21/5/17

We’ve been running through life in circular narratives

Have we ever paused to notice the ridiculousness of it all?

I woke up today, half asleep with half my mind on the laundry list of things that I haven’t done. In the short term, at least for things that had to be done today, were my case assessments that were due 4 days ago. And to avoid looking like a washed-up doctor who couldn’t even get his life in order, I needed a haircut today as well (also due, probably a week ago).

I stumbled out of my bed only to collapse on the sofa; the aches from the week of night duty still gnawing away at my very existence. I twisted and arched my back in various contortions in an effort to provide a modicum of relief but alas, the pain was present, no more or no less. As I tried to find comfort in the fact that today was a day off, rooted in the back of my mind was a timer counting down the few precious hours I had before nightfall and the necessity of sleep; one last reprieve before the never-ending cycle of work-exhaustion-hunger-rest-work.  

12.35pm. Enough horsing around. I planted myself firmly in front of my desk and typed away furiously on topics that I vaguely remember. Why would a consultant be interested in reading this crap? Perhaps, as with all my motivations so far, she’s being paid to do it. Or maybe she’s just nice. Doubt it.

Smashed it. It seems kind of alright? Submit. Christine hasn’t said hi to me for the whole morning. Better text her.

Better meet the boys for dinner or I’ll be eating alone. Isn’t 10 o’ clock a little too late to be out? But it’s the last day of PL. Rushed out of the house. Promise I’ll be back by 12am to get enough rest.

Goodbye Mr. Sanders

Two days to the end. He stared at the blank piece of paper, unblemished, resting quietly on the large study, thinking of word plays and playing on words. These circular thoughts were largely his company when he realized the futility of it all. Time, purpose, life. Theories and extrapolations crafted by a man waiting on his execution; desperately trying to piece together the meaning of it all before he lets it go.
He made a peace sign with his right hand by extending his index and middle finger and placed it on his mouth. He took a big breath in and for a moment he could feel his soul being sucked away by an unseen force. That made him unsettled, albeit slightly, and he rose from his chair like an animal provoked, defiant till the end.
“Lucy! Get me Lucy!” he yelled. That double-crossin bitch. When I get my hands on her she’s done for. His breath heavy and laden with anger.  Slowly but surely, it gave way to cold, unadulterated fear.
“C’mon, don’t do this to me man. Please!” he began to choke.
Under the thin veil of moonlight a figure emerged from the shadows. His stood at about 6 feet tall, with broad shoulders and broad ape- like hands, which made the gun in his hands appear relatively tiny. His face was obscured by a shadow created by the large tipping hat that he was wearing.
“ I’m afraid that no one can save you now”, the deep demon-like voice croaked.

Two muted shots rang out and it was over as quickly as it began. Mr. Sanders’ blood soaked body laid sprawled on top of the crimson coloured Turkish carpet that he cherished so much, his voice frantically gurgling and gasping, before it could gurgle nor gasp anymore. His eyes wide open, gazing in awe of the white of the full moon against the backdrop of a clear night sky.

An Unexpected Guest (part 1)

The doorbell broke the silence in an otherwise uneventful night. This peaked his interest and I will explain it to you in a moment or two. You see, the Tans lived in a government subsidized flat that was thirty levels high. Each level had four units, which housed four different families. In a country of five million people dispersed across seven hundred square kilometers of land (which is roughly the size of New York City), privacy was a rare commodity and the four different families held each other’s privacy in the highest regard. If they met each other on the street they would pretend not to know each other. If they met each other in the elevator, they would greet each other with a silence that was left hanging like a door ajar. These people weren’t neighbors; the term implied a certain level of intimacy between them. They were simply people who lived on the same level. Such was the importance ascribed to the unwritten social code of privacy.

Now, here is another interesting fact: if the doorbell rang in the late morning or in the afternoon, he would probably be less interested at greeting the person at the door. He might not even go to the door and pretend that the whole family was out. This window was a generally agreed upon period of time when the sacred code of privacy did not apply and families were allowed to be disturbed. Eager church youths from the nearby ministry would practise door-to-door evangelism during this time, but he was already saved by the blood of Christ and wasn’t interested in being saved again. It could also be annoying twelve year olds or “aunties” who, in his eyes, preyed on the residents’ innate compassion for the disadvantaged and sold whatever they could get their hands on for the day; yoghurt, ice cream, chips or packets of tissue at exorbitant prices. He didn’t buy any of that, in every sense of the word.

