You forcefully open the double doors to your room to see your reflection in the large spotless mirror staring at you, as you try to avoid the Master. Your image kills the mustard seed of hope you have been trying to nurture – your eyes exhausted from too many tears. Your lips are chapped, and the glory of your skin is in the past - your beautiful skin as your mother would remark. You wonder if it’s because of its fairness or the hairless sight of it, or the chubby feeling when touched. And then you reckon the eyes of your mother are not yours. Your beauty lies in your freedom, you think to yourself. You affirm that you don’t belong here, not in this castle with grey walls, lofty ceilings, and heavy brown curtains. Not viewing ancient paintings of wars. Not on a bed for a crowd and certainly not wearing these expensive clothes too pure to smear. You recall the first day of your arrival at your new home. You were greeted by a servant who avoided your eyes as he bowed his head and sai...
THE MEET UP “I dreamt I missed the rapture,” he said to me. “There are terrible things I have been thinking of lately and I know that is the reason why.” I asked what terrible thoughts have been dancing to the disco in his head and he answered, after arranging his thoughts properly so that God will not send an angel to whoop his mouth, “YOU. Please do not say anything. Let me speak my mind as quickly as possible because I might never confess this to you. I want you to be my wife. However, I know God will not accept you because you are of the world; you put on trousers, makeup, you attend parties and dance to corrupt music. These are the only obstacles to us being together in holy matrimony. You have to turn to God so he can save you and we will both make heaven together.” I recalled when we used to p lay in secondary school. Lawrence was the people’s guy that stepped into the room and everyone went woahh . He did not think of rapt...