia’ kwenye albamu lile, kurasa iliyokuwa wazi ni ya marehemu mumewe. Akasogea na kulichukua albamu lile, akatazama kwa uzuri na makini ile picha utadhani anajaribu kuleta kumbukumbu za kumfahamu aliyekuwa katika picha ile. Wajihi ulikuwa umebadilika teyari! Kiwingu cha majonzi kikampa kivuli, akajifikicha macho na kanga yake aliyokuwa amejitanda mabegani. Akavuta pumzi polepole ya kutuliza kichwa na akafunga albamu lile chap! chap! na kufungua kabati na kutoa kanga nyengine ya kujitanda kichwani, kanda mbili mguuni, akavuta mlango na kutia komeo. Fyuuuup! Na kutoka haraka, kutokomea.

 

Umati ulianza kufurika kwa haraka! Kila mtu aling’ang’ania kupata sehemu nzuri ya kusimama ili kujionea matokeo ya bure. Kweli limbukeni hana siri! kama ibada zingekuwa zinajazwa kwa mtindo huu! wala Mola asingetuletea maafa yeyote na riziki zingekuwa kwa wingi. Wenyewe wanasema uswahilini hakuna dogo, madogo hufanyika uzunguni. Kila anayefika pale alitaka kujua kilichokuwa kinajiri, ila majibu sasa yalitegemea na pahali ulipokuwa umesimamia. Habari zilizotoka kwa ‘wapambe’ waliokuwa mbele ya tukio hazikushahabiana na zile zilizokuwa zikipeperushwa kwa wale waliokuwa nyuma. Kila zilipowafikia waliokuwa nyuma zilikuwa tata zaidi kila mmoja ‘aliongeza chumvi’ kwa kiasi alichokipenda yeye. “Eti naskia kuna jini limeingia mle ndani” mmoja aliropokwa, mwengine akamkata juu kwa juu “sio jini babu ehh! ni joka kubwa limo humo ndani”. Sasa hio ndio ilikuwa hali halisi ya uswahilini, wanahabari wengi walishafutwa kazi kwa kuchukua habari za wanakijiji bila kuzihakikisha mchipuko wake. Mara kidogo kamsa zilisikika “usiniuwe mi toka nikutoke wa mzee wako, mbona watafuta laana mtoto wewe!”. “Kwani nitaanza kuzipata mimi, we bora nikupeleke jongomeo”. Umati ukazidi kupigwa na butwaa! Maana zile habari za awali za majini na nyoka hazikuonekana kuwa na ukweli wowote kutokana na magombano waliyoyaskia.

Fujo ziliendelea mle ndani, kweli mapambano yalikuwa yamechacha  vyombo vilisikika vikianguka. Watu nao nje hamu na hamumu ziliwazidi kila mayoye yalipozidi. Waliamua wasingeweza kukosa uhondo wote huo, maana milango na madirisha yalikuwa yamefungwa yote na hawakupata kuona lolote. Jagina moja likatokea ili ‘kutafuta suluhu’ na kusukuma watu nyuma, akaanza kuonesha madoido kwa kukaza misuli yake ya mikononi. Watu walimshangilia na kumtia mori, akajawa na ushujaa akaja mbio kwa fujo, na kupita na mlango wa nje kwa bega lake. Naye kweli alikuwa na nguvuze, ule mlango kuuvunja kwa kishindo kimoja ni jambo la kupewa kongole kwa kazi nzuri aliyoifanya.  Naye ‘ushujaa’ ule ulikuja na gharama alianguka kwa kishindo ukumbini na kujipiga na meza. Maskini ya Mungu! Alilia kama kitoto kidogo, bega lilikuwa khalas! tayari lilikuwa limevunjika. Watu wakaanza kumiminika kuingia mle ndani, hata hawakudiriki kumpa usaidizi wa kwanza ‘shujaa’ wao aliyewavunjia mlango. Walimuacha akigaragara chini na kumruka bila hata ya kumjali na lolote. Punde si punde kila mtu alionekana akikimbilia kutoka nje. Mlango ukageuka ‘mdogo’ watu waliparamiana na kusukumana ili wapate nafasi ya kuregea walipotokea. Vilio viliskika tu sana kwa wingi,na wale waliokuwa nje walishindwa kwa nini wenzi wao wanaregea tena kwa kishindo. “Anakuja tayari kashamaliza huko ndani”………………….

