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Complaints of a complainant

I know some time I will die and I will leave a few people behind maybe many. I do not know what life or God has in store for me but I am scared.

Once upon a time, I thought I was going to be happy and my life was going to go as I planned but now I know that our lives are fashioned in a different way.

I hate that idea but I will have to live with it. I am hungry, no food in the fridge and nothing in the cabinet; my brother was being an ass and decided to take all the money and leave me with nothing - I will just be hungry. Did he do it intentionally? I don't know. Actually these days I know nothing, I am just existing.

My mom is going to be discharged soon and I don't know what to do next. She resigned and I thought by this time I would have been supporting her and that she wouldn't have to stress about anything.

I am lost, really lost. I don't know whether to feel angry or scared. The deadline for BYU and other university is in two weeks time. I haven't gotten my matric certificate, no money to apply and my mission forms are just there on top of a few stuff, in a file and probably getting dust.

I always wanted my life to be a good life, like the one people would be jealous of and they will give you compliments and you would giggle with grace because you are rich, superficial and empty.

I haven't given up on faith nor God because I know something will work out. At times I feel like a fool, a naïve in fact, always seeing the good in every situation. Honestly, I just can't get angry forever, it lasts for a few hours then its gone. Am I human? Is this normal?

Honestly, I think I am being oblivion but deep inside I am at peace even though I am stuck deep inside so form of mud - my mind is at a state of absolute tranquil. My breathe smells and I reek but I am not bothered by that, the house is dirty and my mom gave me a few errands to do for her but I just don't feel like doing anything.

I think I am a brilliant write, maybe I should invest my time on writing some sort of novel maybe that would give my life some sense of meaning.

I feel like talking to someone but I judge that it would be a waste of my time and emotions. Anyone who says it's going to be alright I swear I will punch them with my fists or something. Of course it will be fine, duh I know. I just wished it would be fine now and not tomorrow, in week, a month's time or moreover a year.

Dammit, my stomach is so flat, in fact it looks like a pothole because there is nothing the hydrogen chloride will eat up, there is nothing in my stomach nor colon and I feel like laughing.

I have three months left in South Africa and I want to do something meaningful. Give someone something just to make their life better and eat all the foods I want, go to Cape Town because I can or maybe spend the month of December in Europe with my family. And yes driving my Mini Cooper Paceman - Goodness, dreaming feels so good even though I want to vomit and die for an hour.

Why though? Why? I am not a bad person, I wish nothing bad for anyone seriously anyone. I just want to help and that's not helping. I want to throw this phone and break it because the network just went away 'Battery to low for radio use'. Seriously? I charged this phone a few moments ago, now I not going to watch Bones and definitely not in the best terms with my scripture study.

I hate complaining but today I think I am entitled to throw around a few tantrums, don't you think? I mean really, my life is at ground zero and yes I want to feed the missionaries but there is nothing I can offer because Anele left with the money. My two wisdom teeth are broken and I don't have three grand to pay that dentist. What's the point of having medical insurance whilst it can pay for certain procedures.

Those guys are going to hate me - hahahaha! I am joking they won't they will understand after all they are missionaries. I feel so good after writing this but still I have nothing to do.

Sleeping won't work, I am kind of annoyed at that hobby it wastes time that I most certainly have. What do you call this state in life? I will call it, acting in faith even though your mind believes nothing will work out. I trust God and I will let him direct my ship.

I am this person and I will be content about it for a while. This tooth hurts, its giving my life problems I can't afford, eish! Sigh!

With love,

Me.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone.

He Knows!

If this doesn't make you cry, nothing will.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone.

The Inauguration of Confusion.

I feel nothing at all, nothing. No pain, no sadness, no disappointment nor happiness.

Its like I have switched off my humanity, completely dead or decaying but without visibility. I wonder, am I going to be like this? Is this what the future holds?

Awed.

Is this the life the great one has planned? My mind is like a feather ripped away from a wing, slowly dying out, drifting in all direction with no destination.

Bewildered.

Looking at the mirror, all I see is me, just me - no change, no dent, same everything. Just me. Trying so hard to figure out where does this empty vessel come from.

Panic.

I move to my bed, cover myself in blankets but sleep is no where to be found. I tried crying but all of the tears are gone, dried up somewhere on my pillow. Nothing is left. No smile, no twitch just me, inside myself but not knowing this person.

Stupor.

Screaming was far-fetched, I just have no voice. My vocal cord feels sewn to my stomach, all the sound goes to my lower abdomen.

Doubt.

She then enters, "how did it go?". Confused, I tilt my head, opened the gate and moved away. I answered but I had no control of what I was saying.

Sceptical.

