Emmanuel Sibanda





Her name traced the outline of her body in velvet, embracing the sinful lust of all her male audience tattooed with grins and drool. No one could doubt the Gods magnanimity in gifting the planet with their finest angel, shaped by the restless sculpture attempting to immortalize his creativity in a timeless piece of art. Scenery even the sightless in their darkened world could see, for she captures the imagination of every male mind, filling it with thoughts better left said. The light emanating from her slightly blonde hair lit the stars, sending waves of colors across the coliseum, waving with each note her body sang. A note sung in silence, but deafening to all who dared to listen, I was the fortunate few, the sinful victim of her astonishing poisons. I could only sit in awe as she withdrew the innocence of her audience with each swerve, quickening the heartbeats of the frail.  

Coins and printed notes flew from the hands of her audience, cheering for more revelation, some even requesting to spend a months’ pay for a front row seat in the spectacle. The alchemy of her body bewitched even the most conservative of man, allowing her to slither into even the most hidden wallets, exposing the generosity of the miserly, who dared not even pay the overdue electricity bill their wives cried over. Still, she did not seem moved by her godlike powers, as if singing to a beat from her superior, her body gyrated with experience and a hint of dismay. Within those decorated eyes lay a dark shadow of insecurity, a shameful distaste for her talents, she could not defy them for they supplied her with her livelihood. The poisons of her past, the acts done to her by many could only bring about a certain discomfort in her psyche. I could see it all, she and I shared a past deeper than the meaningless endeavors she had engaged with several strangers. I knew a side of her few dared to worry about, the guilt and insecurity that veneered her soul, her talents had robbed the life from under her skin, leaving only marks of strangers and a broken self-esteem. She had no friends, besides the unskilled orators who bought her innocence at every turn. I still remembered the first time I saw her, her radiating smile stole my heart, I wanted to own it, to save her from the filthy hands that accompanied her. I wanted to but I could not, in the capitalist world of silver and gold only the wealthy had the might. I could only watch with tears in my eyes as the filthy bastard ransacked her youthful innocence. She was never the same, now all I saw in those eyes was a shadow of her former self, a disappointed young girl who has lost all sense of hope. Even with all the money that showered her, she was living in abject poverty, a prisoner in the walls of her depression seeking escape through the use of chemical concoctions temporarily delighting her senses, a victim of the world’s abuse. The first time I professed by undying love to her she ignored me, paying special attention to my penniless wallet. I was heartbroken, it was an iron maiden to my heart, a pain I could not stand. If I could not have her no one could. With a broken heart and a knife on my right hand i could not bring myself to be the cause of my angel’s untimely death, I did the next best thing. I convinced myself it was the right thing to do, after all it was something she accustomed to, it was her trade and I was merely the trader enforcing a communistic approach to her business. A part of me died that night, that was the night I noticed the pain in her eyes, I contributed to it. I had become her nightmare, the monster that lay under the bed and in the closets of every child’s room in the dark. The mirror had become my foe, for every time I looked at it I saw her face, her, name tracing the outline of her body. Reminding me of the crime I had committed upon her. I had killed the soul of my one and only love and there was only one path of redemption.

I stared on as she concluded her dance, waiting to apologize for what I had done to her last night. She would never forgive me, but I knew she would find a new beginning, I would finally become her savior, the messiah she had long awaited. I followed her to her room backstage, hoping she would not notice the security guard following her, locking the door silently so she would scream. Quickly my sweaty palm covered her mouth. “We need to talk” I whispered. “About last night, promise me you won’t scream”. She shook her head agreeably seeming a lot calmer than I had expected. ‘”What do you want” she said calmly. “You” I replied. “I want to save you, last night I had a vision, what I did was wrong, now it’s time for me to correct it”. “You think turning yourself is going to make it better. I hate you” she said. “I understand”, my hand reached the heavy black object in my pocket. “I’m sorry”, I said, pointing a loaded gun at her. “I will save you”. I hardened my grip on the trigger, firing two bullets into her head, then slowly I turned the gun around, pointing it at the bottom of my head and with a sigh the bullet sounded, the final deafening blow of my love’s beauty resonated throughout time. We have finally become united in blood and soul. I glared at her face and winked. “See you soon dear Macy”




Toutes les droites appartiennent à son auteur Il a été publié sur e-Stories.org par la demande de Emmanuel Sibanda.
Publié sur e-Stories.org sur 07.04.2010.


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