 

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SAFARI YA MBINGUNI (sehemu ya 3)

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Mwandishi: Mtoto Wa Katama

Mara Khamisi alitulia kwa ghafla baada ya kufungua kurasa nyengine ya albamu lile, akasita kwa muda, macho yakawa mazito na machozi kuanza kumlengalenga. Akawa baridi na ukiwa ukamtawala kwa ghafla, akajiona mnyonge ajaabu na kufunga albamu na baadaye kulifungua tena. Picha iliyofuatia ilikuwa ni ya marehemu babake. Ni miaka kumi imepita tangu kumpoteza babake katika ajali ya barabarani iliyonaswa na vyombo vya habari karibia vyote. Taarifa za kifo cha babake zilimpa mshtuko zaidi nina yake aliyekuwa mtegemezi zaidi, hakujua angeanzia. Baba Khamisi ndiye alikuwa anatarazaki pekee yake. Tena Baba Khamisi shughli zake zilikuwa nadhif kabisa, alisifika kwa kufanya adala baina ya watu na zaidi kwenye shughuli zake za kila siku. Lakini kinaya kilikuwa ni madhila na unyanyasaji mamake Khamisi aliyopitia kutokana na nduguze mumewe. Haya yote Khamisi aliyaelewa kabisaa na alikuwa ameweka nadhiri kitambo ya kupanga kisasi.

Njia mbili za machozi zilibubujika kama mtoto mdogo, kile ambacho hakuelewa zaidi ni watu alowaita ami zake kuwageuka bila hata huruma na kuwaonyesha unyama wa aina ya mwisho, akajiuliza hivi kweli damu ina uzito wowote? Anaikumbuka vizuri ile siku aliposhuka eda mamake kulikuwa na timbwili la aina yake. Ami zake walikuja na kupiga wanawake kisaramgambo waliokuja kumfariji mamake Khamisi,  walijaza nyumba ya kina Khamisi na umati ili kushuhudia tafarani waliyoileta ya kugombea hati miliki za ardhi za marehemu babake. Mama kwa unyonge akaona yote ya nini haya alijionea aepukane na balaa zote na kuwaachia waondoke na stakabadhi hizo muhimu karatasi. Zegere lote hilo likitokea ndio mwanzo kuanza kubaleghe na angejiletea ‘laana’ tu! Bure kwa kuingililia mgogoro ule wa watu wazima, lake likawa ni jicho. Albamu lile lilizidi  kumkumbusha mavi ya kale, kweli hayaachi kunuka! Fikra mpya zikamjia “mimi nishakuwa rijali sasa, na nina haki ya kurithi alichoacha marehemu babangu” alijinong’oneza.