She spoke again, I see her mouth moving but I hear no words. I can't read her lips. 'Can't you see, this is not me', I thought. My mind was boiling with calculations of what is going on. Is this psyche. Am I dying?

Blackened my heart feels, no shades of happiness - just devoid.

Destitute.

She continued though nothing was wrong, honestly, its me, I am fine but I am not. Do you get it?

Am I dead? I know you can see me but can you see me?

Barren.

Is it me? Don't you recognise me, am I there? My word, I feel nothing, I am nothing.

Jolt.

This has to be a movie, a picture from a musuem or a storyline deleted from the final ending. Just me, inside but completely not myself.

No sound within, no emotion just utter immunity.

Let me watch this motivational video, so I did but no response from me, its like it deja vu. Like those teddy bears you hug, something is said then defunct it goes.

My pulps are fine, my hands feel okay. I am not numb, I am fully animate but exanimate. Do you understand what I am saying? Does this make sense?

Reverent.

'Your skinny all of a sudden?', she said. Am I? She is talking but nothing registers, her feisty self is roaring and I am just lost somewhere in myself. I am not depressed nor anxious just simply sterile.

Marvelled. Void. Beguiled. Uncertain. Time is going and I am still in the same place. Its like walking down a long, dark corridor never knowing when the light will go on.

Desolate.

Sometimes it just suddenly hits me like slanted rain, hard, cold and painful. This overwhelming feeling engulfs me into utter darkness, hapless I feel and it just goes on and on.

Its like I am in a cage, where I am both the prisoner and the heartless jailer. I think it hurts but... Its okay, I am used to it.

Can you see it? The dead weight on my body, the dizziness from nothingness, the soft tears throbbing your cheeks as struggled tears pumped out of your Lacrimal Gland?

That's it.

That is the beauty of dying, sweet, calm, unwarranted and not complicated.

Wait. Because maybe you could be the one who saves me.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone.

I will edit.

I am really sorry for not editing, I promise to not do it again. Excitement got the best of me. Sorry
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone.

The One Who Gone Soul Surgery (Chapter 4): Good things never last.

The cock crow twice, the sun yawned and its rays shot in the like arms of one who had just woken up. The breeze brushed off the night's warmth and hugged my ears.

I remembered walking outside taking my morning walks - barefoot - to the debris and undressed barren street, the scent of sun-roasted sycamore dressed the air by that testament I knew today was going to be a good day.

The frost covered vibrant leaves crackled under my feet as if Papa was tickling me. The scenery rich crisp copper gently falling of the tree like spiders coming down their web. Up I look the trees overlap each other, the clouds breaking off, exposing the richness of life with light.

Papa came outside for his regular smoke. He grabs a bunch of swamp-reeking tobacco leaves, patted his breast pocket and took out mint leaves to aid the smell.

'Hey cabbage... out already?', he said pushing the crushed leaves in his pipe.
'Why wouldn't I be? Today I go to school. Last time I checked you told Mama you weren't talking any puffs'

'Well, today I need it'.

He lit his leaves and the wind blew the sparks of fire accompanied by the leaves out of the pipe, almost burning his beard. 'Serves you right', I laughingly said moving into the house.
Inside the house, a pot of cinnamon tea brewing in the whistling pot, I warmed my hands up by the fireplace embracing the patting fire.

Unathi and I prepared, we wore our short pants to expose our attractive slim legs while the boys all wore long pants. The school bell rang vehemently, the rowdy crowd assembled in lines. A few announcements were made and the day began.

Unathi parted to her class and I was all alone caught in the middle of boys' territory. The stares most certainly alerted me that they knew I was different, the vicious anxiety kicked in, the excitement invested vanquished.

The atmosphere of the classroom was calm and quite, I made my way to the front sat by the window, I saw the tree I used to climb and all fears went away. The lady teacher entered the class and greeted everyone, the smile she wore made the impression that she was good-hearted.

'Hello, Teska. Hope you have adjusted', she said giggling, 'Don't worry these boys won't know your secret, you and your sister are brave, thank you for that.'

She patted my back and smiled. The day ended and my gender was unannounced.

                          ***

I dreamt again but this time something different, this one in particular was confusing, without clarity just bleak images shot in one thought.

Now I see them in my dream, the strangers kissing me and pushing my head in a swamp with bloody hands.

Its a beautiful dream at first, it just had rained, Unathi and I playing on mud; throwing mud balls to the bee hive on our fig tree in our back yard. Laughing, we threw a bigger ball, the hive shoke but still nothing came out.

We ran to see if there was anything inside. All we heard were buzzing sound produced by the worker bee reminding the others it was not safe out there and they should do what it takes to protect their home.

