Though it has been written before, the world in its full attire has been made into a sacrifice. We the children have been given the knife to cut its neck or free it from the ropes that bind it. Some drink all day, hold the light bar for support till their minds cool off from the cold brew. Others waste time in the day and lay rest in the quiet quiet night.
Dairra was one of those firm believers of existential living – living for a calling. A child grown into man left without nothing but an arrow. He had to put his two kobos into something. Like a gamble he hoped would pay off down the line in his fading-youthful manhood. His support of a higher life had not always been solid, he had dabbled in various faces of human faith. He tried different practices, different forms of the same bullshit connections humans hope to get when the cry out their mistakes to skies.
Once, he was a suit and tie Sunday going man who would argue relentlessly for his faith if pushed together or out in the sun. But years in stink; stink plastered by the life he had come to know tore away those strong notions. He then sought answers his flesh asked him of. He found those truths in the thick thighs of willing, hopelessly romantic women. Late night sex had him believe that women were the true cure to the disease humanity had brought upon itself. But when a young man gives his heart to deceitful goddess, he dies of grief when she twist his hips and drags his heart from his manhood.
So never again, he vowed to himself, no woman would ever hold the moon over his vision, blinding him of reality. As the day and sun show, he still remembers that one woman who made him beg that the garden full of forbidden fruits had never existed.
“I am the man I was meant to be,” he once told one of his then lady.
“What the hell does that mean,” she questioned.
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“Riddles, riddles, that’s all you talk about.”
One look at the beautiful lady sitting on his bed, and, he knew their time together had ended right then and there.
Seasons past, cities destroyed, yet he remained fighting with himself, though now he had something to hold on to: belief in life and its cosmic makings.
“Another day, day-dreaming,” Janet said interrupting him of his inner meditation.
“She was beautiful, like the rest of them,” he thought.
“You know me,” he smiled, trying to make light of her disturbance.
“Yeah, anyways I need that report by the end of today.”
“Don’t call me that, you know I’m not the one in charge.”
“I can be in charge if you want,” he said, grinning from side to side.
“Well Dai, my door, I mean my office door is always open for discussion,” Janet said smiling, to which she turned her back, leaving her divinely shaped rear for Dairra to reflect on.
He cursed his gods for making women goddesses of seduction. He knew what Janet wanted for him, she wanted his heart, and he knew by the way her eyes always interrogated his every living being.
His former destructive self would have taken her offer without any second thought processing. He would have made a meal of her on his bed, made her throw away her tightness. Without any doubt, he would owned her by just one night, but the one thing he feared was her having his heart.
The day was over, cubicles empty and as he slowly walked to his car he felt relived. Getting through one work day was always a relief. He did not despise his work but he had no affection for it either. Work to him was part of his beliefs that all humans were machines; machines who lie to themselves that are not. In the morning we wake up snoring helplessly, the paranoid ones after cleansing the night’s dirt, rush to the coffee cafes to remain calm or rather remain sane. After which we horde our 250 bones to a building filled with papers and vending machines filled with chemically expired food – junk shit as some call it.
Dairra did not see Janet waiting for him by his car, his mind like always battled the punishment of the within. Her smile brought him back and he tried to hide his surprise but he could not so he formed it into words.
“Stalking me now?” he said with a half-baked smile.
“No silly, my car broke down and my mechanic says he won’t be able to fix till in the morning.”
“Yeah, so can you give me a ride home, please,” she asked while her puppy face formed out.
“I can take a look at your car, if you want, I’m good with cars.”
“Yeah I know, but I’m tired, just take me home.”
“Ok, cool, jump in.”
He saw her eyes lit up when he offered to take her home, it was like a light bulb had been switched on in that brain of hers.