Death of an Innocent

“BarbaraO” over on Yahoo! said: “I have a poem I have had for years … In so many instances it’s the innocent one who pays with death…”

Death of an Innocent

I went to a party, Mom,
I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom,
So I drank soda instead.

I really felt proud inside, Mom,
The way you said I would.
I didn’t drink and drive, Mom,
Even though the others said I should.

I know I did the right thing, Mom,
I know you are always right.
Now the party is finally ending, Mom,
As everyone is driving out of sight.

As I got into my car, Mom,
I knew I’d get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me,
So responsible and sweet.

I started to drive away, Mom,
But as I pulled out into the road,
The other car didn’t see me, Mom,
And hit me like a load.

As I lay there on the pavement, Mom,
I hear the policeman say,
“The other guy is drunk,” Mom,
And now I’m the one who will pay.

I’m lying here dying, Mom…
I wish you’d get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom?
My life just burst like a balloon.

There is blood all around me, Mom,
And most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, Mom,
I’ll die in a short time.

I just wanted to tell you, Mom,
I swear I didn’t drink.
It was the others, Mom.
The others didn’t think.

He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, he drank
And I will die.

Why do people drink, Mom?
It can ruin your whole life.
I’m feeling sharp pains now.
Pains just like a knife.

The guy who hit me is walking, Mom,
And I don’t think it’s fair.
I’m lying here dying
And all he can do is stare.

Tell my brother not to cry, Mom.
Tell Daddy to be brave.
And when I go to heaven, Mom,
Put “Daddy’s Girl” on my grave.

Someone should have told him, Mom,
Not to drink and drive.
If only they had told him, Mom,
I would still be alive.

My breath is getting shorter, Mom.
I’m becoming very scared.
Please don’t cry for me, Mom.
When I needed you,
you were always there.

I have one last question, Mom.
Before I say good bye.
I didn’t drink and drive,
So why am I the one to die.

 

NB: To be clear, the poem above was written by “BarbaraO”. It was in a comment on the following story at Yahoo! “https://gma.yahoo.com/missouri-mom-writes-heart-wrenching-note-alcohol-related-154026380–abc-news-lifestyle.html?bcmt=comments-postbox

Chapter One: Son of Sam

Chapter One: Son of Sam

I sat there in the class looking at first-class Detective Chris Adenuga. Most people say he’s a son of a bitch. But I get the feeling it’s just an act he put on for the world.

“I have as much hope of turning you rejects into detectives as the devil has of turning stone to bread” said Detective Chris Adenuga.
The room was completely silent. All eyes were on him.
“There are too many warm bodies in this room by far.” he continued. “On a good day when I am feeling the spirit move me,
this room will lose a third of its content by the end of this course. On a bad day, that would be half. By God, I have never seen such a bunch of wannabes playing at cops and robbers!”
There were thirty of us in the room. I wondered if I would be part of the 20 still present at the end of the day.
He was walking around at this point. He came to a stop in front of Officer Makinwa who was one of the most quiet cops I have ever met.
He took a look at his name plate: “Makinwa is it? I wonder why you look as if you have got my boots shoved up your ass? I have looked down to be certain and they are still firmly on my feet.”
Makinwa kept looking straight ahead. He didn’t say a word.
“If my utterances have offended your religious sensibilities and is causing you to frown in righteous indignation, you have my permission to walk out of this room right now. But if you do choose to stay, I promise you that at some point in the future, you will indeed have my boot stuck up your ass and the look on your face will be one of pain!”
No response. He continued moving around the room.
“Now, take a look at the murder scenario in your exercise booklet. The story is that someone or some persons killed someone. You should tell me who killed the victim out of the host of characters in the story.”
“Now don’t expect a pat on the back for solving it. In fact my 5 year old son took 10 minutes to figure it out. Did I give him a part on the back? No, I told him pats on the back are reserved for 5-minuters. And don’t go expecting a pat on the head either. We are not raising puppies here. If you want a pat, go for a massage. Hell! Go to one that offers a happy ending. Maybe when next you show up in this room, your synapses will be firing properly. Get to it!”