We moved back to take hold of our vintage point behind the mustard tree next to the reed infested swamp. We worked out a plan on how we can scare the bees and take hold of their honey. We reminded each other that Khertya cookies are only pleasant when honey is in place.

We drew up our secret combination and identified all stones that could create a hive quake.

I led with the first strike but to my greatest ambition I miss the hive by an angle. Unathi tries and she triumphantly fails.      

'My turn now', announces Sayji, Unathi's classmate. We turned around to see his face. Slowly he came out, retrieving mud from the ground.

He threw the ball and hit the hive. It violently span and suddenly the twig it hung on broke and the habitat accelerated to the boulder next to the tree. Aware what was going to happen, we looked at each other and bewildered with excitement and fear.

The hive hits the large rock with a fearful sound as if the tree itself had fallen and snapped in half. The hive cracked into pieces and the residents of it were ready to act.

The buzzing bees came out as arrows ready to injury, some passed as bullets from a pistol.

We went our separate ways, I ran for life without knowledge where the others had went. I continued suddenly it became dark and I was in Hjahski Hajst Hurk - The Forbidden Forest. I knew that I was in trouble - I was all alone.

I ran back but came back at the same spot. In an instant a car roared behind me and I froze.

'I am in danger', I thought. I ran.
 
I am being chased by car in a forest, tall trees everywhere, I run without direction but that didn't matter.

The headlights exposing the nakedness and full anatomy of the lifeless forest. I finally had found refuge behind an oak tree and wolf howls playing somewhere towards the east.

Up ahead there was a cave. Creeping along slowly, I moved toward it. There was silence. I cleared my eyes still couldn't see anything. The darkness surrounded me, wrapping in its chill embrace like a hug from a dead person. I ran deeper. Suddenly I heard a faint sound.

Keep walking. I swiftly felt the sound in my whole body, it’s deep tone raising goosebumps on your skin, tingling as it vibrates down my spine. It is the heartbeat of fear. By way of touch I found a pile of leaves. I lay on the center hiding from the light exhibited by the vehicle. The cold leaves covered me from head to toe, and I dunked my head down, recounting ancients warriors of Hetah emigrating from my current state.

A dark figure lingering in the distance. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer. I opened them, two feet stood in front of me, white eyes looking down on me and cold fog seeped under its boots. Its scalding hands grabbed me without care and its all dark - blurred visions and I pass out.


I opened my eyes there was a small yet deep pond close by. Sighing in relief, he walked up to the edge. I realised I was tied. Gazing into the water, I saw sinuous forms gliding through the cerulean liquid.

A gigantic splash of water moved away and I was the cause. 'I am in water, I drowning'. I felt my lungs filling with water I tried to scream but my voice was hardened, bouncing in my vocal cord like a wrecking ball but not coming out.

It hurt. Looking down, I saw a small school of fish, gently nibbling my feet. There was a swoop of wings and a small splash. Above, I looked over to see two swans drifting over the water’s surface and there he was watching me. I closed my eyes and the men laugh as they quack their way across the pond.

I opened my mouth, trying to rip the ropes, I struggled again and again.

I cannot breathe. I am out of breath, I need to breath. I untied myself and move up to gain air. Smothering hands touching my face, dragging me deep inside the deep pool. My heart races and cannot take this moment any longer.

I tried to move but my body wass weakened and hurt. My head consistently pushed as I tried to expose it for air but dipped immediately as it peaked.

I felt air moving out completely out of my system. My lungs ready to explode and my chest preparing for a crack. My heart felt compressed and my head filled to its brim. My body was light and effortlessly moved to the top of the water with the moon starring right back at me. Deeper I went under, cold the water felt.

The tangy, sweet taste of the bug it fills your mouth and I immediately spat.

A net yanked me out of the water. My vision blurred but I saw a huge stone being picked up and ready to strike my head. It is dusk now. The sharp wind blowing through the trees is cool against my skin. As the weapon was about to hit my head, I saw light.

I woke up screaming and the house was ablaze with the din of my hoarse bellow. Quietly my family attended to my cries and looked deep into my glassy eyes and they stabbed me with a sedative.

The night went to bed, the crickets and nightingale had a celebration; the sun welcomed by their choirs. It was a premonition and it was about to be manifested.      

Do you know him?

Do you get those things in life that hit you at the spot that you so longed for? That one thing in life that makes you say "I just don't care about anything else but this thing".

Do you ever get that moment? That love wave that has been making you smile all day and make you revisit good memoirs?

That instant sensation that makes life that roll-coaster ride that you always re-take because you just can get enough?

That tune that makes you sway your head in beautiful meandering motions and makes you spontaneously lift up your hands and have a thirty seconds dance party?

That feel when you get when you look at yourself in the mirror and say I am beautiful even though you have those hideous blemishes.

