note: between 2007 and 2010, I wrote flash-fiction pieces on the EditRed website, I learnt a lot, especially thanks to Karen Jones who gave me editing tips - and met a few people online. My efforts are on another page, but these were some of my favourite stories. Thanks to EditRed, I discovered lulu print-on-demand publisher which has been a great help for me.
 "We were determined not to provide a distraction from writing - there
were already plenty of sites out there for that. In fact a lot of
community sites seemed to set writers up to compete against each other:
who could get the most page views, comments or who could win the most
kudos or reviewer credits. We figured there was enough competition out
there without getting our writers to compete against each other every
time they logged in.
"At Edit Red,
you upload your work, workshop it with your trusted reader group and
get it out there. We don't care how many times a story gets read on
Edit Red. We care about our writers developing their craft to the point
where they're getting their writing published in reputable zines and
journals. Our process is simple: upload your writing, build your
network, build your publishing credits. Ultimately, that's what's going
to interest publishers."
Edit Red has grown organically around the
writers that make up its expanding community. As a result, Edit Red's
members are as passionate about the writing craft and the site itself as
its founders.
The vision is simple Edit Red doesn't want to publish your work; it wants you to get your work published.
thank you to Karen Jones -
 Karen Jones has been writing for several years. Her work has appeared in The New Writer, Writers’ Forum, Candis Magazine, Guildhall Press anthology The Wonderful World of Worders, Leaf Books anthology Discovering a Comet and more micro-fiction, Edit Red anthology City Smells and online at Alors, et Toi? and Our Atticus.
She was shortlisted for the 2007 Asham Award. Apart from writing, her
main interest is salsa dancing. Fortunately her writing is far better
than her dancing, which will never earn more than sympathetic smiles.
Karen Jones' story: The Upside-down Jesus
Schnellrestaurant
Vyasar Ganesan (USA)
http://facebook.com/vyasarg
 I can’t eat at Mekong
anymore. The food has gone bad, there are hairs in the soda water, and
all of the customers smoke. The service is composed of an amateur tattoo
artist with a lazy eye, two Chinese supersluts, and a lecherous old man
with a bad temper and wicked hump.
Well, no, not really. But since Dahlia left, that’s what it seems like.
I went there the day she left, to try and re-ignite some of the old
fire, to stir up a pot of memory soup. She loved the place. Said it
reminded her of America, of home. But it was too painful without her,
too hard to see what was good when I knew that the good was gone.
Old man Chang isn’t a bad sort, though. He saw me that day and pulled
me aside for a glass of sake. “I hate Japan,” he wheezed, all
seventy-seven of his years hitting me in the face like a swarm of flies.
“But Japan make damn good booze. Drink.”
I didn’t say anything; I just drank like he said. Chang’s vision must
have been going, because what he gave me didn’t taste a bit like rice
wine, but more like bleach and what must have once been a very nice pot
of Irish coffee. He smiled and drank some too.
“Thirty years, I run this place.” He looked around proudly, relishing
in the red paper lamps and polished floors. “Mekong my wife home. When
she die, I name this place for her. This my wife now.”
Chang looked at me squarely. I was staring at the glass, wondering what
it was that I drank. “Be glad you not married.”
Don’t, I said. Don’t say what I think you’re going to say.
He drained the rest of his glass in a single gulp, and put it on a
nearby tray. “I been married to dead woman and restaurant for too long. I
no move no more. I stay here, in Freiburg and die here.”
I could feel what he was going to say like a train coming down the
tracks, shaking solid steel with the fury of a forest fire. I begged and
I begged. Please, don’t.
“You be glad she gone. You young man, need see world. World not America
and Germany.” He pointed to a photo on the counter, of him and his wife
standing beside the Chinese flag, smiling proudly in their
Western-style clothes. “China world too.”
I had to leave then. I couldn’t stay a second longer. Dahlia was the
best thing that ever happened to me. I was going to marry her and be
happy forever. We were going to move to Berlin and be artists. We were
going to smoke hash and travel Europe together. We were going to live as
one, and when we died, we’d have a mausoleum that read “Two as One” in
Latin.
But Dahlia is gone now. She took a plane back to the States so she
could get a job as an accountant, and she’s going to die in cornfields
and rolling prairie country. And now I’m alone in Freiburg, washing
dishes at an Indian restaurant, buying food from Mekong on the weekends.
