My Hallucination!

She was fruity, ripe, and ready to be plucked. Her charm, her elegance, were well dotted in her eyes: those eyes subtly glimmering with innocence, well announced by her beautifully curved eyelashes. She was garbed in a finely pressed jet-black suit, with her chocolate, trim body elevating her into the highest of realms.

I sat, watching her numbly, my mobile phone firmly held by my right hand. I had stopped reading the pdf file Gimba sent to my mail last two weeks or thereabout, distracted, failing to get myself conscious about the happenings around me.

Her steps: they were majestic, better, and more dignified than the steps of the Queen of England. My lower jaw dropped slightly, with spittle almost drooling out of my mouth. She walked down the bank hall, and sat on a leathered black chair, stirring her buttocks on the seat, her fingers fiddling the keyboard, her eyes engrossed, running through the monitor screen before her. She was adjacent to me.

I couldn’t gaze into her eyes, ruining my unconscious habit of staring at people. I continued with my reading, trying not to embarrass myself before her. But her awe wouldn’t let me concentrate.

‘Sorry, are you waiting for someone?’ I heard that one. It was resonant. I knew it was a question, but within me, it sounded like a compliment. I raised up my head. It was her. Her beautiful smile shattered my wall of defence, my heart, my esteem.

‘Yap,’ i replied, trying to turn my swag on, but feeling foolish, my inner mind hailing me for replying with a resonant voice too.

‘Okay,’ she said laconically, returning to her previous assignment. Then, I stood up to allow an elderly man take my place, relocating to a distant seat.

Dad walked out of a room. His pot-belly was the first thing I always wanted to see in his appearance. It was sticking out even in his big, green native attire. It amused me anytime he walked with it, carrying it about like a pregnant woman waiting to be delivered. He sauntered towards the lady, conversing with her. I watched both of them keenly, wanting to loose myself in whatever they were discussing. Soon, dad approached me. It was time we left.

Not too far, right outside the bank, I halted.

‘Dad. The lady you spoke to in there, Is she a new staffer?’ I demanded, with innocence in my voice.

‘Haaaa. No o. She’s been there for years…’ he paused. ‘…but she’s single,’ he added, as if he knew what I was driving at.

‘Hmmm. Really. Such a pretty lady,’ I muttered, trying to induce myself in her world. I couldn’t believe dad said she was single, though, it was what I wanted to hear. She should be in her early thirties, but she looked twenty. Probably, her looks had deceived her all along, making her fail to realize that she was already ageing. Who knows? I wish I had the mouth to ask her out for a date. I wish I could pay for her dinner. But I couldn’t. No money. I was dead penniless. A classic lady like that would want an expensive place, like Transcorp Hilton, Sheraton, Chelsea, Biobak, Papa’s lounge, or even Bolton White. I thought it over. But seriously, I couldn’t imagine seeing myself being arrested for my inability to clear my bills. I shrugged off the idea, paving way for a fantastic phantasy. Maybe, a lucid type.

She was all over my head. I imagined our families sitting on the pews, clapping again and again, also a priest, well dressed in a snowy cassock, standing on the altar, right before the lady and I, with her face lightened up in glee.

Doing what? I wouldn’t know.

Dad woke me up.



3 thoughts on “My Hallucination!” by Sam Bajulaye (@iamonlyaugust)

  1. Hmmmmmm……

  2. Interesting snapshot of a dreamer, @iamonlyaugust.

    I felt the opening paragraphs were a bit overblown and artificial in their descriptiveness, though. It was as though you were describing an elaborate work of art, rather than a woman’s beauty. I honestly don’t think that an average man thinks like that when he sees a really attractive woman – his reactions are more likely to be of the “oh wow!” variety.

    Keep writing.

  3. @TolaO

    Thanks for the comment. In Jess C. Scott’s words: ‘the human body is the best of work of art.’ Hence, I believe a writer definitely has to assume the position of an artist in description. Just like an artist would love to elaborate his work, same applies to a writer. My perception, though.

    Once again, thanks for that piece of enlightenment. I appreciate. Thumbs.

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