Do you feel that love that only comes when you need it most?

Are you happy? Are you in that happy state that wearing a frown is nothing but disgusting and totally YESTERDAY?

Are you so happy that you question every wrong thing in your life and aspire to do good? If your life was to be played in a movie screen would it be a movie that you would love to watch and be challenged to sought for greatness?

Is your life what you always wanted? Are you content and feeling those butterflies moon-walking in your stomach because this is the prime of your life?

Again are you truly happy? Do you love yourself? Are humbled by your deeds?

Well, I have something that will make you dance forever in your life. I have something that will make you smile from ear to ear because you know this magical.

 I know of a person who loved me so much that he laid his own life so that I too may be happy and have endless opportunities.

I know of a person, who bleed from every pore so that my sins and yours, regardless how scarlet they maybe but through him maybe turned white as snow.

I know of a man, who just advocates for me to our creator. I know of a man who knows me so intently that picks me up when I fall, that walks with me when all is well and wrecked. I know of a brother, who feeds me when my soul is wounded and starved.

I know of a friend who dances to my joys, achievements and the good that I do. I know of a person, who laughs with me when everyone thinks I am strange because I don't drink or think wickedness was ever happiness.

I know of a man who never mocks or judges me for being me. I know of a person who respects my decision and does not force me to do things that are not for me.

I know of a person who knows of my mission that has a vision for me and do anything for my remission and will grant me admission to his heart.

I know of a being who like my life status, tags me in words, retweets my blessings and shares his love for me.

I know of a Redeemer, who shall be proud of me when I have dedicated my life unto trusting him and know I will see him, touch him, feel the holes in his hands and hug him like I never hugged a person.

"I know that my redeemer liveth and doesn't slumber", I too like Job can say this. I too, like Abraham and Moses will speak to him.

I invite you all to come unto him. That man is Jesus Christ, do you KNOW him?

The One Who Gone Soul Surgery (Chapter 3): A Call From The Past.

She stood there, looking through her bug-eyed glasses with her self-assured posture. Her excessive skin bulged via her suffocating blouse, she adjusted her uncomfortable state and wrote on her note pad.

Her excessive make-up clearly stated that she was single and ready to catch a fish. Her pout exposed her rosemary cheeks and her green-blue eyes produced echoes of nature - water and forest and denoted new beginnings and growth in her life. Her eyes were peaceful as a breeze drifting downwards the red sea, she had beauty in her.

Her chartreuse perfume sang through the room creating a resonant note when she moved. Her soft skin made it pleasant to look at her and her glare declared she knew what she was doing.

She leaned forward, ruminate then finally administer her thought. 'Tell me about your father', she asked in her honeyed voice.

The words came as a sword jagged right through my navel up to my throat. I gasped as if it were my last. My tears burst out down to my lips and finally all was relieved. All these years have I been aching for someone to ask those simple words.

'Papa, was a man lost in his thoughts. He was a happy man, he was my friend, the only person I would get lost in my dream around', I said.

I relived my moments with Papa. I pictured the boisterous memoirs we had, that sunshine smile that peaked in the most treacherous times but it made the yoke bearable because he wore special for his offspring and his kind gestures gave us goosebumps everytime we were with him.

His sincere love touched us as spring water crawling from the rocky mountain waterfall soothing the most driest parts in the valley.

I revisited that autumn morning. The leaves, breaking off their twigs ambling the air in their own given pace and crackling under times' feet as it walked into the darkened path of winter. Starting to change; vibrant colours of red, orange and yellow are slowly replacing the shade of life.

The last berries of summer glistening as the sun rays brush them like rubies on a tiara. The dusk moment visited my street, wind whistling through the grumpy olive trees caressing my skin as I was on Papa's shoulders.

We ran around in our long attires while Unathi had just went to the shops with Mama. We kicked the golden crisp leaves with our whole-filled socks, frost tingling underneath our toes like feathers from the duster.

'Listen to the owls as they preach to each other; hear the swishing of yew leaves and a small squeak as the owl finds its prey', he said with a brush of sound.

Huffing and puffing, we starred into the rich sky, leaping over a rushing stream, droplets of water splashing from the foliage hugging the presence of the weak sun.

Calls move in the air, we turned around to look. We did it again, finally found the source of the calling. It was two small Whistling Cockatiels, rubbing against each other in the wind. Gazing in wonder, we moved toward them. Papa tripped and brittle bark crumbled as tackles the tree.

I dwelt in my thoughts watching some boys loitering to Theya Preparatory School. My heart melted, they seemed happy, careless meandering to the gate yet happy. I envied them, my heart yearned to be like them but us 'girls' couldn't be educated.