A seasonal character trapped in such a story... Very well done: a modern
uptake on the Christmas story. Indeed, our houses are not Dickensian
anymore.
 From the Balcony
by Sharon Harriott (Audiogeist) UK
www.audiogeist.com
www.myspace.com/cravingaudio
He hung from the balcony wondering where it’d all gone wrong. This would
never have happened a few years ago. A lot had to be said for those cop
shows on telly. People were bloody paranoid these days!
His arms ached, spurring him into looking for an escape route. Groaning,
he realised he was three floors up; whichever route he took it was
going to hurt.
It all began with a show called ‘Changing Rooms’, hosted by Carol
Smiley; people started ripping out their chimneys and having ‘faux’ coal
fires. Then, of course, there was the security, alarms and killer dogs
in every flat, terraced or mansion house.
It wasn’t magic he needed, he thought; it was Life Insurance!
Letting go of the balcony, he decided that the first thing to change was
the red suit, for something less conspicuous.
Then he’d take an evening course in breaking and entering..
My Generation
by Krysten Morales
My generation has all the information. We know all the stats down the
line and the eight digit numbers that define our lives. We’ve got all
the smarts, looking through the books knowing everythang there is to
see. We’ve seen all the words all the worlds that are out there looking
down at us from the long siesta knowing what goes on inside our heads.
It’s only information all the sentences and speeches. Human resources.
Still, my generation knows all the ways. Up and down back and fourth
through the tunnel and the wood. We know all the paths and the places we
can go, straight or wide, round or narrow. Anywhere it goes we know
because we know the map, we’re handed it at birth. And we know the steps
to take through the streets and through the hallways. Know the steps,
know the path, know the way our feet will walk. One two one two, one and
the other, one and the other.
Yeah, I guess my generation knows all the talk. Everyone is unique
everyone is unique. Make your job play make your job play. And if you
can’t then we’ll put you back in the transmorgifier you’ll go back a few
grades and when you’re ready again you can be as unique as the rest of
us. The rest of us. One of us. Everyone is unique you know.
The phone rings and my generation picks it up. Hello is Mr.Smithe there,
is he the head of the household. Household ? Buying eggs and milk and
every day up the same driveway. Same driveway. Same driveway. Say the
same words. Same words. Same words. Hello timmy. Hello timmy. Hello
timmy. Hello death.
My generation has the what if inclination. If I hadn’t listened and I
hadn’t heard, what then. What then ? I couldn’t tell you. I wouldn’t
know.
My generation has the heavy eyes. Naps in the afternoon naps in the
afternoon and I had a dream about something. But I can’t remember what
it was now. Lots of colors and a pink beret and someone singing to a
beat that I couldn’t hear. Esperanza no name, esperanza no name.
Something about a music box and an amethyst castle. But it was just a
dream. Back to work now. Back to work now.
alors et toi magazine
Confucius Say…
By Josef Zozaya (Vienna).
Words
forgotten, or words re-imagined for a specific purpose.
I did
not know what I was doing there, perhaps I was at that juncture where
reconciliation was no longer a viable prospect.
I
could smell the tattered bodies all around me. They were persistent,
decayed, evicting something from their internal voracity.
I
looked at the ceiling, at the emblems of a long forgotten empire of
dread. Symbols of some mythological creature existed there. There was
my labyrinth. I retreated into it at times.
Stretched upon
the old mattress, whose odor had betrayed its beauty, I searched for
my vitality. I read the books they brought me, archaic things upon
yellowish paper, thoughts which had transpired long ago.
The
memories of men were there, perhaps an ancient philosopher, or a
madman who had yet to utter his stagnant words. A pipe was burning at
my fingertips, awaiting my evocative, dislocated lips.
 The Camel and the Open Road
by Christopher Schollar
(Johannesburg, South Africa)
This is a
story from my father of his days of hippyness and traveling.
I
about the 1970s my father had ended up in Australia (a tale all by
itself) and, having virtually no money, was hitch-hiking from Perth
to Sydney to get money that his father had left sent him. Now, for
those of you who do not know (as he didn't) this basically means
getting across the entire continent, most of which is relatively
uninhabited desert. On this journey he got a lift with one of the
many truck drivers transporting whatever it was that they transported
at the time.
Then, as now, truck drivers got payed for the
amount of trips they made and although it is really only humanly
possible to make about 2 of these long distance trips without killing
something, this truck driver had decided to take his third without
any sleep (meaning he had been awake for about 30 hours when he
picked them up).
