Behind our eyes lies the truth of our souls. Oh how we forget the truth.
We spin yarns and tales, we tell stories, stories that are of the past and not of the present. Stories that reek of human weakness in all its forms. The truth lays buried, remains hidden in the darkest recesses of our minds, waiting.
We tell stories of the human soul, we hide in our stories our weaknesses. Cloth our desires with finely spun threads, telling of our bravery, love and sacrifice… with righteous indignation… fallacious stories.
Spinning yarns of days past, we tell stories of the human soul. Truth lingers in darkness, its story twisted and long forgotten in our memories. We banish to the dark recesses of our minds the stories of human weakness… fallacious tales of the past and not the present.
Behind our eyes lies the truth of our souls. Oh how we forget the truth. Telling stories of the past, cheering in our falsehoods and lies.
The truth, living in the dark will burn as the light of our souls fades. It will burn as we hide behind fine clothes of bravery, love and sacrifice… fallacious yarns.
Oh the folly of human weakness.
Excerpt from the short story ‘The truth of our souls’ by Natalie Mathenge https://www.amazon.com/truth-our-souls-JANANJA-collection-ebook/dp/B01LXE11HP/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1495477562&sr=1-1&keywords=The+truth+of+our+souls
Her soul burns and she is angry.
Her soul burns, it burns with anger. She bleeds and cries out in pain but no one hears her. She hides her face from the darkness of night, a darkness that follows her in the light.
She cries out as she burns but no one wants to hear her.
She cries out as she burns but no one wants to hear her. She burns as he takes everything from her, her soul is burning, her flesh seared.
She cries out but no one wants to hear her.
Her body burns, burns as she reaches out and watches them turn their faces away from her. Their eyes burn her soul, they follow her every move, watching, waiting but no one sees her pain. She is charred from the burning.
Her soul burns and she is angry.
She runs and hides from the shadows that plague her soul but everywhere she turns she burns. Her skin is scalded as they take life from her, she tries to run but she burns as they give money for her soul.
She burns, she is burning, burning, burning.
… life flowing through me, over me and around me.
… I come into this world, through pain but in the midst of joy and hope.
I come into this world covered in her life. She breathes and feeds life into me.
I am alive in this world, shielded, for a time, from its torment and turmoil. Covered in her life force, I burst into this world, alive… life flowing through me, over me and around me.
Alive in life.
I have come to live in this world of contradictions. Alive, to live in a world of pain and joy, of night and day, in a world that hopes and despairs, of good and evil, love and hate, success and failure.
Alive in life.
The sun dares to live another day…
It is morning and the world is awake, the sun shines bright through the trees. The trees reach out joyously, flowers dance in the morning light. The air skips gaily, the world is awake and the sun shining.
Morning gives way to noon, the beauty of the sun now hidden from sight, covered by angry blackness and noises that violently stir the air. The trees shrink in fear, the air is careful not to move; flowers have hidden their beauty. The safety of the morning light is gone but the sun shines.
The sun dares to live through another day, it dares the mortal enemy and shines through the day. The world slows and slowly the trees begin to stir their limbs. In the still of the night, the air coughs and clears its throat.
The sun retires but shines through the moon. The sun is shining.
This secret has made me tired, bitter, angry and lonely. Maybe if I talk about it the pain and anger will finally leave me.
I was an only child for many years, my parents had tried many times and every time it became even more difficult for my Mother. She had almost died the last time but she always to said to me that she believed God wanted her to have one more child. When I was fifteen, my parents finally had another child and this time the baby survived.
I was very excited to have a little sister and at least some company. I was besotted with the baby but afraid for my Mother. The birth had taken its toll on her. She had stayed in hospital a long time. A sadness and quiet air seemed to settle between my parents after baby’s birth.
I did not know it yet, but the winds of change were quietly blowing through my life.
Excerpt from the book Love and Hate in Equal Measure by Natalie Mathenge
It is difficult to love a creature that is not of this world, a creature whose mere existence reminds you of all that is ugly and monstrous in the world. The monster had torn her apart as she came into this world. It came into the world angry and screaming.
It was not until the nurse passed it to her that she realised the magnitude of the horror that lay ahead. Furaha had blue eyes that reflected a red light that made people afraid of her. Hair that was a light coppery colour added to her odd looks. She made people uncomfortable. Many were afraid of her, believing ridiculous superstitions.
Furaha, was as happy as her name suggested, but by the age of 10 she had only one friend and it was not for lack of trying. She had tried to make friends but the other children had thrown stones at her shouting ‘Monster, monster, monster…’
She dreamed of being normal and when she turned 13, she was so excited. She wanted to believe that the rest of her life would be easier than her childhood. Her Mother spoke to her for the very first time and had a gift for her! Life was definitely going to get better.
Furaha followed her Mother to the back of the house. Excited to receive her gift. This was the best day of her life! She did not see the shadowy figures that were hiding by the side of the house.
Her Mother held a machete in one hand. As she brought the machete down, she looked Furaha in the eye and said to her, ‘… This will bring me back the life you stole from me, you monster!’
Excerpt from the book ‘Monster, Monstrous, Monstrosity’ by Natalie Mathenge
I love to write but my brain loves procrastination more – also known as writer’s block.
I am very proud of these first fifteen words, these are the closest thing I have come to writing in four months. Not very good for an aspiring writer. The excitement lies, not in the fact that I have found a cure for my writer’s block.
My cool blue morning turned red! Red like a matador’s cape swinging left and right, urging and egging El Toro to a rage. I was basking in the hot aroma of my morning love, coffee. Sleep laden eyes glancing through emails that were drifting in as I enjoyed the stillness of the office. One eagerly awaited envelope caught my eye, I was suddenly hopeful, finally a shot in the arm!
I moved my face closer to the white light of the screen and as I read, shots were fired. Fired in those condescending words from across the more civilised quarters of this vast continent. They did not miss their mark. My attempts to solve a problem in my uncivilised-far-side-of-the-moon quarters was quite annoying; irrational even. How dare I imagine that I could possibly apply my still evolving mind to such a complex matter?
My seemingly well thought out opinions were worth as much as my used soggy coffee cup. A nice amber hue was beginning to colour my aura, … maybe it was the sunrise.
I read on… was I daring to look my more evolved counterparts in the eye and raise an eyebrow? Why was I even speaking? The email asked. Sh! just be quiet, it was best if I just listened and followed instructions. Let us more civilised types who are less emotional and not driven by their instincts do the thinking.
It was all red after that.
My very basic un-evolved instincts took me from zero, to fifteen to over 300 words in less than an hour after four month’s of writer’s block. Yup, I definitely found the cure!