A bloody African struggle

Cry my beloved country. Cry for the insanity of our people, the tranquil Rivers that have turned to blood. Cry for the lives lost in conflict, like toy soldiers bowled over in rage. My country once was a picture of peace. The lavish landscape of Southern Africa, over 50 shades of green covering the rolling hills, is now a desert of blood-stained soil like ruby diamonds glistening in the rough.  The insides of southern Africa left open for all to observe.

The bitter smell of apartheid hangs in the air like a large grey cloud, ready to burst. It is a constant reminder, like a dog nipping at my heels as I walk, of my duty as a man of colour. My promise to those lost in the cross fire of freedom. As I pace through the town I once knew, I notice homes striped of their outers- nothing but a skeleton frame left, Another fingerprint from apartheids firm hand. The soft skin under my foot is pierced by a piece of broken window left shattered on the floor. I watched for a minute as the pieces danced in the sunlight, like broken dreams coming to life. A cool breeze shakes me from my daydream and awakens my senses as millions of tiny bumps appear on my war scarred arms. I am on a dangerous road but I can’t turn back, a phantom presence pushes me forward onto unknown territory. I am fighting for my future, schoolbooks in hand. I am fighting for freedom, for power but most of all for life. I am now in the war zone; shrieks from an injured woman curse my ears as the sound of a nearby gunshot vibrates through my soul. I jerked my body around and faced the opponent, my wild, crazed eyes looked straight through his soul. Who am I to predict what was to happen next?

Mouth wide open in fear, my face falls into the sweet soil of my country. All I can taste is the bitterness of war. As the dust particles ascend my airways and turn to flames that lick my throat, I feel no need to move. Reliving my last breath like a new born calf hangs onto its first. I close my eyes and face the truth one last trying time, a young boy clinging onto the tiny grain of hope that’s left. I may have fallen in darkness but I am certain one day there will be light

The busy city throbs and hums

The city sweat seeps through my shirt as I push my back up against the cool bricks of lower Manhattans skyscrapers. The city’s stench permeates my already stained clothes. For a moment, in the belly of a dark alleyway hidden from prying vulture eyes, I let my mind leave this unfair reality, but only for a second. I feel the beating of my heart fluttering in my chest as my eyes dart in their sockets from left to right, left to right.

 I stop to let my lungs fill with the bitter city air; burning flames lick the inside of my throat, I can taste the devastation of the city on my tongue. The unusual monotony of my life bites at my heels, a vicious dog after its prey. Before stepping out into the burning furnace of hell, I look over my shoulder. Monsters have a way of creeping up behind you when you least expect it.  I spring my body off the wall and straight into the human traffic of bodies in the flow of everyday life. I weave between the seas of zombies, chin down to my chest, heart racing. I run from it, every day I wake up on the run, even my dreams turn to nightmares of running, running from the monster that haunts my being. Running, always running.

Like a wild beast tangled in a net, the wind roars through the deserted subway tunnels I call my home. This familiar sound brings me comfort. For as long as I can remember, I’ve stayed hidden in these underground jungles, only leaving this sanctuary for essentials. Yet even as invisible as I am down here I find no solitude, my thoughts, like snowflakes on some far-off mountain side, begin accumulating until the truth is loosened, and falls like an avalanche onto my world. I chose this life; I made bad decisions that weigh down my shoulders. I am young, not even 28, yet I seem an old haggard woman with a face of regret.

 As a teenager, I had the face of an angel. Bouncy blonde curls framed my heart shaped face and my eyes, pacific blue, had the ability of mesmerising even the hardest of faces. Then the monster swooped in, its claws ripping away everything that defined me. I was no longer the perfect girl everyone envied, I was the sob story mothers tell their daughters when they first warn them about drugs. I became the monster that tears lives, families, friendships apart. My life became an apocalyptical spiral, one moment I had everything and the next, it was only me. Broke, homeless, addict me.

I am running, I need to claim my life back. I crave Sunday lunches, family time, mothers kisses. I crave Methadone, dealers, injecting my web of veins with a shot of pure, hard, MDS. For seven years I have craved these opposing realities, but I cannot go back. I chose this life of crime and poverty, I chose to get in that car with my mother, I chose to ride to the dealer’s house and as the bullet exited the barrel of the gun, I chose to kill my mom. As the blood spilled onto the pavement from her perfectly blow-dried auburn hair, I began to run.