Mina vuya ukuba yena, nini chadwazwa.
I speak to him when no one listens...
*~*-------------------♥--------------------*~*
My mother and father had been gone for 3 days
as I slept in my neighbors home.
My knees began to scab over, becoming unbearably
itchy, and sometimes even infected.
But I did not care.
I had no strength or will to move as my brother
crawled around on the floor,
smiling and giggling as always,
unaware that his parents were no where to be found.
On the fourth day of my stay, a young woman came
to the door, asking to see me.
My neighbor was skeptical at first, asking what
I could possibly need to be seen for.
I could hear this through the door.
Silence.
Utter silence.
The woman was soon at my door,
knocking in a "cute" fashion and odd rhythm.
It reminded me slightly of "Shave and a Hair Cut".
I rose to answer the door, my knees
cracking open as I hobbled to answer,
grabbing a towel to dab at the blood.
As the woman entered the room, she
helped me to my bed, telling me that
"it would be easier to say if I was somewhere
where I could unleash my feelings without consequence"
And so she talked to me.
She talked to me about the fate of my parents.
They had been taken by the Durban Police force,
for suspected involvement in the riots
and anti apartheid revolutions that were spreading
through town faster than a cold in my school.
They had been sent to stay in a holding cell for 2 days,
until 4 officers came to see them.
They were questioned for what seemed like an eternity,
and my father was beaten when he refused to answer.
My mother cried, for hours, after they took my father
to the infirmary due to the excessive blows to the head.
He did not make it to the next morning,
as the bashes to his head shut down the part of his
brain that allowed him to breathe.
Upon hearing this news,
my mother, defiant to the end,
took the sash that she had tied around her
waist, and slung it over the metal pipes
that ran through her holding cell.
They found her the morning that young woman
came to my neighbor's home.
It did no good to have me sitting on the bed.
The scream the wretched from my throat
was choked and cracked,
echoing through the house and outwards
for what probably spanned for several miles.
I did not cry, I sobbed.
I beat my hands into the walls,
scrapping my skin across the bleach white surface.
The young woman who was with me could not bear to watch,
and left the room, only to be replaced with my neighbor.
She sat there with me and cradled me in her arms,
as if I was her own child, soothing me with
kind words and bringing my brother to sit with me.
His expression saddened when he saw my blood covered
hands and my tear streaked face.
But that did not keep him down for long...
"...Mu.. Mudi. Mudi!"
I was stunned.
That rich clear voice,
so pure and innocent.
Where had it come from?
Who was speaking to me?
I looked at my neighbor in confusion,
but her attention was elsewhere.
On my brother.
I slowly turned my gaze to him,
eyes wide in astonishment.
Had he really said my name?
Had he REALLY spoken to me?
"Mudi... why... why cry?"
He stared up at me with that little smile,
that never seemed to leave that face,
his teeth lining up in little rows
as his eyes sparkled.
I sat there, too amazed to speak.
Slowly, I reached my arms out, bringing him to my chest.
I held him there as my tears began to flow.
He let out little protest,
nuzzling into my stomach and reaching as
far as he could with his small arms around my waist.
Those words,
those pure and innocent words...
They had brought me back once more.
They had given me hope.
*~*-------------------♥--------------------*~*
I speak to him when no one listens...
*~*-------------------♥--------------------*~*
My mother and father had been gone for 3 days
as I slept in my neighbors home.
My knees began to scab over, becoming unbearably
itchy, and sometimes even infected.
But I did not care.
I had no strength or will to move as my brother
crawled around on the floor,
smiling and giggling as always,
unaware that his parents were no where to be found.
On the fourth day of my stay, a young woman came
to the door, asking to see me.
My neighbor was skeptical at first, asking what
I could possibly need to be seen for.
I could hear this through the door.
Silence.
Utter silence.
The woman was soon at my door,
knocking in a "cute" fashion and odd rhythm.
It reminded me slightly of "Shave and a Hair Cut".
I rose to answer the door, my knees
cracking open as I hobbled to answer,
grabbing a towel to dab at the blood.
As the woman entered the room, she
helped me to my bed, telling me that
"it would be easier to say if I was somewhere
where I could unleash my feelings without consequence"
And so she talked to me.
She talked to me about the fate of my parents.
They had been taken by the Durban Police force,
for suspected involvement in the riots
and anti apartheid revolutions that were spreading
through town faster than a cold in my school.
They had been sent to stay in a holding cell for 2 days,
until 4 officers came to see them.
They were questioned for what seemed like an eternity,
and my father was beaten when he refused to answer.
My mother cried, for hours, after they took my father
to the infirmary due to the excessive blows to the head.
He did not make it to the next morning,
as the bashes to his head shut down the part of his
brain that allowed him to breathe.
Upon hearing this news,
my mother, defiant to the end,
took the sash that she had tied around her
waist, and slung it over the metal pipes
that ran through her holding cell.
They found her the morning that young woman
came to my neighbor's home.
It did no good to have me sitting on the bed.
The scream the wretched from my throat
was choked and cracked,
echoing through the house and outwards
for what probably spanned for several miles.
I did not cry, I sobbed.
I beat my hands into the walls,
scrapping my skin across the bleach white surface.
The young woman who was with me could not bear to watch,
and left the room, only to be replaced with my neighbor.
She sat there with me and cradled me in her arms,
as if I was her own child, soothing me with
kind words and bringing my brother to sit with me.
His expression saddened when he saw my blood covered
hands and my tear streaked face.
But that did not keep him down for long...
"...Mu.. Mudi. Mudi!"
I was stunned.
That rich clear voice,
so pure and innocent.
Where had it come from?
Who was speaking to me?
I looked at my neighbor in confusion,
but her attention was elsewhere.
On my brother.
I slowly turned my gaze to him,
eyes wide in astonishment.
Had he really said my name?
Had he REALLY spoken to me?
"Mudi... why... why cry?"
He stared up at me with that little smile,
that never seemed to leave that face,
his teeth lining up in little rows
as his eyes sparkled.
I sat there, too amazed to speak.
Slowly, I reached my arms out, bringing him to my chest.
I held him there as my tears began to flow.
He let out little protest,
nuzzling into my stomach and reaching as
far as he could with his small arms around my waist.
Those words,
those pure and innocent words...
They had brought me back once more.
They had given me hope.
*~*-------------------♥--------------------*~*
1 comment:
You really do a good job getting into the character's head and capturing the identity. The center alignment is a bit off-putting though. I also like the way you've put a route on your maps!
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