SNDBOX SUMMER CAMP: WRITING -TASK TWO
Into the distance, leaving footprints
In the smoking sands.
Each print bleeds and births something,
But I cannot follow to see.
My limbs are weak,
My hands shake like a leaf in the wind,
My lips are parched and my heart,
Has melted into soup.
I am the pages of an old book,
A story gathering dust
On the tip of a story teller's tongue.
I am a memory that has no scent,
No song, no body
To walk the floors of your thoughts.
I am a dead thing
Before the world and
No one sees me become dust
Not even the sky or the sun.
The old man cleaned his lips with a soiled handkerchief, he had pulled out from his coat pocket. His hands shook with the effort but he got the spittle from his beard and the sides of his lips. He pushed the soiled cloth back into his pocket and stared at his plate.
The bar was rowdy with the loud laughter of young men and women, their strong and beautiful bodies thrown about the chairs and tables in careless abandon. Music, loud music shook the walls of the bar and those who knew how to move about the floor under something akin to dancing were doing so with zest. It involved a lot of sweating, screaming, groping, twisting and shallow lustful gazes between partners. The old man had tried to make sense of it but it was no use. So he had moved away from the scene and let the music and the drunken noise was over him like sea waves crashing on the beach in Lagos back in '69.
It had been Jemimah, with the big titties, that had made him go there, the beach. He didn't know how to swim then, so he had never really bothered to go to the popular spot. Besides his job as a salesman for BATA Shoe Company, didn't give him enough time to have fun.
They had watched people play in the surf, kids running around with plastic balls, girls kissing strange boys behind palm trees and old couples seated under umbrellas, holding each other's hands and holding wrinkled smiles on their faces as they remembered when they were young and did play in the sun too.
They had drunk cold beer and talked about books, the influence of the western world in the philosophy of Africans and so many other things that his old mind could not remember now. Jemimah had swum, her ebony skin glinting with water like a newly constructed macadam road in the sun. She had been beautiful that day. They had gone home in silence, their hands loosely entangled in each other's warmth.
That night, she had come to him, like a nymph from one of Dionysus' revels; a wild, untamed force of nature. They had made love beneath cool sheets, with only the moon for audience and the music of chirping crickets for chorus. Two days later, he had received a letter; she was on her way back to London. He never saw her again.
The old man snapped out of his reverie, as a chair scraped the floor beside him. He turned slowly, his neck was not as flexible as it used to be and his back hurt anytime he made sudden movements. The intruder was a young man with sad eyes. The man nodded at him and sat at his table. The old man looked him over then he turned back to his soup. It had gone cold,he sighed and pushed the plate away.
He dipped his hand into his coat's right pocket and brought out a crumpling pack of cigarettes. He tried to open it but his hands shook and he hissed in frustration. He dropped the cigarette pack on the table and placed his two hands on his laps.
The young man picked the pack, opened it and brought out one bent stick of Benson and Hedges. He stretched it towards the old man. The old man watched him silently then he stretched forward and took the stick into his lips. The young man brought a gas lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette. The old man sucked in the smoke, then he forced his shaky hands to grab the stick and he blew out a stream of smoke.
He stopped and listened to the sound of his voice as it faded away. He could not recognize it. Had his voice always sounded like that or was it age? Perhaps his memory of his voice has faded with time? How can one forget how one sounds? He, the old man tired, sighed, shook his head and turned away to watch the world dance.
The young man brought out from his trouser pocket, his own pack of cigarettes, Dorchester was his brand. He frowned as he lit the cigarette; he had just started smoking again after twelve years of abstinence. He swallowed the smoke and held it within his lungs while he watched the old man struggle with his own cigarette.
The man's hands shook bad. His nerves are gone. He is slowly fading. What is he doing in a place like this alone? What am I doing here myself? He sighed and blew smoke to the ceiling, a prayer to some god somewhere, who still believed in men. He chuckled and turned to watch the bar.
The crowd filled every available space. A live band was murdering someone's song and those on the dance floor were burying the song with their attempts at singing along. The room reeked of sweat, smoke, stale perfume, sour palmwine, marijuana and the faint wind tossed scent of urine.
The dancing was worse than the singing and they were all so young. The young man watched young boys who should be home reading, squeezing the almost nonexistent buttocks of little girls who have not seen their periods for more than three or four years. What has this world turned to? Is this the generation that will save us? Rubbish. The young man frowned and turned to stare at the table.
A waitress came around with a tray. She dropped a small bottle of dry gin and a shot glass before the young man, then turned away, her waist wriggling as if she was rehearsing for an acrobatic display in some traditional dance competition. The young man hissed and turned on his alcohol in irritation. He poured a shot down his throat and grimaced.