I ran to the palm tree next to the school gate, I climbed and moved towards the classroom window. I stared as the lady dress in a white Kjeta - traditional dress - address the classe brimming with male students.

They scabrously took out their books and attentively heed to the lesson presented to them. The lady posed a question and the hands poised like blackwater tree growing towards sunlight for heat. The teacher abashed aimlessly selects a candidate to answer.

The boy pushes he chair out, stands and eagerly answers. He answered wrong but the show of hands. She gives scrawny looking lad at the back, apprehensive he answers quietly, the class laughs at him thinking he got it wrong. The teacher gently asks him to repeat his answer, he answers steadfast and he got it right this time. The lady walks to him and pulls out a Liquorice worm.

Jealous, the boys frown and I giggled - a loud giggle. The whole class attention was at me. Puzzled and trying to avoid the matter, I moved to my dismay I fell a glorious fall. The lady rushed to my attention, she dusted me off and smiled at my courage. She whispered 'Come back next time but quietly'.

This to me was entertainment, I wanted to be like them. Everyday, would be the same routine, dress up, writing utensils and off I climbed the tree and recorded all I learnt.

I recall my heart being not settled significantly in that hour and he asked.
'Teska, what bothers you', Papa asked with concern.

I looked at him and asked innocently yet firm.

'Papa, why can't girls go to school?', the question dropped from my mouth but this time I could not hold it back, determined to get an answer I stood there.

'Why ask that button? Are bored of playing soccer with me, I would understand after all I am a well-worn man.', he said wriggling away from my questioning.

It was clear the subject haunted him, he wanted a better live for his daughter, a future they could look up to not be ashamed of. Yes, we often read books but our minds were bothered by the emptiness. I mean why would God bestow us with minds? Why would he give us the only thing that could free us, yet our thoughts are compressed by the Katalibans rules and regulation unto which men should administer their wives.

Females could not witness anything, if they did see evil, heard evil they ought to carry on as hapless mute citizens. We had no voice, if we questioned the authority, hell broke lose and death was our prize. We saw it all the time, females beheaded in the village square in front of a crowd, the family would stand in front to witness it all. After take their dead wife-mother-sister-daughter', wash the body, pamper it meadow foxtail in a box, set it ablaze and dumped it in a river in a basket.

'I am tired of being a domesticated mushroom, waiting another day for the same old routine. I want to learn, Papa'
Silence rose from the roasting midday, the sizzling ground made a noise between the processed thoughts. He collected himself and smiled, that very moment I knew he had a plan. A plan were all parties were to be happy at sunset.

He stood up and said, 'Buttercup, don't you want to play dress up'.

Puzzled by the words he uttered. I thought to myself, what happened to Papa? Doesn't he know dress up is for common girls? Unathi and I were most certainly not common, we were tomboys - happiness was with us when we played football and Jamet - touch rugby.

I followed him with worry.

'Sit down today I have something for you', she said with excited.

He blinded folded me and instructed me not to peak and be patient because from today onwards all shall change.

Snap, snap and snap the scissor went somewhere on top of my head. Strands of hair falling on my shoulder, I feared for the worst. 'Hang in there sweetheart', he shouted.

He took the blinds off my eyes, there was I beautiful with short hair. He styled my hair - I had a bowl cut. I looked like a boy and we cracked ourselves together endlessly.

'Now you look like a boy, friday morning I will sign you up for school', he announced wildness 'What should we do with Unathi's hair? Would Chonmage do just fine?'

'Chonmage? What? She would go crazy', I answered with laughter behind my voice. 'Uh-huh, I know! How about an afro?'

'Bowl cut will be fine', Unathi entered the room, shocked what had happened to me.

We laughed helplessly, dusting off the dead hair on my shoulders.

The following day, we went to watch Kjeya, a national football tournament. We had saved most of our lunches from this great battle, football made sense to Unathi and I unlike dolls and dressing. We wore our Hamshire football jerseys and anyone dare ridicule our team we tackled them whole-heartedly.

The day was fairly pleasant, a beautiful autumn day, tree exposing their nakedness while the leaves curl up and die. Happiness was in the atmosphere, people singing old Guhgat hymns ready to witness gods play ball on the field. This was hope for them, a distraction from the coldness of society, the games were a gift to the tribe a peace offering to whatever we believed in.

Papa, was particularly excited about this glorious meeting, he danced the whole morning kissing mother's rose lips passionately like Romeo yet mother was no Juliet as she was stunned by this awe-striking moment.
Spontaneous, he made us breakfast, Hampanti j'hat urameta - oatmeal with dried peaches, berries and sunflower honey. 'This will kickstart you for the match ahead, my little peanuts', he said in animated voice.

