Blood Stained Illusions

A teardrop. Bottle slipped, the shattering brought her back. She bent to pick a black piece, staring hard at her blurry reflection, then a cut. She must have stared a little too hard. The red little drops followed, she looked on as each drop hit the floor in slow counts, red , red, red, she felt nothing. Still holding on to a piece, she looked at her hand, the glass had cut deeper, it had red on it too. She stared hard at the blood stained piece in her hand, it wasn’t blurry anymore, she loved what she saw…

Holding the knife, a tight grip, slow strides, so slow she could count her steps. She stood in front of the mirror, the clock ticked loudly for seconds. No, she thought, green wasn’t appropriate for the occasion, she would wear white, yes! White. She looked so angelic. If only mummy and daddy could see her now, mummy would have given her a kiss on the forehead, daddy would have called her his princess.
She picked the knife, slower strides, so she wouldn’t ruin her outfit for the occasion, a tighter grip, she could even feel her heartbeat! She hadn’t felt her heart beat in a while. A smile crept up on her face.

He was pulling down his shorts, facing the water closet, back turned. She liked this, white tiles, white water closet, white dress, perfect. She looked at his round black buttocks, she thought, Uncle is really fat. It gushed out from his penis like tap water, but it wasn’t clean like tap water. She was so close now, her mouth was right above his round black buttocks, he smelt like spoilt beans. Her hands over hear head, she stabbed him, counting in her head, 1,2,3. He turned back, mouth agape, eyes bulging and stretched one arm towards her, swiftly she moved back, he landed with a heavy thud on his knees, he was close, she moved back again, he fell flat, face down.

Sitting on his back, she rubbed her red hands on her white dress, it was beautiful. Slowly pulling out the knife, she stabbed again, again and again, in very fast motion. No counting, just stabbing. She screamed and cried, rubbed her hands on her face. She was done. Her white dress cleaned the knife. She laid beside him on the no longer white tiles and held onto the knife, just in case…

The banging startled her back to reality. Glass piece dropped abruptly. Swift steps, door opens, big thick palm lands heavily on her cheek, no pain, no tears. “Stupid little brat”
He spits angrily at her, his saliva smelt the same as last night, the night before, the night before the night before and all other nights before those nights. He barks:
“Raise up your skirt”
Then his cracked lips break into a smile, his cream colored teeth and broken tooth shows.
“Just the way I like it! Now go lay gently on the bed for me. Uncle is coming”

She doesn’t like him doing it. But he doesn’t care. He says its his right and she’s his property. She thinks so too. He pulls of his trousers, lies on top of her, the stench from his breath hits her, she turns her head and stares at the wall. She thought: Mummy and daddy are watching and they are doing nothing.
He holds her legs wide apart, puts his big penis inside her, thrusting roughly, his sweat dripping on her tummy. She no longer closed her eyes like before. She grips the sheets in her small hands, staring at the wall, she sees the broken glasses stained with red and she smiles…

Love Session(s)

Olo mi, Oni temi
Ore mi, Ololufe
Oju kan sa lada ni
Lola Oluwa, ko soun to ya wa.

This love session I want forever.
Even I relish the sound of my giggles,
the giggles only your jokes erupt.
Your eyes, my mirror.
In them I search for approval and more.
Music to my ears when you talk,
You listen and listen when I rant.
You know my thoughts, psychic.
Playmates.

This love session I want forever.
My depression recedes when you’re here,
your love makes me an addict.
Your rangy legs on the set tee, so perfect.
Lips that make me warm all over.
Quirky eyes that make my heart race.
Manicured nails, manly fingers,
I can’t think, my head is murky.
Lovers.

This love session I want forever.
You’re mine. Mine alone.
Call me selfish, I care less.
Purple sheets, black wallpaper,
tickles, suppressed scream, weak fights,
fingers lock, bodies meet, lips touch,
beards tickle my chin.
Fireworks.

Tomorrow I might not sing this happy song.
So this love session I’ll have it all.

Guilty Ranter

Weeks ago I registered for this blog out of impulsiveness, even though I wasn’t sure if I would ever post anything. Surprisingly, now I have something to rant about. Its not the kind of rant that a pen and paper would do justice to, if not, I wouldn’t be here . Its the kind that only pressing keypads can solve, fast and hard. Urrggh! x_x The last part sounded a bit sexual but you get my drift.

This came as a result of something my sister said about her friend who claimed that a ghost came to their house and ate. At that point, I was forced to ask my mum if she believed in ghosts. This were her exact words :
“I haven’t seen one in my life. But people say they exist so I think its true. They show it in movies now”
The last part was what I was really hoping to hear and I was pleased I didn’t get disappointed. I have to honestly admit, I watch nollywood movies. What choice do I have? My mum loves them(not all) so, when I say some of these movies infuriate me, I know exactly what I’m saying and why. I know this is a familiar rant, people have talked on and on about how terrible nollywood movies are. But sincerely, not all.

Sometimes, I’m left to wonder how an average thinking human would think that the ghost of a woman’s late husband suddenly appearing on the television screen the widow is watching would make a good scene in a movie. I might be young and broke but I’m not stupid.
Or how a ghost slaps a man to death because he is about to sleep with his wife. Why not just tell me that whenever he is sex starved in his grave he comes to have a quickie with his wife. I’m sure I would believe that too!
Look at that,he is probably calling the best friend who killed him to tell him that he was coming over to his house to seek his revenge.

Yes! This picture brings me to another issue, who ever came up with the idea that ghosts wear white oversize flowing gowns and have white powder or calamine lotion rubbed all over their body? You don go heaven go see say na the costume wey dem dey wear be that? He or she is dead, I know! But looking like something cuss itself will cuss at isn’t what will make him or her look so ghostly and spooky.
I’m a drama student and I understand that whoever costumed the ghost was being creative with his or her ideas since they’ve never seen a ghost before. But please please and please come up with something else. This is 2013!

But after all my thoughts and consequent head shaking, I thought to myself, If I got the opportunity to act in a movie and get paid, then I’m asked to be a ghost who has to poop in a toilet, would I do it? YES! No matter how retarded it is, I would do it. I would gladly let calamine lotion be rubbed on my body and just imagine I’m getting a massage at a spa as long as I’m getting paid. I’m a student, a broke one at that too. Don’t blame me, the economic situation of my lovely country has made me lower my standards and principles.
So, after all said and done, I could also be a ghost that cuss itself would cuss at.
I guess I’m a guilty ranter after all 😦