But it was eleven ’o clock in the evening. There would be no overzealous preacher or conniving little children waiting at the door.

It had to be someone he knew. A friend. But he was not expecting anyone. Vicky or mom. Though they already had the keys to the place. And in his wildest imagination he thought of old friends bearing bottles of wine, waiting to rekindle relationships that had rusted with age or gang members who were looking for an opportune moment to break into his house. The suspense was unnerving.

 He could hear the shuffling of footsteps that were coarse and loose. The person grew impatient.

He squinted through the keyhole but all he could see was a vague silhouette of a well-built man in a tight black crew neck. His left arm was covered in a smudge of rainforest green and crimson hues.

Slowly and cautiously, he let open a space to take a closer look at the man.

A Meeting

“Oh, you must be Vicky’s brother”.

“Yes, I am”.

“ I’ve seen you before. In one of those pictures she had posted up. You look very different from Vicky and from your mom”. She chuckled.

That’s what they all say. He let out a weak smile. He felt an uneasiness settling in, like a thief caught in the act. Perhaps it was the truth and he was ashamed of it. Perhaps they didn’t mean it in a bad way. But they did.  He didn’t mean to look or behave any different from his family, but as he recalled, none of the men in his family behaved like their moms or their sisters. They were quiet and reserved a certain kind of stoic cynicism that didn’t belong to the age. His cousins were strong men who didn’t let their emotions betray their harsh sinewy exterior. They were difficult to figure out, enigmatic, and anyone who didn’t know them could have mistaken their intentions as evil. And he was no different from any of them. Perhaps they picked it up from grandpa, who refused to let cancer get the better of him until his legs ran weak from the poison and his strength was stolen under his breath on moonless night.

“Mm”.

His gentle uneasiness parted to let out a grin. He always remembered to show the white of his teeth. It showed his sincerity, or at least that's what he thought it would do.

Her eyes were knotted and confused. She didn’t know how else to proceed with the conversation. There was a momentary pause as she went back over her words to look for anything that was mildly offensive. She couldn’t find any.

“You seem like the quiet and introverted kind”. She was still smiling.

“Yeah yeah… I guess so”.

This time his response was cued on time. He loosened his shoulders and hunched forward a little. He looked up to reassure her of his congeniality and he saw the lids of her eyes heave a sigh of relief. He was getting better at this.

Ghost

Clouds. All he could see was clouds. Grey, ominous and angry, for as far as the eyes could see. He pushed aside the railings that guarded the windows and it made a long and tortured rattle. It resonated with his soul. Empty and hollow. As he peered down the 14^th floor of the building, he saw lush and vibrant saga trees that beat in unison against the howling wind. They were defiant and proud, standing firm in stark contrast to the chaos that was around them. And with the winds came the beating of the rain. And with the rain came the pattering of footsteps with the occasional shrieks of petrified children. They were afraid. The mood was sour and the air was damp.

He took two steps back and slump against the backboard of his bed. He closed his eyes to imagine what it was before. He remembered the joy. The laughter. The clasping of hands. The smile. They didn’t speak much, yet they understood each other perfectly well. They were simple people and just each other’s mere presence would suffice. She was innocent and whole. Her beauty delicate and immeasurable.

 He swore that if he stayed entirely silent, he could still hear her voice as it broke through like the morning sun. He could still feel her underneath the duvet, brushing her skin against the fabric of the bed. She was fast asleep and he could hear each quiet breath. If only he could stay in this moment for one more second, for as soon as he sensed danger he could hear the roar of the tides rumbling in the distance. He saw the white of the waves galloping towards him, gathering rage and intensity as it thrust forward. The earth became dry and broke into a million pieces, like land after a drought. The sky came crashing towards earth like a dense dark nothingness. That was when he saw the anguish on her face and he would never forget that look. Her arms flailed helplessly as she tried to reach out to him. She was screaming but he couldn’t hear a thing.  He could only stare and watch as the waves drove her mad like the screech of a siren and pushed her further and further into the unknown. He couldn’t bear to look. He struggled to find a voice.

No.

And he woke up.