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Then we imploded: Chideziri POV
Amanda hasn't come online since we crashed the party.
I'm thinking it's her battery. Or she has no data. Both of which are remediable if I knew which. Abe has been online, however, more than usual. Mostly, he's angry—at whom I don't know. How he is throwing shade online you'd think he sells sunglasses, i swear. He's there, talking about: They tried to put me down. But I came. I saw. I conquered. (Fire emoji)#undefeated.
The guy is a joker. If Pascal and I hadn't showed up when we did, we'd be talking of how we should go about embalming him. I shut my trap though, lest he turn on me. I don't have strength for beef now.
I am still lying there, on the sofa in the parlour, swinging my feet and laughing at his rants when Mumsi comes in. As soon as she showed up, she asked me a question, at the doorstep while I was still trying to haul in her numberless bags.
Take a wild guess.
"Have you eaten?" or "how are you?" are t
Kaugnay na kabanata
She Belongs To The Sky The Process Of Chasing You: Chideziri POV
Tom drums always lead the march.They are not the largest, or the most domineering. Basses, with their hollow echoes that bounce back from all corners of the space, making the place seem like one large bubble, coveted that position. They are neither the most impressive nor ear-catching; that is a privilege known only to the whistling rattles of snares. No, they are not.Still, tom drums lead the march.When they call, every one else answers, without pause, without question. That precisely is why I chose the tom.We are on the field, every last Little feater in the secondary section, outside. Blades of manicured spear grass swish gently beneath our hooves, the belated silver afternoon sun directly in our eyes, blazing off the linen white of our bright green blazers. It drizzled hours before, a weightless shower that descended in slanted spears. The swishing grass at our feet is humid with beads of the sky's tears. After-rain s
She Belongs To The Sky The Process Of Chasing You: Amanda POV
If i was a bird i would land at my own windowsill, too.That's because it looks homely—old and forgotten, the wall it peaks through is crawling with vines; aged vines, budding tendrils, it doesn't matter, they all died when the house's decorator, whoever he or she was, covered them in a heavy coat of cream-coloured paint.The pigeon at the bowed ledge of my window waddles about on dragon-scaled orange feet, its body a startling snow white that defies the principles of natural pigmentation. I have never seen the like. The bird belongs on the prow of a war ship, carved and etched in fine timber. I rap my knuckles against the mirror like face of the glass, examining its feathers. It doesn't so much as flinch, only its eyes move; unblinking jet black dots flecked with raisins of curiosity that follow my every motion. If I had my phone I would have taken a close up picture of its streamlined figure. I would have Google-searched its name. I pull out a
She Belongs To The Sky The Process Of Chasing You: Chideziri POV
Amanda looks beautiful in that jeans pinafore, the honey brown of her face shining with that soft sleek translucence of oil. Her hand flies to the black choker circling her neck; she clutches it, her pupils dilating. I think have had enough of people stare at me with round eyes for one full day, so I go ahead to recite the sentence I repeated in my head over and over again on the way here till it started to sound right. Trust Chantelle, she won't come with me even when I begged her. In my experience, an extra person makes for easier conversations and less awkwardness. I practically groveled at that chap's feet; she wouldn't budge. Some much for Bro-code."Hey, Amanda, afar? You weren't—". She didn't even let me finish."What are you doing here?" She whispers. Good question. An even better answer: I let bloody Abe talk me into coming to your house."I just decided to come—"."How did you know the way to my house?". If sh
She Belongs To The Sky The Process Of Chasing You: Amanda POV
Someone should as well come up to me and ask: Any last words?. Because i am a zombie, walking dead. A meat suit on two feet if Daddy catches me. Catches us. I jerk him into the sitting room by a handful of his dress shirt and shut the door behind us, quickly."Amanda, slow down first. What's happening?" He asks.How about "my Dad is going to murder us".I shush him and pull him by his hand past the sitting room, past the black glass dining table we don't eat at, through the passage and....into my room. I have been doing that a lot lately, dragging him around, I mean. In this scenario, it is absolutely necessary. We enter my room and I close and bolt the door, panicking myself shitless. A thrill runs through me, climbs up my tummy and evaporates into my chest in a shiver. There are beads of sweat under my arms, uncomfortable, like shards of glass, and the butterflies in my stomach are flying around my insides like mad. I would recognize the feel
