V-ring


“Room 21” I repeated for the umpteenth time.

The receptionist wasn’t even paying attention.  His eyes were firmly stuck on my chest and his hands were fumbling for the keys I was requesting for.

I usually wear a bra but I accidentally dropped mine in a water closet full of piss as I tried to get a peek of the boy who was peeing a few steps away from my window’s penis; so I had to ditch the damn thing.

It wasn’t my fault that my nipples wouldn’t go jelly.

They were as erect as the Eiffel tower; they had a mind of their own, standing at attention even when they haven’t been told to. Besides, my breasts didn’t like being kept in captivity.

 

Dude was still fumbling for the keys, with his eyes on my chest!!! I rapped my nails impatiently on the counter. He was still looking at my chest…

“Hey! Satisfied?” I scowled as I lifted my t-shirt above my head, and slapped the keys out of his stupefied self staring at my boobs.

I climbed the spiral stairs and let myself into the room.

The room wasn’t much, the paint on the walls was peeling off and the ceiling was cracked. But it was cheap. I had left the house with just a handbag, 3 dresses, 2 t-shirts, one pair of black jeans and my now flushed bra. I forgot my panties and I hadn’t seen any decent ones to buy yet so for now I was allowing the air to flirt with my bottom.

 

I was tired and broken.

It had been 4 days since I left home; I was eating once a day, braless, broke and walking with a third eye at the back of my head.

And for what? A selfish dried out wanna-be stepmother who wanted to wear nothing but my mother’s diamond ring. I was going to have to die first before that happened.

It was enough that my dad had decided to be a douche and associate himself with a cheapskate. But she sure as hell was not going to wear my mother’s diamond ring.

 

The events of the past few weeks had triggered an unholy stew in me; a numbness backed with rage, an insatiable urge to smash my fist into someone’s face, an utter disrespect for the man who birthed me, an overwhelming feeling of hatred for the woman who wanted to replace my mother, and for God (if there was one) for taking my mother to a supposed better place. The only best place she belonged to was with her family, alive.

 

I peeled my jeans off and crawled into the bed as if there was a lonely lover waiting for me.

I traced my hands around my waist, feeling for my beads. I had borrowed an old gold necklace from my mother’s jewelry box and used the ring as a locket. The beads were keeping the necklace and ring company.

 

I didn’t know what I was going to do next or what I was going to eat in the next hour.

But for now, I was just content that my mother’s ring, hang centimeters away my Jerusalem’s gate……

 

 

The Walk


The stained earphones were firmly plugged into her ears. She
looked out of place in a borrowed blue shirt, green tube top, red polka dots on
yellow leggings she had stolen from someone’s line and an over sized black flip
flops.

People were staring, she didn’t give a fuck. She actually hoped her ass was
bouncing in rhythm behind her. She’d been walking for about an hour now, and
she was beginning to feel sharp pains in her chest. She knew she should rest,
but she didn’t really care.

A lovely couple was walking in her direction. She smiled to herself, “cute guy,
I’d totally tap that ass”. And spontaneously grabbed his ass as they passed by.
The guy was too shocked to utter a word. The girl looked terribly upset.

She was laughing so hard she had to hold the walls for support. The girl pulled
her bemused lover and walked hurriedly away.

“You have a soft ass!” she shouted after them.

They walked even faster, and that made her laugh harder.

She picked herself from the sidewalk and continued with her walk. She didn’t
know where she was going; she just knew she had to keep walking. She could’ve
taken the bus or a taxi, but she preferred to walk. She kicked a stone away and
wished she’d taken her sunglasses.

Not to shield her eyes from the probing look of ignorant morons, or the sun for
that matter.

But just to look good. Just to look freaking good.

She stopped for a second, her chest was hurting. Tears were threatening to
drop, but she refused to let them. Today was laughter day, and she was going to
find that bloody expression and wring the breath out of it. Even if it killed
her.

The vibration from her phone made her jump. She dug into her big worn out
leather bag till her hands finally reached them. It was her father.

She stared at the phone for a full second, and placed it back into her bag. She
knew what he was going to say.

“Sika come home. Come home baby, please come home”. She wasn’t ready yet. She
loved her father but she just wasn’t ready to see his him. The thought of him
made her want to cry all over again.

“Life is one beautiful bitch. I would definitely sex her” She thought to
herself. “Here I am, just 17 and so morbid Emily Dickinson wouldn’t have had a
chance with me! Not only did my mother take a hike on motherhood, she came with
bad blood, bad genes, yeah and flat boobs. Speak of luck.

God knows why that creature is nowhere to be found because I can think of so
many ways to stop her heart”.

An older boy and a little girl walked pass her. The girl was blind.

As she watched them walk away she thought to herself, “I should probably do a
Seven Pounds on this girl. I’ve got perfect vision”

She took a deep breath and smiled. She was going to do all that she’d never
done before. She’d cried the whole of yesterday. Today she wanted to laugh like
it was her last day. (It could be anyway)

She was going to drink, smoke, dance in the rain, steal a goat, or maybe a
watch, and all the crazy stuff man ever did.

Arrhythmia is a bitch. Her father can’t afford a heart surgery for a fucking
pacemaker. She might drop dead anytime soon. So she might as well ride life
hard.

She pulled her hands out and grabbed the fine gentleman walking by’s ass. She
burst into laughter when he jumped in shock.

“Next time” she thought. “I’ll go for the crotch”