Now, after about an hour of driving, the
truck driver began to swerve violently from side to side as he
struggled to stay awake. My father, perceptive man as he is, decided
this was not the healthiest place to be and asked the driver to stop
and let him and his companion off before they all died. After this
rather unsubtle hint, our truck driver decided it probably would be a
good idea if they camped out at the side of the road for the
night.
Sitting around a fire and after a little drinking, the
truck driver began to explain that he used to be able to do the 3
trips with no problem. This is because he, as many truckers do today,
took speed in order to keep himself awake for the long periods of
sustained boredom that is truck driving. However, not to long ago,
this particular trucker had decided to give up the stuff and he
proceeded to give the story of his epiphany.
A few months
earlier, while the trucker was driving late at night and high as a
kite he saw a beautiful woman wearing flowing white clothes walk out
onto the road in front of his speeding truck. Not wanting to kill the
woman, he slammed on the brakes and slid across the road, nearly
over-turning the truck and killing himself in the process. After
surviving his braking he got out of his truck to discover that there
was no woman anywhere to be seen, and blamed her appearance on the speed.
A few months after this, on
another speed supplemented trip, out trucker was driving down another
dark and lonely road when before his truck materialized a camel. Now
for those of you who know about Australia, camels are not part of the
indigenous life and the truck driver assumed this was another speed
induced hallucenation and didn't even slow down.
(You are
going to have to imagine the accent of a slightly drunk Australian
trucker for this part)
"So what happened?" my father
asked.
"Fucking thing was real, camel all over the fuckin'
road and my truck."
Now it turns out that camels had been
brought to Australia at some time in the past and some of them had
escaped into the wild where they flourished in the arid environment
with no natural predators big enough to kill them on the entire
continent. Our truck driver had managed to kill a camel as it came
out of the desert for one of its infrequent drinks.
He never
took speed again.
Dear Unknown Friend
by Dritta Buzuku,
Ulqin (Montenegro)
Dear
Unknown friend,
I am writing you this letter because I always
wanted to write to somebody and share my stories with him/her, but I
never had anyone to write to. I guess because I was afraid that I
would not be understood, that people would laugh at me, and maybe
they would understand me wrong. And I thought maybe it would be
different if I write to somebody I don't know.
My name is Drita.
I'm 19 years old and I come from a very small town. I just started
law school and moved into another town, bigger one. I would like to
tell you a little more about myself, I guess this is the reason I am
actually writing you, to show you myself. I am raised in this small
town, with a lot of friends and family around me, good and bad
people. I have always been free minded, trying and fighting to do
whatever my mind came up to, but not always achieving that. I was
always a tomboy, playing with toy guns, and playing basketball, and
every possible sport. While I was a little girl I spent my days
playing with my neighbors, especially with a little boy called Mondi
and his 4 other sisters. Like everyone else I walked threw the
journeys of life and grew up, became a person with clear ideas and
needs, became a person who was never happy that is living in this
town, especially because of the people and their conservative and
judgmental thinking. I think I never loved the people here because I
always had a feeling that they are trying to take away my freedom to
be who a want to be, to do whatever I want to. When I was 12 I had a
dream, but they killed it. I always dreamed of playing basketball for
a good team. I dreamed those full halls with fans and me scoring, but
after two years of playing my parents made me quit basket, because as
they said I wasn't doing good in my school, but the truth was
different, an Albanian girl shouldn't be playing basketball because
it's shameless and people would talk. And since then I realized that
I don't love this place, that I don't want to live like this, that
people have to schedule my life and tell me what I can and can't do.
But life goes on, I got over that, I moved on and tried to do other
things. When I went to high school I realized that this is not the
way I want to live. That I don't want to get married when I turn 18,
that I want to finish college and become a educated person, someone
that can be respected and honored for good things. I guess you won't
believe but when I got to the 3rd year of high school, I proved to
myself that this is nothing else but a shitty place full of double
faced people, who are more than happy to see you fail, to see you
suffer. A place where people have nothing else to do but talk about
other peoples lives and making up things that are not even close to
the truth. My sister met a boy that wasn't 'good' for my parents,
they tried to convince her that that kind of boy it's not for her,
that she is from a 'good' family and she must marry someone her
'class'. My parents were afraid that people will talk about that
kind of marriage, like this is what it matters. After they realized
that there is nothing they can do about it and they approved the
marriage, even if they weren't happy, my sister got pregnant before
she got married and that was the big BOOM to my family. I changed a
lot during that 1 year, all those tears, unneeded tears have been
cried, a lot of bad words have been said, a lot of fights have been
made in this house, and I couldn't do anything else but watch and
hear other people talk about that, and watching my sister suffer for
nothing. I would spent hours and hours thinking but never being able
to figure out why all this mess, why all this suffer. I would go to
school almost crying because the fight would never end. In the other
hand, my friends, actually people who I thought that were my friends
talked behind my back, about my sister, and saying terrible things.