She Belongs To The Sky While We Are Tragic
The voice beyond the chestnut brown door reverberates with the same sonorously sweet huskiness I fell for a month ago. Still, it is different, more controlled. It is like steam; tepid and everywhere. If Amanda's voice had feet and it could on walk on water, this is exactly what its footsteps would sound like."This is the eyeglass from the clinic. Try them on a d check if it improved anything. Remember to take the drugs we bought. Two in the morning. Two at night. Okay?". She doesn't reply immediately, and although she says "Yes Daddy" sweetly after half a second, I smell the terseness in that nanosecond, amplified and velvety, and it eroded the silence into a chasmic void. Next, i hear the slap of shuffling foot, going in the opposite direction, away from my position. I hear her barefoot sweep against the face of the tiles when she steps back to shut the door. Then the slapping sound stops, and returns to the door. My head is on fire, and I am wondering how he saw me,
She Belongs To The Sky While We Are Tragic: Amanda POV
The beguiling fear passes soon enough, and with it, the urgency in my thighs that made me imagine i was about to wee on myself. It would have been a disaster if Dad saw Chideziri. I swear."Were you sick? Is that why you didn't come to school?". I look down at the paper bag in my hand, Thelma's eye clinic is scrawled over it in bold Sanserif, at my phone, at the shiny Teddy bear ears on its pouch shimmering like its saying "did you miss me?"."No," I say. I sound calmer than I should be. "My Dad caught me coming back from the party and....as you can imagine, he was properly pissed," Chideziri grimaces at the thought. It makes me want to laugh."He seized my phone and made me stay at home through out yesterday and today. And Viola! here I am." I shrug."I'm sorry I got you into that mess" he says, looking doleful. I've noticed he has a habit of saying he's sorry for things he didn't do; things he has no control over. We are st
She Belongs To The Sky While We Are Tragic: Chideziri POV
Democritus, this old philosopher of the classical era propounded the Atomist theory. He argued that everything there was that existed on our dew washed dune of a planet was formed primarily by a rare convergence of atoms. He believed that these atoms where colourless, transparent bodies of varying shapes and sizes and weights; the purest of which were made up of fire. People didn't believe him. They didn't believe him the same way they didn't believe Leonardo Da vinci who imagined men could one day fly.After Amanda's exploring fingers have ignited a sure trail of wild fire in every fibre of my being, I feel inclined to believe Democritus. Her kisses are feathery like a brush of paint against a canvas, yet each one burns. Between my eyes, at the slim drawbridge of my nose. Tenderly on the valley between my nostrils and upper lip. On my lips. My eyelids seem to have lost the power to unseal themselves. They tilt and flutter and quiver, and the only thing in sight is the
She Belongs To The Sky While We Are Tragic: Amanda POV
AMANDAIt is late evening when I ask Dad for a pen, when he goes into his bedroom to sort out one of the fancy biros he stashed in the lower drawer of his reading desk. I sneaked Chideziri, quickly, into the kitchen and out, to the back of the house through the pantry door. Though he didn't seem a tad worried about my Dad smelling him out, I hurried him anyway, but I made him wait for me at the gate. I think of how we watched the twilight born together, saw it fall asleep, slowly, leaving a map of scintillating pink, orange, red and yellow continents stretched across the worn out sky. We talked about everything, and nothing. Movies and books and songs, and wondered why another person could tickle you but you couldn't do so if you tried your hardest. We talked about poetry and lyrics, our favourite places in the world, and tattoos. When he asked me if I would like to have a tattoo, i said "yes", and I told him it would be at my hip—a giant bitumen-black butterfly—t
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