journey through

                                  beelzebub “I can’t even tell how it came to be. I at first thought it was a cooked up tale or pure paranoia among the people. You know they are pretty dramatic and would fuel anything to force boredom out of their normally boring and routine lifestyle. I couldn’t bring myself to believe…… till I saw. Just like you are now, “IT IS REAL.” “Aw, here comes my assistant do you mind telling the story from its wild beginning?” “It started with a peasant woman at the very edge of the expanse, the one living on the late Livingstone’s piece. She was their maid once and as you all know she was a widow and had two children. One very wild and abusive eighteen year old whom debauchery is his second name, and that very little lady Meredith with wispy straw coloured hair, about six. The mother...

Chapter Six After waiting so long for doom, it finally arrives. The man Ole Kimetto lands in all the glamour of a man who was too plump to climb a small hill, all huffing and puffing. I am almost tempted to laugh as he flexes his jaws in the characteristic way he does, the four grains in his mouth dancing in unison. “You are left with this animals and you wander off to God knows where, do you know how much damage you’ve caused me?” I know of course the cows have done nothing, it’s just the vile hatred he has for me, maybe because I have worn an underwear while still young, a feat he hasn’t been able to accomplish even in his old age. Kiprotich told me that he still wears the ‘long-sleeved’ boxers, trousers that have become too short to be seen in or those that he had cut off at the knees to increase their numeracy. A slap lands on me for effect and he leaves after direly warning me that he was going to tell it all to my parents. This was what I was afraid of because telling ...

A LETTER TO SHE THAT JILTED ME Dearly beloved It’s been four months since you last walked out of my door. The loud bang that almost left my door in shreds and the sound of your suitcase zipper closing still haunts my sleep each and every night. Four months on, I still wake up at night only to cry myself to sleep. It is raining right now and how much more I miss you in this weather. The sleets fall while I press my face against the frosted glass hoping to catch a glimpse of you coming through the gates, your umbrella raised in all its grace. Everytime I think of that I smile but then remember it all is in the past. To be honest with you, I haven’t ever fully let go of you coz I see you in the skies at night, feel you rumble with the thunder and even experience your smooth caress when the wind blows. Your favourite song plays on the radio ever since you left and I sit down everytime to relive the memory of what we made, and oh, what naivety made us think this would last fore...

Chapter five It’s going to be a boring day that I know. It was too early to go pillaging fruits and the cows were happily grazing. My slow and carelesss mind isn't allowed to dwell in trivialities like love. I have to concentrate on more important stuff like sliding in the mud, wait, speaking of sliding in the mud, I have just the implement. It is now ten minutes since I started sliding my butt sore but the fun just isn't there. It is always cool when my partners in crime, the crime of wearing our butts off inch by inch are there. It has actually helped since I don’t here my friends screaming out when they are thrashed as they did. Some would bet that we was growing up but I think the punishment our butts took on the sliding pads was the sole cause. I remember the day I first wore some rugged caterpillar underwear, the one and only I have. It was a big thing obviously meant for some XXL person since I felt naked even though I had it on. It was a magnificent piece anyway ...

MAKING A DIFFERENCE Every morning when I look at the old monitor lying on my desk, look at at my matteress account full of loose change and see the shops a stone throw away, then it dawns on me that I am the only thing standing between me and good life. Nothing stops me from sitting down and typing and even submitting whatever it is I’ve worked upon. We in life find it easier to give excuses instead of really doing what it is we can. We tend to ask ourselves; “What if I can’t do it? What if I fail?” I one day took a short story I had written to a certain man who told me that it was a dumb piece. I remember coming out of his office dejected and heart broken. I didn’t even feel the pelting rain then. I walked a whole kilometer home, manuscript all wet and dripping in my hands. That night, I lay in by bed thinking and something dawned on me. He was right. It was a stupid manuscript. But that stupid manuscript was from my stupid head and not from anybody else’s. It dawned on me th...