And it tarred me apart that I couldn't find a shoulder to cry on or
just a friend who would listen. But I guess it is true the saying
that says that after the rain and storm sun always shines. During
that period I met a really special person. She gave me power and
faith that everything will be gone, that really the sun will come out
after the rain. And
it did. My nephew was born and for the first time in my life I felt
the real love. I'm not saying that I don't love my parents, my
sister, my brother, my friends, my family, I do love them, but my
nephew is something special. He owns my heart, my soul. After he was
born nothing else mattered anymore, not the peoples talk, not my
parents, all the suffer and the tears were gone, all it mattered was
HIM. And during this one year I realized that this place is never
gone change, this is how it will remain, I guess forever. I convinced
myself that it is impossible to change the whole town, and that it is
easier to be who I am, not trying to be better in the eyes of anyone
because that would make me just like they are, double faced, one
person inside but the totally other one outside. And just because of
that I am trying to live my life in my own way.
However even if I
described all these bad things about my town, and even if I feel good
that I left it, I sometimes miss it so much. I miss the beautiful
sea, and those beautiful, golden sunsets, clear blue sky and the
happy laughter of kids that wakes me up every morning, and makes me
so angry sometimes, but in the same time it makes me happy that they
laugh and not cry, I miss the loud music and those lousy songs my
neighbors play every Sunday, and their loud laughter in the hot
summer nights. I miss the river, and its calmness and those beautiful
green 'patterns' that surround it and those beautiful, beautiful
birds that fly over it and the shadows they make on it, and their
amazing songs that make me feel so calm, so happy, I miss the river
house where I spent so many beautiful summer days and nights, I miss
the wonderful view from the river house where the river, the sea, the
sun and the sky become one, and the minutes spent watching that
magical picture, I miss the mosquitoes that make me so ma and I miss
the frogs I used to catch, I miss those card games we played on the
balcony, I miss the stars and the quiet nights away from the city
crowd, I miss the fresh mornings beside the river and that breeze
that runs threw your body, and I miss those happy barbeques, I miss
the people's smile, I miss the smell of barbeque, and the smell of
beer and wine. I miss those days I spent in that river house with my
friends, the jokes, the freedom, the feeling of protection while
lying in the sun and the slow wind passing threw every inch of our
bodies, and the feeling that nothing bad could ever happen, and the
hope that this will last forever, that our friendship will never be
forgotten. I miss so many things, and I know that I will come back
again, but one thing is for sure things will never be the same
anymore. And sometimes that I am away I just close my eyes and
remember all those magical memories and I wish I could change that
dark side of this town, that I could change what people think.
I
could write like this for days, about me, about things that happen to
me, about my town, and the people, but I am going to stop here'
I'll save something for my next letter.
Hope you'll like this
one and write me back'
Sincerely, Drita.
(hello Drita,
I found your piece via the
edit.red search engine. Many people leave their home town or country
to find an existence elsewhere. So you are writing about a universal
experience and yet from your description one can picture exactly who
you are and how your place is. I like that.
I'm new to this site
and this is my first comment.
I felt the way you wrote it as a
letter should get an answer. So best wishes from Belfast Ireland!)
|
 Deception
by Siyaduma Noel Biniza
from Cape Town, South Africa
website: http://www.youpublish.com/siya
Part
I
'I'm back Mablebeza!' he says as he enters their
two-roomed RDP house from a tiring day at work.
Does he have
to call me that?! How about 'babes' or 'love' or 'hun' Why
the hell 'Mablebeza'! Why does it have to be that stupid term? I'm
sick and tired already! Sbongile thinks to herself, with much
abhorrence, but she will not allow his stupidity and disapproval
water her down as she prepares herself for a grand entrance into the
main room.
'Oh, hi baby...' she says with a forced beam
across her face.