'Hakek jahue jetej yetao huema Uman?', mother asked - Why the sudden excitement Uman.

'You don't know?', shocked Unathi closed her eyes.

'Its the Keyta football tournament, which whale swallowed you? Its the most biggest thing to happen here in Athlonela', I announce in my commentator gestures.

Mother was not engaged in football or new what it meant. She always said, its a bunch of men chasing a ball, kick it, then enters the net then all person, boy, girl, young and old goes insane. We always laughter at her confusion and teased her about being a common tribal wife, she would rage like a headless chicken. We had the best times as a family.

I felt my heart pounding in my chest, I looked around and I saw all the people walking towards the stadium, the fans of singing in the ticket lines, one side of the road the other fans on the other side of the road. All I heard were people chanting football songs for miles and miles away, even though both sets of fans are supporting a different team we still feel the same rush of excitment and adreneline, getting more intence the closer we get to the stadium

The gates were opened and they felt adrenaline pumping through there body getting deeper and deeper more intense every step they took, they sae how divided they are from the other fans they realise that even though they support different teams they understand what they are both going through, the complete rush and thrill of walking into the stadium not being able to here anything over the loud close, and distant voices of the the fans chanting songs.

The stadium was filled beyond its capacity. The Kataliban soldiers patrolled around the stools making sure all was correct.

The whistle went of and the crowd roared with passion. Hamshire, played for a win and this time they were not to back down. The excitement made the officials nervous as they knew the Kataliban would discipline the spectators.

Football can easily catch the unknowing eye of anybody. It is the greatest sport in the world because of the roaring of the mexican wave, my personal opinion, and the strategy of the game. Through rain or shine, day or night, hail or sleet it really doesn't matter what the weather is to the supporters. No matter what Mother Nature throws at us, we were all about to have fun.

We went to buy food as we waited for the kick-off. The tuck-shop offered unhealthy, fatty, and grilled food in its godly goodness. People tend to bring elephant size containers filled with multiple fat burgers, chips and all kinds of comfort food because this was a battle. The only thing on supports minds are football and singing.

Everyone sounded like eight year olds but that did not matter we were of one mind and one heart.

As soon as the anthems were over, the players shook each other's hands in promise of a fair game and took their positions for the game. With the sound of the whistle piercing through everyone's ear, the game started.

The ball was busy for the whole game. It rolled around all over the field, attracting the opposing players who tried to get the ball.

Both teams were very competitive in their plays and tried not to make any mistakes. They were very organized and kept their formation solid. However, mistakes were inevitable. Players lost their focus soon, putting their team into great dangers. Soon, goals were given up on each side of the pitch. Tensions grew more and more as time passed, reaching for the last minute.

As each minute passed by, the players became paranoid. The players, as well as the crowd, were desperate for another goal for their victory. To cheer their own players, crowds began shouting for their team louder than ever, as if there was a rock concert.

Gaining support from the crowd, the Hamshire players tried harder, but they were unable to get the ball pass the opponent's goal line as if there was an invisible wall.

The opposition, Maramat score three points and we had nothing.

'Hjah yair gatahr ahaha nahayi hagdha uiatya', my father screamt to the defender - Wake up man or we will lose.

Soon, the given time and the extra minutes were over.  Everything was up to penalty shootout to decide who was going to be the winner to win the ticket to the final.

The Kataliban soldier came before my Papa and asked was the problem rudely. Papa stood up, 'What's your problem', he asked. The official lifted his sniper rifle and punched Papa with the gun's butt. Blood gushed out his forehead.

The crowd defended Papa and all attacked the soldier. Gunfires were everywhere and everyone streamed out of the stadium leaving the players on the fields unattended. A few were wounded and none died that moment, the whole game was destroyed by a stupid act.

We briskly went home. 'Bustard, I am old even to be his uncle', he said with anger 'Never in my life have I thought I would be humiliated by a boy'. Breathy and brittle he sounded because of the no ending pain from his wound.

'Who raised those animals?', a supporter shouted while moving out of the stadium. It was all over, we never knew who had won. The festive season was drained by power-hungry animals, the mood spoilt and only left was the stench produced by angry sweat.

'Papa, next time. At least we saw the Hamshires and we spent time together', Unathi said grating.

The whole spirit was ruined and for the first time I witnessed Papa at his worst. The festival was not like in TV when we watched it at Keketa's pub. The Katalibans have certainly taken over from that day the streets went dry at the river nile.

'You almost whipped his butt', I said. He looked at me with that matter-of-fact faced and broke it to pieces of laughter.

'You certainly have a bug's eye in situations', he said plummy. We walked home ignorant of what had happened but we knew tomorrow was going to be a beautiful day because we were going to taste wisdom.

