Bending in the warm morning sun on the veranda while scouring out the soup pan, out of no where a wave of fear crashed over the body that habits the soul. In that moment its known everything will never be the same again.
In the far distance the cool wind can be heard in the trees, it announces the coming rains in the later hours of the day. A realization of what might and might not be, the truth not said but known, a hunger not felt but feed. In those moments the future is not determined but its understood.
In the upper room of the house a baby cries, a thought about sex, sexuality and sexual reproductive health, the abortion law, rape, fornication, adultery and all the pleasures of the body flash in mind. Am I a corrupted soul? Am I the serpent in the garden of Eden? Will I be turned in to Lot’s wife? Will I be redeemed?
Finishing up with scouring the pan, rushing to put breast to crying child; always ready, welcoming, pulling and biting as if the father didn’t do worse earlier on in the night. Thomas is a strong boy at 3 months he is of significant weight and pleasing looks. Resemblance not of his father and none of his father’s house nor mother’s, will they know at a latter age that the shoe repair is his father?
A female figure, so beautiful, the mirror does it no kindness stood up and put the baby back into its bed. Removing the wrapper that covered her full body to watch it in the mirror; a lily does not last, despite the beauty of its flower.
There was a pleasure and a power she felt when she walked around naked. The long streaming bath, feeling the sharp sting against her tightened nipples where the man and boy were once feed; her skin glowing dark whitish in its heat.
There was a guilty in this pleasure she felt, but there was more of pleasure. Having the house to one self, the freedom to wonder naked in the quiet and calm – after Thomas was a sleep – was her delight of the day. The air of tension in the house excited her soul and body.
This is how the shopkeeper had found his way in her bed, on the children’s study table, her kitchen floor. The bathroom has its own stories, and the couch has a TV series to release. She had feed him off her body, let him drink from her well.
Now he was in a hospital, rumour was he will never recover. It is the disease that killed his wife. Many who have it never recover. The doctors had told her at the Thomas’s birth that if she was not sure they would save him to be secure.
The radio campaigns had not been effective, the online sexuality advocacy had failed her. Them. Him.
Its not in the saying but rather in the doing, it is in the desire to take charge of each other. It is in the killing of selfishness. Its in the being your brother’s keeper. Its in being faithful, protecting yourself and others, taking your medication as prescribed.
She will die soon, doctor says she will not see Thomas’s sixth birthday. She delayed on her medication, she lived in denial.
8 thoughts on “#UgBlogWeek 2: A lily does not last, despite the beauty of its flower”
All the time the soil reclaims its property, for a season everything lives, for a moment we enjoy them. But with caution we enjoy, we enjoy in less magnitudes for the sake of others.
That said, there are unclaimed socks hanging around.
I claim them
Was luxuriating in the beginning until bam you hit me with an elephant!!! Haven’t recovered yet. Awesome read
My work here is done!
Thank you for reading.
I think the world des-perately needs to hear your opinions, thanks for the nice piece.
Hmmm the world hates opinions, it looks at them and says ‘those are her thoughts who cares’ But I am happy for the few you think so. Thanks for reading.