He replies with an inattentive greeting and
immediately asks her what they are having for supper. Sbongile grunts
and mumbles a curse. He did not even notice her new hairdo. Two weeks
ago he had given her R120.00 for a manicure and never even bothered
to find out or even pretend to be interested at what his money had
done. Now this! She had spent four hours at the salon doing this and
he does not even bother to compliment never mind notice her graceful
natural tiara as she liked calling it.
After a long resentful
stare at his bulky tired mass of muscle which once allured her, she
replied trying as herd as possible to keep her voice level. 'You'll
have to have some of last night's leftovers, I am going out.', she
replied. With her eyebrows arched like a hawk's wings while diving in
for its prey.
'You're going nowhere without making me food
woman!', he shouted with the hoarseness of his voice resonating
through the house. Sbongile flinched but her anger was too much to
withhold and she retaliated with no illusions of backing out or
giving up.
'Look at me! I have a new hairdo! You didn't even
notice. It took me four hours of anxious waiting and it cost you
R90.00! You didn't even notice! Just two weeks ago I went for a
manicure and you still haven't noticed! What are you?! Am I living
alone? Everything I do goes unnoticed. All you ever cared about is
your mother. You're always taking about her! What am I doing here? Am
I your girlfriend or am I just a cooking, cleaning, working sex slave
of yours! I am going out tonight and you're not stopping me! And
we're having a baby...', she said with a thunder storm of her
tears and voice erupting. Then she stopped when she say that she had
done her deed. She left like Delilah with Sampson's hair in her hands
as she saw him move closer and apologize with much remorse. She was
not ready to forgive him though. She was going out tonight, besides,
it was Friday night and her mpintsh's had plans for that night. So
she used her opportunity and milked him of more money. She made up a
few excuses and shattered him until he filled her hands with purple
legal tender notes. She smiled beneath her tear-painted face like a
happy clown with a sad decoration.
***
'Mpintsh, I'm
coming... just give me an hour and a half.', said an elated
Sbongile.
'I have no money mpintsh but Thando can go with you.
By the way how did you get past your man on a Friday night?', said
the inquisitive Princess.
'Ha ha! Mpintsh, I'm clever ' I
never even asked him. Don't worry about the money, I have enough for
the both of us.', Sbongile replied.
'Poor man... Thanks
mpintsh I was looking forward to tonight ' I haven't been in a man's
bed in months. Anyways, bye girl.', said Princess and she pressed
the red button, to end the call, on her cellphone. This was going to
be a big night. She raided her wardrobe for the outfit she she had
arranged but had to discard after some financial difficulties. Going
out was very costly. Princess and her friends were not rich and
Sbongile, the only one who had a boyfriend she lived with, was not
involved with a millionaire or an heir but she always managed to milk
him of money. Princess was amazed by Sbongile and idolized her and
thought that one day when she found a man worth keeping, she would go
to her for tips. She found the outfit and laid it on the
three-quarter bed she shared with her elderly grandmother then she
dashed to the other room which was the kitchen, living area and main
room all-in-one. She grabbed the matchbox and after some struggling
with the primus stove, she put on a kettle of water for herself. She
grabbed the little basin and her ragged facecloth and almost finished
piece of what used to be a bar of laundry soap.
***
She
had ten minutes before Sbongile would arrive. She dashed outside to
throw away her dirty bath water. She went back inside to put on the
little remaining perfume and switched on the radio. It was 18:35 and
there was a news show on air. Her grandmother was asleep and she woke
her up and gave her a cup of tea she had made with water that
remained from her bath water. She had just given her grandmother the
tea when she heard a hard rapping on the door. She jumped
instinctively and left her grandmother and ran then opened the door
to find a temptingly beautifully dressed Sbongile standing outside
the door smiling. Princess turned around said 'bye' to her
grandmother and closed the door behind her as Sbongile and her left
to fetch Thando.
***
Thando was already dressed and
beautiful when her other two friends arrived. Tonight was the night
and the three man-eating-good-looking and charming trio was prone to
have many hits tonight.
Sbongile was dressed in a floral red
and white dress that only covered the upper half of her thighs and
she wore a pair of black legging and pumps which was finished off
with an exquisite-looking hairdo and a French manicure. She was
slender and she was pregnant for a week now but one could not see her
bulge.