Lizzie had hated him drinking anything but water. She had been a health enthusiast and as far as she was concerned alcohol, beverages, soft drinks, were the devil and water was God made flesh. He had quit smoking and drinking to please her and he had gone jogging, swimming, bench pressing to keep up with her. Her body had been perfect.
He had met her at a seminar on cryptocurrency investment back in the United States, when bitcoin was just coming out. She had been a software engineer for a start up somewhere in California. They had argued all through the seminar about how realistic computer currency as he called it, could be in a world that depended so much on paper currency.
He had hated her stubborn chin and those eyes that flashed with the knowledge that she knew what she was talking about. They had exchanged strong words that day, yet she had said yes when he invited her out on a date the next week.
She had later said that she had gone on the date because she was nostalgic for home, she missed talking with a Nigerian. They had talked on several topics; music, books, feminism, culture, government, and so on but they never spoke about cryptocurrency as she called it. He left for Nigeria three days later. Two years later, they became man and wife... The old man had said something; the young man raised his eyes to the man.
The young man watched a sad smile crease the old man's wrinkled face.
The old man's eyes were on the young man's ring finger. It had no ring on but there was a pale line on the skin. The young man's hand had been rubbing the spot unconsciously. The young man smiled and shook his head.
Is loneliness a flesh and blood thing
Or is it my mind playing tricks?
When will the sun come
Into my room,
So I can find my way back to you?
On the window curtains
As if reluctant to go with you,
As if it knows that if it leaves,
I will forget the sun of your smile,
Your tender skin smelling of my sweat,
Your long limbs twirling in dance
And the canary that your lips birthed
Everytime you sang me a song.
Do I want to be whole again?
For being whole is you coming back,
Rubbing my cheek
And telling me to stop crying.
Gosh, it hurts to be broken,
To be torn in two.
When will I see you?
Today?
I could come to be with you today.
The old man studied the young man for some minutes then he nodded his head and the young man nodded back. They both turned to watch the young ones play.
In that moment, they both became two men who understood the world and knew it better than most. Their minds had touched in some place far from the bar and they needed no words to express the connection.
She entered the bar with the rain pattering about her heels. Her short gown was wet and her hair was a tangled mass about her face. She looked about the crowded place and shivered. The warmth and the loud music seeped into her bones and she shivered some more. She walked forward, her eyes searching for a place to clean up, and she walked right into the broad back of a man just standing up. She apologised quickly as the man turned. She had expected anger and maybe a curse but not the sad smile on the man's face that quickly shifted to a concerned frown.
"You will catch a cold if you don't go dry yourself up and change your clothes. Come, I know one of the waitresses." The man said and turned away. She stood for a moment confused, then she followed him.
"can I get a stick of cigarette?" she asked.
FINALE
What do you want from me?
I am not a vision of your dreams,
I am a broken thing.
I am no nymph, no anchor,
I am no goddess, no saint;
I am the ending, not a beginning.
Can't you see the pain
Suckled from my nipples,
Eaten like body and blood
From the mount of veneration?
Can't you see there's nothing left
But death, ashes and dust?
Leave me alone.
Let me burn in my purgatory,
Let me scream in my hell.
I have failed;
I have cursed my womanhood,
My womb, my life.
God! Tell them to let me be.
Photo by Benji Aird on Unsplash.
"I had a baby today." She turned to look at the two men. She had not known when the words slipped out.
"Where is the baby?" the old man asked.
"I abandoned it at the hospital and ran away."
"you don't want to to keep it?" the old man asked.
"My boyfriend, sorry, my ex-boyfriend is married but I didn't know then. The bastard lied to me, got me pregnant and walked away. I have nothing, no one; I am finished."she burst into tears again.
"where is the hospital?" the young man asked suddenly.
"what? Why? I can't go back there. I don't have money to pay the hospital bill and I have no where to take the baby to. He threw me out of the apartment he rented for me." she said, cleaning her eyes again. "she looked so beautiful. She had big brown eyes and dimples. Her skin was so silky soft. She..." the girl burst into tears again.
"I will take care of the baby until we can come to a decision on what to do." the young man said.
"I had come here to make my peace before I freed myself of pain. Lizzie's death made me feel empty and tired of life. I had no reason to live. She had always wanted a child but doctors advised against it because of her health. She would have loved this baby. I like to think that she is happy that I am choosing this over death." he said, his eyes faraway.
"I don't have anything. Why do you want to help me, you don't even know me?"
"You are the one helping me. You are giving me a reason to live." the young man said.
"I have money, lots of it and I have no one to spend it on. it will be good to make a little girl believe that life can be beautiful even if it is only for a while." the old man added.