Ari ya kulipiza kisasi ikazidi kumtawala, machozi nayo yakazidi kumdondoka, roho nayo ikafungama na kujisokota na machungu ya miaka yote ile. Mwili nao ukawa unatetema na kusisimka, utasema kapigiwa ngoma za kula nyama mfu za wachawi kilingeni. Akaanza kuguna na kunguruma kama simba, sasa mwili ulizidi kutetemeka utasema zezeta yaani kiufupi mwili mzima ulikuwa chini ya ‘milki’ mpya, mara ghafla akaanza kupiga nduru “ Uwiiii Leo nauwa babu, natamani harufu ya damu sana” akapayuka payuka huku mate yakimdondoka. Yallahu yalamu, mizimu ya kwao ilikuwa ishaenuka, nani atakayemrudisha chini? Wenyewe husema yakwao yakienuka hata kwa lifti hayashuki. Aliinama na kuchochomeza mkono katika mojawapo ya tendegu la kitanda, baada ya kupapasa alichomoa sime Enhe! Kwa kweli kilikuwa kimeumana aisee! Pyuu! Aliponyoka tu utadhani panya aliyejinasua katika mtego baada ya mrefu wa kukata tamaa na maisha , hata mlango aliuacha wazi ng’waa wote alisahau mle ndani kulikuwa na ‘uhai’ wao wote, japo vitu vilivyokuwa ndani havikuwa na thamani sana lakini ndivyo vilivyowatunza na urathi waliobaki nao pekee. Haswa haswa dhahabu za mamake mara nyingi alishayeyusha vipande kwa sonara ili kukidhi mahitaji ya nyumbani. Mara nyingi aliepuka mialiko ya harusi za uswahilini kwa kukosa herini na bangili, aliogopa kuwa ‘topiki’ ya mtaani, sababu ya kuyeyusha vito vyake ni, wakati mwengine huja kipindi ikawa hana chochote kabsaa sasa na inambidi akate pua ili aunge wajihi. Wajihi ambao ni akina Khamisi na ndunguze, wajihi ambao Khamisi alikuwa anaenda kuuharibu licha ya matatizo aliyopitia mamake mzazi.

“ Uwiiii! Jamani huyo chungeni ana silaha. Atamwaga damu” kamsa zilisikika kutoka kila sehemu, kila mtu alikimbia njia yake kuokoa roho yake,barabara ikaleta taswira ya Rwanda watutsi wakiwakimbia wahutu, wazungu wenyewe wangesema ‘running for your dear life’. Wale waliokuwa barabarani wakiuza bidhaa zao waliziacha na kutokomea wasijulikane wanakokimbilia ililkuwa ni tafarani moja kwa mbili, wengine walijikung’waa na kuanguka, mmoja alijipata akiogelea katika sufuria la uji wa ngano moto, Lo! Alishaharibia watu kiburudisho chao cha muda wa baada ya alasiri bora hata angeangukia kwengine na kujifia. Hivi watu wote wakapati wapi sharubati ya kushukishia viazi vya karai. Ila mchezo kando yale matukio yaliyokuwa yakiendelea pale yalikuwa ni ya mguu niponye, utasema kila mtu anakimbilia hukumu yake ya siku ya kiyama baada ya parapanda kupigwa na malaika Israfil . Mara Khamisi akapita mbio katika barabara ile na kushika uchochoro mwengine, jambo hilo lilimtia wasiwasi zaidi huyo aliyemtangulia katika kichochoro hiko, kosa lake kubwa kuaachana na wenzake na kuamua kukimbia peke yake na wenziwe kuchukua njia nyengine. Sasa hapo ndio muda wa kujilaani na kujijutua kuachana na wenzio maana waswahili husema kifo cha wengi ni harusi, hivi yahkhe leo anajiona akitolewa roho pekee yake. “Kesha pagawa! Wallahi ameshakuwa chizi, lakini ole wake akili zikimarudia atatulipa biashara zetu sote” nyuma sauti ziliskika zikilaani kwa hasira. Lakini Khamisi hakuwa na shida nao, ni umbea wao tu uliowachongea, yaani hivi ukiona mtu akija mbio na panga na nyinyi eti mnaamua kukimbia….eti ehh?  Swali hilo. Yaani mnakurupuka tu ovyoo! Na kujijeruhi na kusababisha hasara biashara zenu…kwani hamjawahi kuona wamasaai wakizunguka na sime zao viunoni? Na wala hamjawahi kukimbia, hivi leo mnamuonea ajabu Khamisi. Khamisi naye yeye alikuwa anakimbizwa na ajenda zake, mbio zote hizo alikuwa akieleke akwa ami zake…………………

 

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