Princess was dressed in a pair of tight-fitting Levi's
skinny cut jeans (the only pair she owned) and a tank top. The
premeditated enhancement of what she called her African Trade Mark
(big breasts and big butt) was perfect. Her chest was heavy and it
stretched the top which had 'I am your bad habit' printed over its
chest. She smiled at herself and winked.
Thando the heavier
type of woman. She had a pair of DD mammary glands and her behind
which stretched anything she wore was often the centre of derision
among her friend. It was dubbed the Thando Trailer. Tonight she wore
tight black bootleg pants and a white jacket.
The girls were
looking stunning tonight. They went to their friend, a taxi driver,
and paid him to take them to the city and fetch them later. The city
was abuzz tonight and the atmosphere was warm but not hot. The city
lights were flashy making the night look more extravagant and lavish.
The girls smiled as the lights moved past the taxi's windows; it
looked like the lights were winking at them. They arrived at their
favourite club, the first stop for tonight's extravaganza. They all
jumped out of the taxi and filed in the club past security without
paying an entrance fee, as usual, but getting a more touchy and
aroused frisk than normal.
The club was packed as usual and
the trio motioned straight to the pub and ordered stiff shots. Then
they hit the dance floor and met some strangers. They shook and
turned until they broke a sweat in the cramped humidity of the club.
Then they returned to the bar each one with a partner.
Thando
was known to be the hard-headed-man-eater. And tonight she had
rejected four strangers and finally settled with one she thought was
the best. Now she sat at the bar with her friends and ordered ciders.
Sbongile and Princess sat right beside her sieging a man who was
ordering them ciders and beer for himself. The night continued. The
trio's routine of the dance floor and the bar with returning to the
bar with different males each time continued. As they were leaving
the pub at 20:15, Sbongile felt a warm hand grab her arm just before
they exited.
'Hi, baby, my name is Mandla,' He looked at
her with his light brown eyes and penetrated into her shyness.
Sbongile shrugged in shame at the thought that he might notice that
she was staring at him and admiring his strong muscular build. Her
friends continued walking a few steps then stood and waited for
her.'I've been looking at you and I must say you're a beaut,'
Mandla said as he held her hand gently and turned her around and then
looked at her face again, 'Eish! You've turned many heads tonight on
that dance floor but some people heads like mine turned and never
turned back sweetie. I didn't get your name baby.'
Sbongile
stood before him, speechless. She gazed into his eyes and her
purpose, her cause, everything became a haze. Prince Charming, her
knight in shining armour, had arrived and was interested in knowing
about her and was blatantly making a move one her. She thought as the
awkward silence stretched. The world ceased to exist in her mind and
she left her worries and squabbles behind. She had pursued it.
After a long gaze and awkward silence, she muttered something
that sounded like 'Sbongile'
Her friends badgered her
shouting that they were not going to wait much longer. She turned and
told them that they could leave if they wished. She was definitely
not going to leave behind an opportunity like such. Her friend tried
pressurising her to leave the handsome man. But those attempts were
all futile. After ten minutes they left Sbongile and her handsome
Prince Charming. They left very disgruntled and decided that instead
of continuing the club searching and partying, they would go
home.
'So what do you do Sbongile? Sbongile ' THANK the gods I
met you.' said Mandla. They were inside the club and they were
seated in the VIP seating area. Mandla had decided that he was going
all out tonight. Tonight would be his big night with Sbongile.
'What
do you mean?
'I mean like ' where do you work or are you
still at school?'
'I stay at home. I failed matric last
year and now I stay at home.'
'Okay, I see.' from the
second he heard she stayed at home, he thought to himself, she is too
much of a liability.
'So what do you do love?'
'I am
manager of this club. I have some taverns in the townships and I get
money through the businesses. If you're wondering, I' single and I
live alone in a town house here in town.'
She smiled and
gave a faint laugh. It was just was just what she wanted to hear.
Single, rich and lives in the suburbs. Just too good to be true. She
must be dreaming. So she asked, 'So you're single , neh? Me too.'
It had slipped her tongue. Damn! She cursed in her mind as a war
raged between her love, desire and conscience. For the first time she
had lied about nt having a man in her life. She loved him and she
dreaded the fact that she lied about him. But it was too late for
conscious correction now.
'You're not the shy type now are
you. But that's what I needed to hear. Just couldn't let a beautiful
lady like you go without having you.'
