A DASH OF FATALITY
First light penetrates amid the hazy precipitation. As darkness surrenders, everything changes from tinges of charcoal to a slow streak of vibrancy, marking the onset of yet another day of seemingly never ending misery.
Though my eyes are open, the sight of a better tomorrow is beyond reach. My heart is pounding, my mind empty. It’s as if a hypodermic of adrenaline has been emptied into my carotid. I clutch my ragged overcoat tightly, whilst trying to ignore the rumbling sounds of my empty belly. In the streets, the cold spells are the worst of periods to endure.
“Perhaps the cold days are beauty’s poetry”, I console myself… “For they command the still moment and invite the eye to find the eternal in the simple. For in these times of frost, there is wonder to be found in the humble rain bead and the icy puddle. There is time to reflect upon the gift of warmer days and realize that cold days, however harsh they can get, are too a thing to cherish and savor”.
Well, such bouts of introspection regularly keep me in check, acting like a plank I’d grasp on, when the waves of hopelessness threaten to sink me. My trajectory might be uncertain, but the glimmers of hope somehow get to shine within me.
With virtually no one to count on, the way is to keep moving no matter how tough the going gets. Being a street boy from a tender age, all I know is anguish. Despair is my shadow. Torture and hardship my acquaintances. Each passing day is a quest for survival, encompassed with uncertainty. One day you get, the next day you’re deprived of it. The jaws of death stare agape at me from time to time, but my gut prompts me to shun fear and gradually acknowledge the inevitability of fatality, for in the long run, we are all as fleeting as a candle in the summer breeze.
The sky is a rolling blanket of cloud, the color of wet ash, and the ground it’s dank reflection. I set out for downtown, fingers crossed I’ll be lucky enough to get a meal to at least see me through the day. No matter how cruel the streets can get, there are a few good souls in it’s midst, empathetic enough to condone me and my kind.
As I walk strenuously, blisters beneath my feet, I mumble an ejaculatory prayer to at least implore for sufficient graces to keep me going through the day, oblivious of what fate awaits me. I arrive at the typically crowded setup, and make a beeline towards the shops. Suspicious and judgmental glances befall me while a handful others pave way for me, probably afraid that I will stop them in their tracks to beg. I have learnt that abundance is never the absence of scarcity, and maybe just maybe, this particular lot is materially privileged but humanely lacking.
A panoramic state of events steals the scene in a flash. Fracas reigns supreme. Characterized by hasty movements and rowdy howls, my attention conforms with the reality of the happenings. Slightly ahead of me stands a lady, all beautiful and dripping in panache. My glance meets hers and upon that, she unceremoniously wails, “That’s him, he is the one”. Like a déjà vu, I anticipate what is on the verge of transpiring, and without hesitation I take off to my heels, heart racing and sweat trickling.
The mob is growing bigger and so is my fear. The last ounce of strength is draining and my feeble legs are slowing me down. The beginning of the end draws closer, as my spirit shatters on the account of the injustice. Will I face an untimely death propelled by malice? Will I not live to see yet another day in the land of the living?
I take the turn towards one of the narrow corridors in a bid to loose the few resilient pursuers; only to realize that I am digging my own grave. Both ends have now been blocked by the fuming mob, with me trapped at the center. I look right, I look left. I momentarily gaze upwards as well. Clearly, no sign of escape. This is it, the dead end.
They begin to enclose on me. First stone is thrown, hitting my head, rendering me slightly unconscious. Pleading results to being vain and justifying my innocence becomes a tall order, as more stones descend on me. The end is here, and there is no way out of it. The cruelty of the world in now on it’s summit. The present scenes; an epitome of the rage and bitterness it bears for me. Stone after stone, blow after blow, log after log.
As my pulse weakens, my black eyed face looks up to the heavens. My tears demand divine justice, and my soul cries out for vengeance. My blood shouts for the validation of my innocence. “He’s gone, they say”.
I look at my lifeless body. My transformation is now immense. A total alleviation from my earthly troubles. “Let’s go home”. A placid voice whispers. My time is indeed here. The realm in which I was never sure of it’s existence is now manifesting. Another son of the streets, turned victim of atrocity once more, is now headed to a better place; devoid of savagery, wickedness and heartlessness.
#40ShadesOfThePen
#Ephy_Gathara✍️
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