The story was just 2 pages long. There were 5 characters excluding the victim. I read it quickly. For such a short story, there had to be something obvious that would give the criminal away. How much plot can you fit into 2 pages if the murderer is one of 5 people in the story. On the second read I nailed it. One of the characters was lying about his whereabouts during the murder. It had to be him. The simple reason being that it’s almost impossible to hide another one in such a short story.
I didn’t realise I was smiling to myself until he came and stood in front of me.
“Officer Michael Adewole”
“Yes sir”
“Have you served in the military before Officer?”
“No sir” the question was confusing.
“So why all the sirs?”
I had no response.
“So. I see that you were smiling like the Cheshire cat. By my time, you started smiling around the 4-minute mark. So I will give it to you that you decided on the answer you think is correct about then right?”
“Yes … sir.”
“Don’t be a blushing bride. Give it to me.”
“It’s the doctor.”
“What do we have here. Someone with functional brain cells? I wouldn’t have thought it to look at you.”
“But yes, you are absolutely 100% f**king correct. It is the doctor.”
“How did you happen on him if you would be so kind to educate us.”
I gave him the reason.
“Not bad for a fresh-faced cop like you. But we shall see how you handle more complicated scenarios as the class progresses, shan’t we?”
I nodded slightly.
He started to walk away, pursed, then turned around.
“What book do you have there, Officer?”
I had the book under the class booklet, so I handed it over to him.
“I thought as much.”

“Do you think we should make the class read it?” he asked me.
That was trouble I didn’t want. Being responsible for additional workload on my classmates.
“Why are you making a sound as if you are the Son of Sam’s latest victim? eerrrrawh? What’s that?
“You know he was a throat slasher among other things?” You sounded as if your throat was been slashed just now.
I know I needed to say something otherwise he might not stop: “I think may be we can let the class decide?” I ventured.
“Do you think this is a democracy Mr Adewole? Because you call me Mr and I call you Mr? Everything is dandy and we are all colleagues?”
“No. By Jove no way! This is an animal farm and I tell you this pig is more equal than all you sorry mutherf**kers! Why do you think it is that I am the only one in this room with the liberty – yes – the liberty – to saunter around?”
He turned to the class and said: “We shall all be joining Mr Adewole on his quest to know all there is to know about the killer known as the Son of Sam.”
“Class. Kindly acquaint yourselves with a copy each of the book before the end of the week.”

I could feel the hostility in the room. But as I did not intentionally add to their workload, I was just going to let it wash over me and ignore them.

“Class dismissed.”

As the class emptied and everyone headed out the door, he suddenly said: “Son of Sam, see me after lunch.”

A great way to start the next phase of my career I thought not. Why not a nickname such as “Dirty Harry” for example. It had to be something as notorious as “Son of Sam.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* Harry Callahan – known as “Dirty Harry” is a cop character portrayed by famous actor Clint Eastwood in a thriller movie series.

Impaired Judgement

Impaired Judgement

I shouldn’t write anything for a while. My judgement is impaired. Not from drinks or alcohol. I did take a break once a long time ago. Then a short one recently. But it seems it wasn’t long enough.

I have somehow managed to become the harbinger of psychological and emotional pain. The trouble that sticks like mud. But I am not wicked or spiteful (not anymore anyway).
I am trying to be a good man.

Apologies for anything on this site that is offensive. Let me know and I will take it down. My motives are not always right nor my position unselfish. But I write not only to sooth my ego (which I am trying to cut down to size), but as a form of therapy.

I will take responsibility for my actions (and inaction). I will not blame anyone else for the past nor for the present. Because ultimately I made the decisions one way or another that resulted in the outcomes I experienced.

I am (now) a better man.

THG.

She is Iwo Jima

She is Iwo Jima

She is Iwo Jima
Men like myself
Hoped to survive
Make it to the end

To plant the flag
Amidst the raging storm
To make a stake
Never mind the shells

But I broke myself on her slopes
Remember me
My bones bleached white
If they remain at all

The wooden cross
That marked my shallow grave
Long ago disappeared
Eaten by time and termites too

But where would I rather be
There’s no comfort anywhere
There’s no going home
Sing a dirge for the man that was

The desire for glory
The ache for her love
Trumps all reasoning
I – will – never – leave

The endless rain
Brings mud and despair
Yet even on those dark slopes
I look up at the skies in hope

Is God smiling, or shaking his head
Braver men found their match
Some went home broken
The rest became dreams

These tired legs – these tattered boots
These grip-less fingers – these unseeing eyes
These knots in my belly
This hunger in my soul

29,000 ghosts call her home
The sands red with their blood
She won’t be taken lightly
No, not her body, and not her soul

When she’s good and ready
The rains will stop
The sun will shine
She will give herself to whom she wills

She is Iwo Jima
Win the battle lose the war
Lose the battle win the war
Nothing can save me now

I will lay me down
The boat is burnt
There’s no escape
I embrace my fate

I take my place among many
Broken on her shores
Vague memories
Beyond redemption

She is Iwo Jima

07-June-2015. Hawaii.

FI-ne and FI-erce

FI-ne and FI-erce

She’s fine and she’s fierce
She’s fierce and she’s fine
She’s altogether something
She’s definitely the real thing

If fortune smiles on you
And she calls you her boo
Know that there are rules
They are as true as tattoos

I got lost in her eyes
But got caught by my vice
She was nasty and nice
Then as cold as ice

So if you see her
Tell her she’s the one I prefer
The torch is still burning
My Heart is still yearning

She’s fine and she’s fierce
She’s fierce and she’s fine
So says the mirror on the wall:
She’s the fairest of them all!