She shrugged. And
gave another smile which turned into a grin when he told her she
could order anything she wanted and that everything was on him. She
let her imagination run wild but she had to be careful not to make a
bad yet correct impression. Her friends had often taunted her and
called her a gold digger. A gold digger she was. Every time she saw a
a man with an overweight wallet, she glowed in desire and greed. She
asked for Smirnoff Storm.
'Don't be silly honey. Have
somethin' better. I'm having Guinness and some Cognac. Have some
lavish champagne.' said Mandla. He held her hand and looked her in
the eye and stared. 'You're beautiful..' he said as he caressed
her face. 'I absolutely love your hair.'She moved closer and
licked her lips as she was itching to lay her wet lips upon his. He
moved closer and then paused abrupt. 'Do you kiss on the first
date?'he asked. She did not reply instead she moved into him
kissing him and feeling his biceps. After a while they stopped.
'Would you like to continue at my place?' asked Mandla.
Before
even ordering or drinking anything, they left the club and moved down
the street with anxious swift paces. After twenty minutes, they
arrived at a block of flats.
Part II
He holds her hand
and motions for her to enter room 16. She enters and looks around
while her eyes adjust to the brightness of the light bulb above.
After some seconds, he passes her and grabs a remote control and sets
the mood with some slow Rhythm and Blues music and some Soul. He
leaves her purse on the couch as he makes a brief disappearance and
returns with some juice and a packet of chips. He welcomes her into
his warm flat with a sensual kiss.
'I hope you're still in the
mood baby. he says as he sits on the couch and motions for her to
come sit beside him.
They have a long chat and dig into the
chips and juice. Then it all ends. Then the only thing contesting
against the slow low music is the sound of lips, tongues slapping
against each other and a low moan. Mandla is very experienced when it
comes to pleasing a woman's sexual needs. Tonight he uses his
experience and expertise with greatest of success and ease. Before he
knows it, Sbongile is thanking him with grateful moans and squeezes.
Then he rips his shirt off while trying to keep the sensual lip
communication going. She jumps for his abdomen and runs her manicured
hand up - and down. As her hormones take over she moans louder and
lifts her arms to let Mandla slid her dress over her head. Her
inquisitive C-cup breasts jump up and are immediately attended to by
Mandla's masculine hands. He squeezes gently and runs his fingers
over her hardened nipple and pinches it gently. After what seems like
forever to Sbongile, Mandla goes for the kill.
It is 21:10
when Mandla drops his hand between Sbongile's thighs... she
immediately pulls her thighs together in uncontrollable ecstasy.
Mandla's hand reaches an already wet patch between Sbongile's thighs.
Mandla undresses her leggings and reveals a wet thong. He immediately
rips his jeans off and stands in front of her in his boxers which
resemble a tee pee because of his own excitement. She smiles and
bites her lower lip in desire and they both remove their underwear
before engaging in a sensual act of sexual indulgence.
It is
00:07 when Mandla falls asleep with Sbongile's naked body in his
arms.
***
Mandla wakes up at 06:30 and prepares to go
to work. He takes a quick shower and dresses in his one-piece
overall, while Sbongile is asleep, and he leaves quietly without
awaking a sleeping beauty. He makes for the street corner where he is
about to be picked up at 07:00, sharp. His truck arrives and he jumps
in the back while the red robots have not yet turned
green.
Meanwhile, lazy sleepy-head Sbongile is asleep until
her customary awaking time of approximately 09:30. She wakes up and
lags in the bed for a while before deciding to get dressed and go
home. She shouts for Mandla, 'Molo baby ' where are you? There
is no reply and she jumps out of bed in confused anxiety. She takes a
look at herself in the mirror and sees her dreadful face and a note.
'Hi babes. Left for work. Just lock before you leave. XXX' She
crumbles the note and throws it into her purse as she takes out her
perfume and makes for the bathroom. She looks around and finally
finds the small bathroom.
***
She leaves after having
tidied the flat and pampering herself. She locks as instructed to by
the note. She kisses the door as she leaves. She turns and walks down
the corridor, boards the lift and leaves Mandla's block of
flats.
Part III
Sbongile arrived at her boyfriend's
house at around midday. Princess, Thando and her boyfriend were
seated in the main room when she entered. She saw their worried and
dreadfully unamused faces and smiled.
'I'm home peeps!' she
shouted. She had no intentions of answering any questions. She went
straight to the bedroom and threw herself on the bed.
