12 Days of Christmas: 4

Finally! We're here. The tail of the tale. Thank you for following the story. If you're not, you should click here to read the head, here to read the upper trunk and here,  the lower trunk. Now, let the tail wag!

12 Days of Christmas

"'Sup ma nizzle, what's cooking?" I decided to go all gangster on Kenke as I entered the kitchen. 

"Dragon ears, leprechaun nails and toothfairy wings."
"How about pixie dust?"
"Yeah. That too."
We both laughed. We were going to have chicken and chips. I remembered we had no ketchup. There and then, I wished I had a genie that could magically produce ketchup. I figured my knight could get me one and I made a mental note 'Day 8 - Genie in an oil lamp.'   Kenke was busy frying so I had to go buy the ketchup. I took money from Kenke's purse (durrh! I work, you pay).

I was walking down the street when a sleek 2014 Toyota Avalon cruised by. The driver looked handsome and young. If only I had a car...'Day 9 -  2014 Toyota Avalon.'
The car stopped a few feet ahead of me, I started catwalking on impulse, swaying left and right like a tree being blown by the wind. The driver got out, smiled and waved. I smiled back, exposing my black gum. As I raised my hand to wave back, a Barbie-like lady, complete with the hair and makeup, shot out of the shop adjacent to me. She raced into his arms and planted a kiss on his cheek. Boy, I was jealous! I just walked past them with the little dignity I had left.

About 15minutes later I was going through the pedestrian gate. My mind drifted to the earlier disconcerting incidence, centering on the lady's appearance. 'Day 10 and 11 -   human hair and Victoria's secret makeup kit respectively'. With that, I'll be the one kissing men in posh cars real soon. The thought was solace enough for me.

I opened the door to the apartment and stepped in. An eerie feeling swept over me. It was oddly quiet. I called Kenke's name; no reply.  I checked the three bedrooms in the apartment and they appeared normal. I entered the kitchen, everything was in place, the potatoes and chicken, all fried. Grisly thoughts started running through my mind. What if some evil person had abducted Kenke, or someone close to her had had an accident, or died? Or could she have been raptured. I was scared for myself. Everywhere was graveyard still. I tiptoed to my room for fear of alerting who-knows-who?  I picked up my phone and dialled Kenke's number. I heard her ringtone reverberate through the apartment. Kenke hardly ever left her phone at home. My fears heightened. I was so befuddled that I just pulled out the paper from beneath my pillow  and updated the list. I scanned the list again and shook my head at my folly. What sort of 21year old wasted time fantasizing about some knight in shining armour and some stupid list of gifts? I knew the answer. An unhappy, lonely and bored one. I had no true friends, only acquitances. Family? I was an only child and I had had lost both parents about a year ago. Extended family? They were as the name implied, extended! I gazed at the paper for a while and drew a large X on it. Tears welled up in my eyes. Kenke, she was a million in one to me. She was my family, friend and 'hater'. I snickered at the last one. She was heaven-sent, like a guardian angel. We had shared a lot together, the good, the bad and the ugly. She made me smile, laugh and cry. She made me happy. I missed her, especially her customary banters. I felt sad. Across the big X I had drawn on the paper, I wrote the word HAPPY in bold. It was all I truly wanted for Christmas and after. What would it profit me to have a knight deliver gifts of all sorts and still remain unhappy.  A wise man once said to me, "Happiness is the meaning and purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence."  I zombie-walked to the window and gazed at the stars. Like in a disney cartoon, I saw a shooting star. I closed my eyes and wished for the one thing my heart most desired. I decided to lie on my bed, close my eyes and relax when out of the blue,

"Apa! Apa! Where are you? Come out, come out wherever you are." Kenke called out in a singsong voice.
"There you are. Didn't you hear me call you?" She said as she entered my room.
"Where have you been? Why did you leave the house for so long? You didn't even lock the door!"
"I was in the backyard cutting aloevera for my facemask. I saw you as you entered the compound sef. I didn't even spend upto five minutes in the backyard. Missed me, have you?" She asked with a wide grin.

I hissed and pushed past her.
"I'm going to get my food. Feel free to feast on that silly question you just asked. Miss you? Tufiakwa."

If only she knew how emotional I had gotten few minutes earlier because I thought something bad had happened. I bit my lip and shook my head in disbelief   .
"Hey, hey, don't take the biggest chicken lap. That's reserved for me and me alone," she warned
"Stop me if you can."
And we  raced to the kitchen.

LE FIN

At War

The bell rang, marking the end of recess. We casually strolled back to our cellrooms. Five years within the walls of the prisonyard and no more were we frightened by the jailers. Their clamouring did nothing to agitate us.

Taking our time, we settled down, unkeenly awaiting the arrival of the Gingerfrench Man. Although he was the fairest of them all, the mirror on the wall could attest to that, he was reputed to be the most dreaded jailer. We watched him make a beeline for our cellroom.

"Bonjour," he said in his foreign accent. Turning his table-top behind to us, he scribbled the words 'LA VIE EST UN COMBAT' on the wall.
"Meaning? Anybody?", he asked pointing to the words he had written.
"I," said a voice
"Yes?"
"Vying is a combat," replied the voice.
"Wiser is he who remains silent and is thought a fool than he who opens his mouth and removes all doubt," retorted the Gingerfrench Man disgustedly. Majority let out a stifled laugh. We all knew better than to answer the jailer's questions. No reply was ever good enough for him.

"La vie est un combat."

"La vie est un combat," he repeated slowly, almost whispering, as if talking to himself.

Pacing about the room, he started.

"We are at war."

"War?" "With who?" We were puzzled.

As if sensing this, he continued, "Yes, We are at war. We are living a war. At war with ourselves and with one another."

"This war didn't start yesterday. Non, non, it is as old as time itself. It has always been and will be till the end of time."

"A war like no other. It is in stages, levels. Like those intelligence quotient reducing games you all love to play. Oui, you conquer one stage and you're automatically fighting to stay alive in another."

Jabbing his index finger at no one in particular, he said,
"You were conceived in this war. As soon as you were, the fight began. You fought with all you had to survive, to pull through, into this world of ours. Indeed, you fought hard enough and conquered or you'd be six feet under and pushing up daisies."

He paused and stared into nothing. Like a man in a trance, he continued speaking,
"Each man fights for his own cause. Some same, some différent. Winning is paramount. It is all that matters, irrespective of the means."

"Some fight for the sake of love, some fight for money, some power, a good number for fame, some fight just to survive."

"Some succeed in their quest. The not so smart fail in theirs. The unlucky ones fall by the way side."

"Very few want the war to end. Only the weak end theirs. Majority push just hard enough to stay on their feet. For the few wise ones, winners never quit and quitters never win is the motto."

Our eyes followed him as he walked towards the door. He said with finality in his voice,
"It is a war of passion fueled by the desire to stay alive, to keep breathing, to always awaken to a new day."

"Life is the war."

"The war is life."

"La vie est un combat."

"Life is a battlefield."

"Au revoir!"

And he was out.

We saw a different side of the Gingerfrench Man that day. We saw the weird but intellectual part of him. "Who knows what act he'll bring on next," we thought to ourselves. We silently prayed his path would never again cross ours. If our prayers were answered, time will tell.

We see the questions in your eyes.

Who are we?
We are many but one. We are a special class of convicts.

Where are we?
A special type of prison.

What do we want?
Well, thats for us to know and for you to find out.

Will this be the first and last you'll hear from us?
Only time will tell.