"You are not father and son?"
"I am Engineer Samuel Okito. Nice to meet you sir." the young man said stretching his hands to the old man.
"Call me Pato. All my friends used to call me Pato." he replied.
"My name is Blessing. Thank you sir, thank the both of you." she said through tears. The three of them smiled at each other.
"Can you come to the house? I want to amend my will. No I am not dying. I suspect I still got some few years to live."
"Get me another plate of pepper soup, I feel good."
A BEGINNING
The waitress, after looking at the girl with barely veiled anger, passed her a shirt and a short. She quickly rushed into the female restroom and changed. The shirt was several sizes too big and the shorts needed a belt. Luckily she had used a belt to gather her gown together on her waist before, so she used that and was soon presentable enough to come out.
The young man was standing outside, smoking, when the girl came out of the restroom. He looked at her and nodded, then he turned his back and she followed him as he walked to his seat. He drew a chair beside an old man and she sat down.
The old man looked at her and smiled but said nothing. The young man passed her his shot glass filled with gin. She downed it and he poured her another. She studied the two men; father and son on a night out. Some people are just lucky.She downed the second glass.
The old man looked at his pack sadly and sighed, it was empty. The young man pushed his pack towards the girl and she drew a stick out. Her hands shook as she tried to use the gas lighter. The young man took it from her and lit it. The entrance door burst open as an errant wind rushed in, seeking for the warmth hidden in the bar. The girl gasped and smoke went through the wrong passage. She coughed and the young man patted her back. She coughed again and again then she burst into tears.
I am not a vision of your dreams,
I am a broken thing.
I am no nymph, no anchor,
I am no goddess, no saint;
I am the ending, not a beginning.
Suckled from my nipples,
Eaten like body and blood
From the mount of veneration?
Can't you see there's nothing left
But death, ashes and dust?
Let me burn in my purgatory,
Let me scream in my hell.
I have failed;
I have cursed my womanhood,
My womb, my life.
God! Tell them to let me be.
The girl saw the young man looked at the old man and the latter shrugged. They sat silently and listened to her sniffle, mumble and shake with sobs and sighs. The old man brought out his handkerchief slowly and looked at it, he shook his head and put it back into his coat pocket. He raised his head to see the young man handing her a clean handkerchief and he smiled.
The girl smiled through her tears and wiped her eyes and her cheeks then she blew into the handkerchief. The young man grimaced at the sound but the old man chuckled. The girl looked up at them and smiled again then she burst into tears again. The old man sighed and let the music wash over him again.
The girl looked at the two men from beneath her lashes, then she turned to watch the crowd. She squeezed the wet handkerchief into a ball and let the music take her to another place.
James had been beautiful. He had been everything that she had dreamed a man could be and more. She had given him everything; her very soul, she had given to him. She was his, forever and he was hers, or so she had thought.
Today she had become like him. She had done evil and it hurt to think of it. She jumped as a speaker suddenly boomed. She looked about her. The two men were watching her. She picked the cigarette pack, drew another one and lit it. She drew the smoke in, then turned to the dancing crowd.
The two men turned to each other, surprised.
Her eyes welled up with tears but she shook her head and breathed deeply. She took another drag of the cigarette.
The young man's eyes peered at the girl through the smoke but he said nothing.
The old man turned to the young man with surprise spread on his face, as the girl gasped in shock. He looked the young man all over again with new eyes. The young man shrugged.
The old man nodded and turned to the girl. The girl looked at him, then turned to the young man.
The girl looked at them in surprise then she laughed.
The two men looked at each other and smiled then they shook their heads. The young man explained that they just sat on the same table, they didn't even know each other's names. The girl shook her head in surprise.
The old man stretched his shaky hands and grasped the young man's hand
The girl laughed and hugged the old man
In that moment, a bond was created that blood cannot give. A bond built of pain and regret but also of hope and dreams.
They exchanged phone numbers and the old man watched the young man and the girl as they left the bar, then he brought a small phone slowly from his pocket and dropped it on the table. He called a waiter and told him to help him find a name on the phone. The boy dialled the number and after two rings, someone picked the call. The boy then placed the phone on the man's ear as he had requested.
The old man smiled as the boy ended the call, his wrinkled face telling its own secrets to the world.
Hey folks, this is Oskilo's blog and he would love to read your suggestions on how to make this blog better serve you. He would like to know what you, his reader, think of the content so do not forget to leave a comment; you just might have something he needs.
Awsome story!!! Congratulations again :)
Thank you @imaginedragon. It is quite lengthy I must say. Congratulations too for your win. Will be seeing you at the final quest.
Actually, I thought it was a good length :) Defiantly I can't wait :)
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