Waiting on a Death Bed

roseson a grave

The day that she was discovered dead, the weather took a whole new turn. The sun used the thin cirrus clouds as a veil to hide her face and the winds became unpredictable. They blew in every direction, making loud wailing noises that consoled the mourning relatives. In the evening, the clouds were darker in sorrow and hang low. Later, they would drop down large drops of rain, their tears. The police had said it was an unfortunate rape case, but they were wrong. Had they been able to examine her brain or soul, they would have found that she died happy.

Before the previous sunset, she had stood there, stationary as the wooden cross on his grave. If you looked carefully, you could see his name written all over her face, but this time with many question marks at the end. She sat on the cross, her feet penetrating the deep soft earth. But she did not look down, and see that the flowers of on the grave had dried. She could not have blamed herself for not watering them, for she did not believe that he was buried there. She couldn’t believe he was dead. She lifted her teary eyes and looked unto the horizon. She could see two of him, and she wasn’t sure which was him, but she was sure he was there. Maybe this time he had brought an angel for her, as a flower.

It was on February 14th, that date that friends had talked about guys giving girls flowers, and she knew he wouldn’t fail. The sun was setting in on the cemetery, casting long shadows of dried up tree stumps and wooden crosses. Hadn’t she called him son of the sun? Were his lips not hotter than burning hydrogen? She knew that he would prefer this hour because he loved solicitude. No one would see them apart from the sun on its way to sleep. And they were not supposed to see him, for they had said he was dead and buried. They had called her mad for waiting on him. They had also blamed him for her poor results in the final secondary exams. But they were wrong. She knew she had passed, even though with lower marks than any other time. He would also say that she had passed, that she was sure. The moon too would enjoy their sight when it came around, and the stars would dance in joy for the son and daughter of the heavenly bodies.

The sun bid her goodbye and went into his sleeping nest.

She waited, not counting her breaths or feeling them, and not removing her eyes from the two distant objects that were now nearing her. Not removing her eyes from him and his flowers. Her flowers.

At last he came.

He was twice her size, what her friends called tall, dark and muscular. Beards grew around his mouth like scattered grass on a mole hole. His teeth scattered in his jaws, were soil brown and gleamed in the dark like the eyes of a cat. He walked with a powerful gait, for his work demanded so. He would walk down this abandoned path every day, looking for those who had trespassed his hours and paths. What he could run away with he took, and what he could enjoy he did. Rarely did his culprit survive, for there was no need to. The cemetery belonged to the dead. For he was also dead. Or at least his inside was. The sight of a human at this hour brought blood flowing to his canines, and his veins became full.

But this one was a funny human. She waited for him with open arms. Was she like him? Another him? Or more dangerous than him? He stopped and looked. She was beautiful. The beauty that often made his groins twirl and almost break free. But this time it scared him, and he turned cold in his pants, dead inside. Her composure was that of a corpse in a coffin, but he could see that she was breathing. And then she started singing. Her voice brought his feet closer, involuntarily. Her words floated in the air. He was afraid that her sweet voice would awaken the dead and destroy their privacy. He could hear her words telling him to stop being scared for she had been waiting long for him. He had heard of heaven, but he never thought it would come to him. And not while he was alive.

She could see him. He had grown bigger for her, and had also decorated his teeth with jewels in order to please him. It had been long since they last met. The moustache confirmed so. Oh, how long had pestered him to obtain gold ridden teeth. Oh, how long had she rubbed his chin, gently whispering in his ear that she wished he had a beard. Now she was sorry for making him go through so much. He had gone to the effort of growing a beard and obtaining gold ridden teeth. All for her. He had obtained more than flowers. She knew that he still loved her. He had proved it more than enough times. And now he had done it again. She couldn’t wait to hold him, caress his fully grown beard and kiss his gold ridden teeth. She continued singing for him.

She now stood from the cross and straightened her dress. She thrust her arms forward, and closed her eyes, waiting to feel his massive chest on her now fully grown bosom. He was now only a few meters away, his walk getting more confident. She had no need to look at his face, she was sure it was him. She would hold her in her massive arms and carry her away with him, to the clouds where they would build a home and stay together ever happily forever just like in the Cinderella stories. She continued singing for him, her voice as beautiful as Cinderella’s overtaking the rhythm of the crickets nearby.

At last he was here.

She could feel him breathing down his forehead. His breath came like a cold shower in a hot Mombasa afternoon, and her hair danced in its bliss. She threw her hands around his abdomen, and felt his abs one by one. She couldn’t remember him having abs, apart from the pot belly that she hated, but again, he had done it for her. And she would take her time to enjoy whatever he had presented. She would never be ungrateful to him again, or try to correct him. She would just enjoy him the way he was, and be satisfied. She passed her hands along the firmness on his chest and continued to feel the tough muscles around his neck. She pulled his head towards her and passed her tongue around his rough cracked lips. He was fire.

But he was not used to being kissed passionately. Life had been cruel to him and punched him severally, hard. And he was used to punching it back, hard, by punishing the people who lived in it. Heaven had been wrong for inviting him to its beauty, a sinner. He could not leave the life he was used to and succumb to new pleasures. That would be hell.

He felt the soft muscles of her neck, easily breakable with his rough strong hand. Her breasts were supple and ripe, piercing his chest in their fullness. He passed a rough nail over a nipple, and heard her scream in pleasure. She was annoying. She was supposed to scream in pain, just like all the rest. He would punish her for that. He lifted her dress.

She could not resist him. She wished that his fingers would be softer around her neck, but she would never correct him again. She had done it enough times and killed him with it. This was the day that he was supposed to take away her virginity, drain her innocent blood with her male hardness. Hadn’t she promised him that she would only have sex with him after she finished school? He had tried to insist, but she vehemently refused. She could not refuse again. She had to keep her promise. He had kept his promise and presented himself.

He reached for her pants and slid them down, then travelled again up her legs, lifting her knee length dress with him. He was surprised to find her wet and waiting for him. He was surprised to get no resistance. She was different, and that annoyed him more. Who was she to mock his powers? He removed his penis and pushed in.

She knew that the first time would be painful, maybe not this painful, but how was she to know. She would not stop him despite the pain. She would clench her teeth and go through it all. She would burn for him.

He pushed harder and more vigorously, and with each push she mourned pleasurably and loudly. She was annoying. Her noises would attract people from the distant villages, or awaken the dead, and they would not be safe. At last the noises stopped, but he was the one who was moaning now. He felt her warmth draw liquid from his body and they fell on the ground together, exhausted. He felt for her tender neck and twisted. Who was she to make him cum?

She was still smiling by the time she died.


One comment

  1. Gathiu Wangari · March 16, 2015

    That was a strange death on the day guys giving girls flowers…

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