'Do you miss those moments', the therapist asked. I through my thoughts around the room dodging the piercing question posed at me. All I heard was Papa's adenoidal voice lingering behind me, so appealing it sound so real as if he were here. Peaceful and fruity like those voice commercial on radio. Rich it was, it gave birth to my hopeful childhood.

I had missed him and wished he were here. My bones cry out in happiness as a shock of the air from the air conditioner entered and my aches and pains fade away as the session ended.
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The One Who Gone Soul Surgery (Chapter 2): The Start Of The Beginning

I think, I think when its all over it comes back in flashes - you know. I remember it, clear and vivid like it happened a second ago.

Its like a kaleidoscope of memories screaming behind there on the corner of my head. But the very moment never comes and it all comes silent and he comes - they come. His glorified smug face is hid behind the rays of the midday sun, he laughs then disappears but his laugh slowly dying out of presence.

Part of me knew the second they came to the house that it would happened. Its not what I saw but what I felt that awakened the fear. Crazy thing, is I don't know if I am ever going to feel that feeling or know that I should. It burnt in my bosom like gin entering a virgin mouth, the burns just continues until it destined place.

How could the devil bring one to his playground, take everything including every person in the victims' lives and leave them? What is the point? Why didn't he take me, Teska Hupe, with his mob?

Why hadn't he searched the house, found us and ended our lives as he did to them.

I remember that night fine and clear.

Mama was giving birth that night. She often felt ill during that pregnancy, got better but her strength she had never gotten back. That was a miserable night, gail-forced winds threatening to take our hut away. The rain calming the dust evoked but didn't manage.

The stars were few as if designed specially for this day. Limited light, air was cold like the atlantic.

'Xuks trekp t'wajit omna ketrz vernt', she screamt. - HURRY THE BABY IS COMING.

Unathi, my sister, run out to get help from the local midwife - Greta. I held Mama's hand without wisdom of what was going on or to happen. She squeezed my hand and I remember howling my guts out in sync with her travails.

Papa left us that we because he said the worse was to come due to this birth. I recall Mama begging him to not leave and he pushed her to the floor. That day he never came back and Mama was never the same. Her eyes continued to redden as the fever worsened but medicine was not going help her in those days.

The midwife, barged in the house asking me to bring warm water. Panicking I drew lukewarm water from the tin we used as a kettle. Hands shaking violently I dropped the water, it splashed in all direction and mother's cries grew ferociously. I tried again and delivered the water.

In a few minutes life was brought to our home. Suddenly the feeling came, it burned my chest and my throat lost all lubrication.

'Hre, blim hjek k'jwait ke'ej omna. Hej yu haka irta erker prutera ontma kreman', Greta whispered - Girls, calm down and go under your bed quietly don't even make a sound even when you see blood.

Greta then gave the baby to Unta, her daughter, waiting behind the back door.

We rushed under the bed and closed our mouths. Outside we saw a mob were scarlet robes hiding there countenance and by their hands candles - with them an uneasy presence swallowed us all.

Mama's breathe was shortened as she noticed the men. Greta scared but determined to protect Mama, even when it meant her life was going to be taken; she held her jurke'r - crucifix - mumbling words to Ghery't (God) for aid.

They entered. Screams were evoked. Chaos everywhere, they dragged them to the wall and pierced Greta with a dagger in her heart. Mama howled and all her vocal muscles were in function but her cries were for nothing because the birth she gave was an abomination to the Kataliban.

They tied her to the table with her legs separated and her thighs exposed. Shut her mouth. They painted her belly and head with something that could've been blood but it was not visible because our eyes were hid behind the waters of sadness.

The man exposed his face and said something - but not clear - and he cut mother open in every possible place. The servant drew wine glasses and Mama's blood filled them. They drained her life drop for drop.

We watched the blood drizzle on the floor in slow motion, swaying as a leave in autumn wretched from its mother brunch. The splashes echoing there, here and there again as if it were recorded and placed on repeat.

Laughing and buoyant the murders were, they left the house without checking if we were there. We remained in our stationery point for hours grasping every fine detail of the slaughter that took place. Our eyes were cameras processing every picture in our sub-concious waiting to play the image later in life.

It was a cult - some evil sort of cleansing.

We stood up, lifeless, trying by all means to format the event that took place. We cleaned the house, untied Mama. We cleaned her, dressing her in her favourite gown, brushed her hair, placed a katalina - flower - on her hair and closed her eyes.

We did the same to Greta with assistance of her daughter. We dug graves and buried their cold hardened bodies. In that time, my emotions were switched off and I wore a frown as facade to hid myself.

