Free-Write: Out of jail

You leave prison after twenty years. You were innocent. The world as you knew it has changed. What’s the first thing you would do?

I would be lying if I said I am not angry, mad. I said it loud and clear, screamed and created a scene, tried my level best to imprint it into their brains that I was INNOCENT, but, they didn’t believe. No one believed me. And now, after twenty years, they declare, “oh, we made a mistake, you didn’t commit the crime”, like it’s no big deal. Like 20 years of my life was just a few minute spent. Like the scars on my back and neck trying to fight off these jail predators was child’s play.

They didn’t even let me hold my baby after 9 gruesome months. They didn’t even… Even a single glance was denied to me. Where do I begin? In search of the murderer who framed me for the death of my husband, or do i search for the child I bore in jail who doesn’t even know who his mama is.

But I’m out now, that’s a start. Two choices, neither easy, heaven help my soul. I feel like a stranger in the world. A world I knew and love. My child lived without me for twenty years, he’d survive without me for a little longer. I have to this for his father. I have to find the murderer of my son’s father. My twenty years in jail would not be in vain.

This is a battle I have to win, and I will win.

Times up! (10 mins) I hope this story makes senses because it was all I could come up with in ten minutes. This challenge was forwarded to me by Juliet of Juliet’s journal. Thank you so much for the nomination and I had fun doing it.

Not today…

Sometimes, it feels being sensitive is a curse. You feel things- deeply, a little too deeply. It hurts, you need your heart to bleed but it doesn’t, you need the tears to fall but they won’t. And you stare- blank- at a wall, at mother nature, the earth, the skies, crying inwardly.

Your chest- it rises and falls and rises and falls. You feel the steady beat of your heart, in a regular rhythm. You take one look around and wonder. Where did I go wrong. Where did we go wrong.

You want to help. You stand up- take a walk on short steps to nowhere. Pondering all the while. Needing to blame somebody, yourself. And you wonder… You just keep wondering. What if it was me? And you wish all the pain they going through could be brought to you so that they could be free.

And the tears still wouldn’t come. You get back, sit down… Force your head, your mind, coerce it into falling asleep. It’s morning. The rays of the sun light up the room. It’s there, in your head again. It never left- the thought, the worry.

No… No, not this time. Morning has come and it’s a new dawn. You wash and say your morning prayer. Sitting on the carpet with hands raised- you pray. You pray for the soul of the ones in pain with burdens they don’t think they can handle. You pray for the minds to be at ease, you pray for despair to depart their being.

And it clicks, just like that- it clicks. And you remember, the one who created the skin from dust- He knows. He sees and He hears. It could have been you but it wasn’t because that was their test not yours. But you’re not free and you know it, you know your test is great too. You have an obligation to love and love and care for them- which is a great test indeed. Some people, they don’t need to be told “I’m going to save you”, all they need is a little “I love you”, “I’ll be there for you”

And there and then, you make a new resolution. To try your best to be there for them. And if they don’t make it… Nah, it’s not time to worry yet and you know it, deep down you know it. You let that feeling take over, you pick up the broken pieces in you, forget about you- and go, selflessly, to help that broken soul. It’s not time to worry… Not today.

The beautiful street image above is courtesy of Rufus Mangrove who blogs at Everyday Aperture

IMAGE CREDIT

The Train Journey

When I was a kid,I always believed my first train journey would be a somewhat replica of Jab we met where I would find my “not so charming” prince in distress, save him from the turmoil of heartache, lose my heart to him unwillingly after a few mishaps where we miss the connecting train and then in the end, he saves me and we live a happy ever after life. Well, life has a way if turning things into the unexpected.

My first train journey was what I would refer to as- eventful. With my Karens-like Caribbean printed skirt, yellow basic too and a colored shawl wrapped around my neck, I embarked on my first ever train journey at the age of nineteen, returning home from school.

After a rocky exam, I made the mistake of going out to “chill” with the gals in the night before my flight. Chilling where I came from basically meant, going out to eat anything and everything. All the pizzas, chin chin (local Nigerian snack), zobo, ginger ale, cookies, chocolates, heck, we even ordered a medium sized chocolate cake.

Blythe time I got to the train station, my intestines were screaming loudly, I needed to go and empty them. I managed to climb aboard the train with my bowels twisting and turning. Luckily (the only luck I had that day) , the train at tenant was kind enough to show me to the loo. The sight I met there was enough for me to puke out my stomach contents. Ahhh,I still feel a. Shiver down my spine when I think of the terrible state in which the toilet was on. Not to forget, it was a pit latrine.