She’s FI-ne … and she’s FI-erce

28-Jun-2015 (11:53pm)

Midnight

Midnight (25-05-2014)

He had been feeling restless lately. His mind was on many things: his mind was on one thing.
He went to bed pretty early now to see if he could at least get a decent amount of sleep. On days that he had an important or early meeting, he took a sleeping tablet the night before which helped a little. Such a night was this one. He had a meeting with a big prospect tomorrow. If the meeting went well, he could easily make his numbers for the year!

He came awake suddenly. Tapping the face of his phone revealed the time was a minute after 12. He should have been all groggy but for some reason he felt as if he had had a whole night’s sleep. His throat felt patched so he made his way from the bedroom across the sitting/dinning room to the kitchen. He didn’t bother to put on any lights on the way since he was quite familiar with the layout of the apartment.

He opened the fridge door and stood there looking at the Content. He tried to decide on whether to take a soft-drink or water. The soft-drink might keep him awake due to the sugar and caffeine content so he went with the water.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She wasn’t much of a drinker. But she liked a little drink now and again – especially after a very stressful day. This was one of those days. All she wanted to do was take a shower, jump into bed, and wind down with a cup in her hand and her favourite romance soap on the TV. She must have been more tired than she suspected because all she was able to manage was the bath before she hopped into bed and straight into a dreamless sleep.

She couldn’t be sure why she was suddenly awake. There was a soft glow coming from the screen of her phone. The source could be anything. Probably WhatsApp. She couldn’t avoid “him”. She could of course block him but that would be obvious. Besides she did like him but just as a friend – why does life have to be so complicated – it would have been great if she felt “something” for him.

She laid there in the dark thinking of him with her hand covering the face of the phone. He was a nice guy. Maybe too nice. Never seems to get angry at anything. Not so much emotional display until he ambushed her with the question.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

He took the bottle of water out of the fridge and got a clean cup from the set on the kitchen counter. He made his way to the dining table and sat down on one of the chairs. He decided to switch on one of the lights so as not to make a mess while pouring the water into the cup. He returned to his seat and had finished filling up the cup when he realized he wasn’t alone. There seated right across from him was a man he didn’t recognize. He would have guessed the age as being approximately the same as his. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew alarm bells should have started ringing, but yet he felt not even the slightest inclination towards fight or flight. It was peace that he felt. In fact he felt so peaceful, it amazed him.

“Who are you?”, he asked.
“Who do you think I am?” He responded with a smile.
There was a shimmering to him. A certain lack of solidness.
Only one thought that came to his mind: “An angel”. He said it more as a statement and less as a question.
The other man smiled.
“Where or whom do you think I am from?” The angel asked.
“God.” He said.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She finally rolled out of bed unto her feet. The little fridge in her room hummed slightly. She opened the door and light flooded the room. A few little bottles stared back at her.

Well. She might as well take something. She selected a small half empty bottle and closed the door of the fridge. But the room didn’t go dark. Right there on the single seat at her dressing table sat someone. Her first inclination was to scream as loudly as she could. But there was something comforting about the person. Besides she looked like a woman. It was the soft glow from her that made the room light enough to see. A little smile played on her lips.

“Who are you?”, she asked.
“I am a messenger of the living God. Baah! That sounds too officious. I am an angel.”
“Don’t be afraid. Come. Sit on your bed. Let’s talk.” The angel said.
“I am not afraid”, she responded as she made her way cautiously to the bed.
“Great” the angel said.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Great” the angel said.
And went on almost immediately. “Can you remember the last thing you prayed about before falling asleep?”
His questions had that “one must answer” quality to them.
He tried to think. His brain was now fully awake.
“Ah!” He said. “I prayed for my family.”
“But was that the very last prayer you said?”
He fidgeted a little in his seat. That was sort of personal. Maybe a little embarrassing even. And he really hadn’t remembered until the angel pressed further.
But the angel had an expectant look on his face.
“I , … , I prayed for her.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They both sat facing each other: the angel and her. Like a couple of good friends about to indulge in some juicy piece of gossip. Somewhere at the back of her mind, a thought briefly intruded on the present: “This is ludicrous” but just as quickly faded away.

She glanced briefly at her phone.