We burnt the house and I squeezed Unathi's hand. Never, never again shall we be frail and vulnerable - we vowed.
Finally, our tears we dry and from that day my tears, no man saw, and were dried up somewhere in my hands and on the floor. The dawn was froze at our sight and the sun never forgot our sharp faces.
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The One Who Gone Soul Surgery (Chapter 1): The End Of The Beginning.

In ancient Rome, Janus was the god of beginnings. He was often depicted with two faces—one looking back on the past, the other looking forward to the future. Some languages name the month of January after him because the beginning of the year was a time for reflection as well as planning.

Thousands of years later, many cultures throughout the world carry on a tradition of making resolutions for the new year. Of course, making resolutions is easy—keeping them is a different thing altogether.

Another year begins and I am trying to leave.

Leaving, a verb meaning go way from. A deed that human's find difficult and not pleasant. To me it would mean turning a new leave or another meaning of put forth leaves.

Letting go is one of the hardest things I do. I try but I always seem to come back to the same situation and crying the same tears dried up somewhere in this very same bed.

Most say leaving or letting go is redeeming, helps a person start over and let loose of the past burdens but can I.

Can I move on? Can I live a life that is new that does not look back and crumble up in the same starting line? Can this transition be smooth, painless and not killing? Because I can stand to be dead in the arms of this emotional torment.

Can love hunt me down? Wrap me in all banners of happiness that is immovable the one that exists in sob romance novels and feed me to the numbing touch of redemption so that I can feel something. Give me touch, cause I have been missing me. Because all I see are strangers laughing at me in the corners of my dark dreams. I feel nothing. I need to feel something.

Can I do this? Can the Lord of David save me from my endless burdens. Can I be filled with joy just like the people and help save my longing soul. I never in my life understood what it meant to love God more than anyone upon this earth including my family and me.

My problem was that I set myself to much in pride, thought I was invisible, that I was great and I can never ever in this life fall. Yes, I didn't fall not because of my efforts but grace was sufficient enough to save a wretch soul like mine.

I thought perfection was somehow a redeeming project, that it could empty me of all my worries and concerns, my failures and disappointments. It work to be honest, in that moment of indulgence I was free and felt something that I wanted to last. That's why I would do it again, again and again just to feel that ten seconds lasting satisfaction.

I loved pleasure. It blinded me, I would be intimately involved with a relative and numb away the relevance of my exact existence. The feelings of freedom far overcame me, it rooted this drug, this addiction pulling my judgement to the dungeons of hell. How can a devil smile like an angel? Speak like an oracle? Touch as a supreme being?

I had let pride whip all sense of self-respect, love and dedication to my covenants. I blamed God, blamed the people around me for everything - literally everything.
It gets so hard sometimes. The thoughts just come as a storm flooding your very mind with what you being ignoring.

I have been having this desires for years now. I cannot stop them, I can't even tell the people close to me about this disease killing every decent thing in my entire existence.

The things that I enjoyed are dull and without purpose. I leave to see another mistake, to lay on my bed and just watch over and over again.

The same people doing the same thing. In and out it goes, I see it. I see them all, I know how they look like, I see how their expression consume them for that moment.

I see how they enjoy it, some doing it because its a common practise or their being paid for it. There is no excitement anymore, just the same thing, same old feelings, me in my blanket and my hands in my breast pocket searching for snow.

I think I am trying, I would like to think I am trying, I think to think yet I know I am fooling myself with the very thoughts I think of.

I think I am trying but my fingers effortlessly type the same number all the time. Pay the same amount, how soft the particles are, how deep they can get, what comes out of them, how it would feel inside me and how beautiful they look.

I am sacred that I might do it again, that I might not stop. I know there is no desire anymore and goodness I am happy but the question is how long will it last?

I have made a promise to the great one but can I really keep it? Am I fit to do what I am planing to do in due time? Or am I fooling myself exactly knowing that tomorrow shall pass and I would've/could've done it again?

I want to change, this time I want to prove to myself that I can do it. That I am strong enough and I don't just move my lips. I am trying... I am moving...

In the night, I wet my blankets... The sweat soaks my bed and I cry. Cry not because I am confessing but because I am scared of change. These are my thoughts, the thoughts of a soul gone on surgery:

"Underneath your skin there is a human, buried deep within there is a human. Despite everything I am still human... But I think I am changing now".
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New Series In This Blog.

I have known a person for quite sometime, a very sad soul longing to be found yet he was hiding something.

He told me that darkness is a really thing and that at all time we should seek light. We should invest in ourselves, so I decided to publish a story dedicated to him - its about his life but fabricated.

That's why I changed the content of my blog. So, ladies and gentlemen... I am officially publishing my first short story called "The One Who Gone Soul Surgery". Hope you enjoy it.
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