Carob

-

The hiss of the pan
The palm oil's scent wafting through the thatch roof
Burning and enriching the very skin that was made from the muddy sable soil beneath her feet.The meat sizzling dangerously and browning from the outside in.The smell mouthwatering to any that passed by.

Carob was proud of her name even though such a beautiful name was given to the most beautiful maidens of the village.Her parents defied all and made sure her character reflected her name.

She did well to earn it.
When she spoke, it resonated with others. Sweet as cinnamon
Bitter as the richest coffee
The sweat gleaming off her dark skin like crystals
The steam rising from the pot making her appear ethereal
She was known in her village as the sun of the Gods.
There was only so much she could do as a woman, but her power was unreal... unmatched... impossible 

Suddenly
She looked up.
A stranger.
He was different from her.
He wore garments as white as the cowry shells used to trade
He must be wealthy
She was not scared
She has seen one of them before
preaching of a new god
He had something in his hand it was dark

his hands were quaking as he lifted the black stick in his hand
fear
it was written all over his face 
she stood from her crouch
he hesitated
her dark stallion beauty 
reminded him of his farm in the west world
he put the gun down and walked towards her
he was entranced by her
he didn’t know that he moved closer when he could smell the pungent smell of meat and palm oil
he wanted her

but he didn’t get to finish his thought process when he noted
a spear like knife made from wood and bone was embedded in his chest
she was carob
the blessed one chosen by the gods
to him she was a witch 


for the village she was the anchor and messenger of the gods
he was sent to put a bullet in her head by the church to end their final resistance of satanic gods

“kwa jina la miungu na watu wangu” she said
“in the name of the gods and my people”

He gasped as her dark eyes turned white for a split second making her drive the knife deeper into his chest.

Fear
He died on a simple mission to kill a young woman
He could see his whole brigade laugh at his failure
His family will be labeled the house of a shameless soldier
Seduced by an African bitch

Fear of death
Fear of shame
Fear of failure
His last dying breath
He still thought of her beauty
She looked like a vixen with her brows knotted in a frown
He forgot his own predicament
And thought
Why are we here to save?
When all they needed to do----

PasopNegra


 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Danda

-
Image
 Finifugal :(n.) hating endings; someone who tries to prolong the inevitable/ final moments My grandfather always told us stories of his past. Oddly enough, he always chose to dwell there rather than face the reality he was currently experiencing. Today, in particular, he preferred to recount the story of how he lost his wife. Whenever he talked about it, his deep-set eyes held a clock turning back to that time. A certain kind of pain wrenched a guilt-filled moan from his very chest. I was drowning myself in kachipembe again that day. Though the war was over, I felt like I was in the middle of the battlefield again. The stench of rotting blood, mud, and gunpowder still lingering in my nostril s. With each sip, we would teeter between reality and memory. The young boys would urge us to tell them our body counts, from our most gruesome kills to the most dangerous missions we would tell them all for another bottle of beer and moonshine. Tonight was no different, I drank till I pis...
Read more

The Wolf of Braam

-
Image
  It slicked through the labyrinth of alleyways, its sleek form blending seamlessly with the darkness that cloaked the city streets. The neon glow of the metropolis cast eerie shadows, concealing its predatory advance. With every sinuous movement, it drew closer to its prey, its senses honed to the scent of vulnerability and fear. The city, once promised as a beacon of opportunity, now lay tarnished and sullied by the grim realities of its underbelly. Those who traversed its thoroughfares did so with haste, seeking refuge in the flickering lights and the semblance of safety they provided. Yet, even amidst the chaos and decay, there existed a hierarchy of desperation, a hierarchy that this creature understood all too well. For it hungered not for sustenance in the traditional sense, but for the intoxicating rush that only the flesh of the young and reckless could provide. In the shadows, it lurked, its craving growing with each passing moment. The stench of decay and decayed dreams ...
Read more

Night Terrors

-
Image
 When the sun goes down the moon shines at its brightest. There is a certain disquiet among us. No animal nor insect made a sound. The only privileged one is the wind, but even it...whistled lowly and rustled softly over the land. When the sun goes down a pale luminescent light now blocked out by the beastly shadow. Terrified of the world around them. the candlelights dimming at the sheer force of the darkness. It has come, the evil so pungent even the purest of souls (children) lay still and remain so. When the night comes the first shrill that asks for help is the most terrifying of all, because the next day you have to face your cowardice and offer your condolences. Everyone crouching in the far corners furthest from the door. When the night comes the crunching of bones and squelching bloody limbs goes on and on and on and on...the bang of another door being broken down, the familiar sound of splintering wood. The screams of desolate hopelessness. When the night comes...
Read more