'Where
the hell have you been? We've been worried sick about you!'
shouted an unimpressed and annoyed Thando. She was angry.
'I'm
not a baby and you're not my mother!' Sbongile shouted with no
care at all.
'You don't ever talk to me like that again ' do '
you ' hear ' me?!' said Thando who pulled Sbongile by the collar
and stared her in the eyes and almost head-butted her.
Sbongile
pushed Thando off her but was unsuccessful. Thando retaliated with a
slap. Princess and Sbongile's boyfriend looked on. Sbongile's
boyfriend had long made peace with his soul. His anger was always
under control. Especially after the last time he fought with
Sbongile.
He had given her three solid punches and four slaps
when she got off his grip and ran to the police. Then Sbongile
returned with two officers who returned Sbongile's pain on him. He
has always been cautious since. She repaid the policemen's favour
with sex. And he knew about it.
Now as Thando was kneading
Sbongile's face, he did not do a thing. Instead he stood and
appreciated what Thando was doing. He stood and watched with no
intentions of intervening. After all, Thando was doing just what his
cautious fists itched to do the most.
Sbongile was screaming
and pleading with Thando to stop but she did not. When she had had
enough, she paused and asked, 'Are you ever gonna disrespect me
again?'. Sbongile could not speak and she just shook her head.
'What was that?' Thando asked as she pulled on Sbongile's ear and
drew her face nearer.
Sbongile replied with a, 'Mo...'. Her
face was bloody and her cheeks were swollen.
Thando then left
her and turned to Sbongile's boyfriend and said, 'That should
straighten her.'She smiled at the man who trying very hard to
hide a graceful smile. 'Let's go girls.', Thando said to princess.
They left.
The minute Princess and Thando had left, Sbongile
packed her bags and left. She knew where she was going.
She
caught a taxi to the city. She got off at the city centre and had a
take-away meal. She ate and then walked to last night's club. It was
closed. So she walked to Mandla's block of flats. She entered,
boarded the lift and walked down the corridor to room 16. She rung
the bell and waited.
A sweet voice attended to Sbongile. She
was flabbergasted but replied, 'I'm Mandla's girlfriend. I'm here for
him. Is he here?'
'Are you sure love? Last time I checked,
my Mandla was married to me.', said the beautiful lady as she
showed Sbongile her marvelous wedding ring.
Sbongile could
have dropped dead but death was not a certainty yet. 'Bu- bu- but he
told me he was single.... Are you talkin' about the same guy? The one
who manages the club in town - ', Sbongile replied with tears in her
eyes.
'Honey! Come see... we have a psychotic girl here! She
claims she's your girl and that you manage a club. Ha ha! Ha ha!',
the woman shouted, 'Let him come speak to you personally.'
Mandla came and held the lady and kissed her on the cheek.
'What have we here?, he asked.
Sbongile told her story
bearing the intricate happenings of the previous night. She told
everything in hope that he may be exposed. She had lost all hope in
being his now. All she wanted was to expose him.
Mandla and
his wife laughed aloud. 'Well firstly, my hubby works for a gardening
service. Secondly, he never goes out clubbing and I am his
wife.'
'I don't even know you. Who told you all of this and
how do you know my name and where I stay?'
Sbongile never
replied. She left the flats in total shame and embarrassment. She
walked down the corridor, boarded the lift and left the
edifice.
Sbongile left the building.
Epilogue
The
thing about appreciation is that it is always late. As the words of
the cliché go '... appreciate what you have until it's too late.'
This is because the human flaws of desire and greed are the most
blighted part of our existence. The only thing that makes the best of
humans is thought.
Thought is the only force capable of
separating decision from regret. As Buddha, Aristotle and other great
philosophers said, 'We ultimately become what we think.' Sometimes
in life when we look back we often ask ourselves, 'What was I
thinking?' That would never be the case if we actually
thought.
In life we are often eluded to think that money,
clothes, fame and looks are what makes a person. But the truth is
that big people are made of far less materialistic and more intrinsic
things ' values.
We also need not forget that we are human
because of feelings. They are what we are due to and they are due to
our thoughts. Love is the feeling we cannot do without and it changes
foe to friend. Compassion is the difference between a friend and
someone whom you thought was one. Doubt is a cause for regression.
Lastly desire, the liar who makes himself a necessity and untimely
leads the Macbeth in us to run amok.
There is no right way of
doing things in life, deal with the consequences, just choose
consequences that are easy to deal with.
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