“Do you want to check that? It’s a WhatsApp message. It’s from him” said the angel.
She could guess at the content. Usually some variation on “How was your day” but she checked it all the same. All the message said was “Hi”.
“Now.” The angel said. “You like him. A lot in fact. He just doesn’t make your heart go racing like a wild horse across the open prairie. Right?”
“Yes”. She responded. A little smile on her lips at the angel’s turn of words.
“Also. You are not so sure about him. You think he has got secrets”.
She nodded.
“Yes he has. Just like all humans. The totality of what you get is not just what you see.”
“Don’t worry. His secrets are not heinous or deal breakers. In fact most of them are completely harmless. Even bothering on the ridiculous.”
Both of them laughed silently.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Yes indeed. That was the very last piece of prayer you said. And God was listening as usual.” said the angel.
He doesn’t usually get involved in these things beyond a certain extent, but in this case there are other things hanging in the balance. I know you don’t understand fully, but trust me, it’s the truth.
“She has said no”. He said it with a flatness that betrayed his composure.
“Yes I know. But this time you must fight. You must not just go quietly into that good night. You must remain in whatever capacity possible. Be her friend if that’s what she wants. Be there if she calls.”
“She doesn’t.” He said.
“Be patient. I know you think of yourself as a patient person but really you are not much more patient than other people.”
“She will call” said the angel.
“She will call” he repeated after the angel. His expression gave nothing away. But the angel could see right through him, that his stomach was churning.
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“He is a keeper”. The angel said. “Like his father before him. And his father’s father before his father.”
“If you want a keeper, give it a chance. I know you think of him as a friend right now. There is nothing wrong with that. But before you look elsewhere, when you are ready, give it a chance.”
“I know literally what you are thinking. People such as him are not always exciting in the beginning. But trust me, when the time comes, he will upend your world. Your friends will wonder how it happened. I have said too much already.” said the angel.
“If you absolutely can’t think of him as anything other than a friend, then make your decisions accordingly. Follow your heart as you have always done. You are a strong woman.” concluded the angel.
“Complicated much.” She said with a wry smile.
“Complicated much.” The angel said in response.
Then she started to fade. And the room started to get darker.
“Wait a minute!” she wasn’t sure what or why so she blurted out the only thing that came to her mind “What’s your name?”
“It doesn’t matter what you call me. Even the genie in the bottle is fine.” She said with a smile, eyeing the little bottle in her hand.
Then she was gone.
She put the bottle down on the bedside table, turned on her side. She wasn’t sure she would be able to sleep any more till morning, but in a few minutes, she was fast asleep.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They sat there quietly. For some reason there was no awkwardness in the silence.
“What now?” He finally asked.
“I return to where I came from, and you go to bed.” The angel said with a smile.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

25-05-2014 – 5:05am (That “special” person who might read this story and who is not moved by words should pay attention to the date it was written: Over a year ago. The person will know 🙂

Observation

Birds: fishing by the water’s edge.
Men: making the trawlers dredge. 
Rocks of magma, stones of lime.
Watching silently since the beginning of time

Trees: rocking, still, but alive
Skies: water drops making the dive
The waves are violent but fluid
Imagine the herbs, remember the Druid

Fruit: soft, colorful and pips
Women: dance, laughter and lips
All there is, washed by the rain
The cycle begins once again

 
 

Awake!

Awake!

It’s a slap in the face
But I needed it
I am awake now
Will shoot to remain so

I was cuddled before
By family and friends
I let myself subsist
On pity and fear

I promise from herein on
I will do my best and leave the rest
Will face my fears
And live this life

It’s a slap on the face
But I needed it
Instead of being angry
I fell more in love

Karma always wins. No exceptions.

These Karma “quotes” are from a story I wrote recently. The story may never see the light of day. But my sister (Yetty) who has read it put one of the quotes up on FB, so I decided I might as well put all the Karma quotes from the story up as a blog entry.
And no, the story isn’t titled “Karma” 🙂

  1. Karma always wins. No exceptions.
  2. Karma is an avalanche you didn’t see or feel coming until it hits you.
  3. The problem with Karma is that you can’t tell in what currency she wants repayment, or for how long, or when, or where.
  4. Karma, just like murder, has no statutes of limitation.
  5. Karma is like a spring loaded door you pushed open and forgot about. It’s going to hit you in the face on its return.
  6. Karma is like throwing sh*t at a typhoon fan and hoping someone else takes the hit. You can’t get out of the way fast enough even if you tried.
  7. Karma is in no hurry. It’s like a father watching a son misbehave in public and thinking of the rod waiting at home just inside the front door.

  8. Karma is the sadistic guard on the night shift. Coming round every once in a while to brain you with a truncheon just because of the way you look.
  9. Karma crosses a bridge, and burns it to the ground. There is no going back.
  10. Karma takes no prisoners.
  11. An eye for an eye makes Karma’s day.
  12. Karma can watch you struggle all the way to the top of Everest then trip you up on the very last step. That’s how she rolls, and it’s a long way down.
  13. Karma’s got a direct line to each person. We dial her number by our actions. It may take a while for her to show up, but you can bet your future on it, she will.

  14. Karma always wins. No exceptions. (rinse, repeat)