He picked the old radio from the stack of dirty clothes beside him, and dusted it off! It had been a while since he had used it, it was the ONLY thing he owned in that house. A house he ought to have called his own!
On that day, he had been crying for long ; actually his “crying” had started the day he gave up college and agreed to that forbidden union with the SHE!
The SHE was away looking for money to booze it up that night with her friends since it was the last day of that year. As usual he had been left in the house to cook and wash the SHE’s clothes. He was her slave, and she was his master!
His life was plain,,,plainly plain….no fun, no play, no nothing! He had grown up in a fairly wealthy family, but because he had chosen love: he had no option but to abide by his choice. He couldn’t go back to his family….that was not an option here. Who would have accepted him anyway?
He used to be a nice-looking, so-promising young guy: then the SHE came along.
The truth is; the SHE only wanted him for a moment. The SHE was used to them-young boys: so energetic and so thirsty for money in exchange for a little fun, but he was foolishly different…he was blind! He had been blinded by the fake infatuation so much that he choose to have the SHE marry him.
He put on the radio, and picked a pen and a paper…..he scribbled down multiple words, his hands shaking and tears falling helplessly from his tiny eyes cleaning up the wrinkle-infested face.
He wrote. He wrote of promises not fulfilled–he wrote of the unhealable malady borne from sweet intercourse–of a one-sided love–of a beat husband– of a tired soul– of a physically abused and used young man…..he wrote of how 2016; that year could have ended with merry-making had he made the right choice..he wrote of regret, and numerous unaccomplished goals!
The sad Lana Del Rey tune being played on the radio made him more sombre as he struggled to pen-down letters on the now tear-soaked paper…..The dim bulb in the poorly lit room kind of reminded him who he currently was, a once bright light whose appeal was fading…all in all, he could do nothing to change the past!…
When he felt that he had written enough, he put the paper and pen away, and grabbed a tiny bottle from the cracked floor.
The fluid in that bottle was the determinant!. The determinant of the continuity of his life…
He uncorked the bottle’s top, and brought the bottle close to his mouth to take a sip, his hands trembling from fear….fear of the unknown….fear of what would happen if the fluid did not succumb him….fear of what would happen if it indeed did succumb him!
As he was about to gulp the fluid in the bottle, he heard a knock on the door! Someone was banging hard on the door…..
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(to be continued)
By Mbithi Brian
