#3 ASPHALT QUEEN

in #fiction6 years ago

Morning; the emptiness, the silence, a bird alone, twitting, singing of hibiscus nectar, sweet juicy grains, the freedom of flight and life. This story wearies me. I have been asked if it is real, if I am telling a true tale; what do you think?


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Photo by Ray Hennessy on Unsplash.


The sun rays brushed my face and peeled open my eyelids. I saw the ceiling, the shades of old cobwebs clinging to roof leaks mapping certain parts with rusty brown paint supporting the bones of spiders, ants, wall geckos that clinged like chandeliers to its milky white face. It is Morning.

I turned my head away from the sun and my eyes caught an old cupboard by the wall. I blinked, just to be sure. That cupboard is supposed to be back home in my late father’s house with my mother and my son. I turned around, my eyes peering into the parts of the room that the sun’s rays could not reach.

It is true, I am not in my small room back in the city, where I hustled for bread underneath the grunting, sweating, thrusting need of nameless men who do not even know why they are on top of me instead of their horny wives at home. I am at the village with my mother and son. I sighed, suddenly feeling tired and helpless.

I closed my eyes and waited for my mother to come even as memories of my colleagues at the motel carrying me to the park, my body cold with pain, filled my head. I had passed out half way on the journey. I had no clue as to how long I have been out.

The door opened and my son rushed in, jumped on the bed and hugged me. His weight reminded me of pain as my sore anus flared up and I gasped but I did not let him go.

He smelt of baby oil and powder, of toothpaste and of life. I looked at him as he talked on and on like he was trying to make up for all the half completed phone calls we had made over the months I had been away. I pushed the pain to the bottom of my heart, where all the other debris of my life laid and I enjoyed the one beautiful thing I had. He is truly beautiful, this boy of mine.

He wanted to play and I let him have his way. I even managed a few laughs and some smiles just so that I could see his dimpled smile and his small pearly white teeth. Just so I could hear the tinkle of his laughter on my skin, feeding me with hope, with light.

Soon, the door opened again and my mother hobbled in with her cane. She had her own type of pain to battle with. Her eyes are filled with her anger and something else I had never seen before; sadness. She saw my eyes watching her and something flickered in her eyes like a door closing. When I looked into them again, I found nothing but disgust.

"Look at you, Preye. Just look at you. You had all the opportunities in the world to be better than I ever could be but you threw it all away because of prick; ordinary penis. Now see you. Look at how low you have fallen.”

“Mama good morning. Please don’t say such things in front of my son. David, go to the sitting room, I and grandma want to have a talk.” I watched him clamber from the bed and run out of the room.


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Photo by Adrien Taylor on Unsplash.


The room suddenly felt empty and dark. I could still hear the bird's twitter.

“Do you know how people treat me when I pass; the mockery, the laughter, the dumb questions?” Mama continued.

I closed my eyes and tuned out her words. I sank deeper into the bed and let its softness take me away to the place that I had vowed never to go. The place where all of this began.


I was sixteen and a fool. I thought infatuation was love. I thought beautiful smiling eyes and dimpled cheeks meant a beautiful heart. I thought I was needed because I was loved. I was a fool.

Udoka was twenty-five years old, studying medicine at the university. His father owned a big clinic in our community and his mother was an African-american who had eloped with a boy ten years younger than her many years ago. His father had become hard and brutal after that. People still talk of when Chief Okosisi threw parties during the festive season.

They were one of the few families that had two cars in our community and they were respected and in some cases, feared.

It was therefore not surprising that when Udoka started paying attention to me, I was thrilled and I felt like a princess. My opinion of my self importance increased and I began to see myself in one of those two cars, watching the envious eyes of other girls in the community bow to the ground.

Soon he started buying me gifts and giving me money for school. I was in senior secondary school, class two then. As soon as school closed, he would be at the gate waiting to drive me home. The community was soon overflowing with news of the both of us. His father showed no interest as to the activities of his only son and my mother… well who listens to a semi-illiterate widow? Who?


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Photo by Everton Vila on Unsplash.


One day, he invited me to his house for a party. He said his father had travelled and he was hosting his friends at his house. He wanted me to come, he said, so he could show me to his friends as his girlfriend. I was excited, I was flushed with the fever of infatuation and lust and I forgot to think.

He sent me a lovely gown, new panties and new bra as well as an expensive make up kit that I had been eyeing for some months before.

The gown was red and it hugged the graceful curves that was beginning to emerge from my adolescent frame. The bra raised my breast higher than it had ever gone and the pants sat between my butt cheeks, barely covering my pubic hairs in front. I felt like I was going for a ball, I was dressed up for something else.

The first thing that caught my attention was the silence. A party was supposed to have music, that I thought was the norm but Udoka’s family house was quiet as if no one was at home. Yet when I knocked at the front door, Udoka appeared smiling. He hugged me and planted a slow, sweet kiss on my lips and I forgot all my questions. He took me inside and led me passed their opulent sitting room, up the wide stairs to a part of the house which he claimed was his own quarters. It was big. It had its own sitting room, bathroom, bedroom, a balcony and three guys of his age drinking and smoking weed.

I looked around expecting to see more people come in, more girls at least, but it was just the five of us. I turned to Udoka and asked him about the absence of other persons and he told me that I was early, the party would not start until later after which he left me with his friends.

I could feel the boys eyes ogle me and my skin crawled. I didn’t know any of the boys. They did not live in our community. In my mind, I concluded that they were probably Udoka’s friends from school.
Udoka returned with a glass of juice and he introduced me to his friends and I was indeed correct; they were his friends from school. They soon got talking about football and I was ignored.

The smell of weed was getting on my nerves so I told Udoka that I wanted to go sit somewhere. He pointed to his room and turned away. Innocent, naïve and hopelessly stupid, I walked into his room and sat on his bed. I drank my juice and stared around.

After some time, out of boredom, I switched on his television and cd player. The cd inside resumed its play from where it had stopped and the screen brightened to a woman with big hips and breats naked in the middle of several men. She was covered in sweat and her eyes were wide with fear and pain though her lips moaned in hunger and pleasure as the men thrusters into her every orifice. I gasped, shocked and turned away. I switched off the TV and gulped my juice, confused.


I never knew, when I began to tell this story that I would refer to an incident in my life that I had wiped out of my memory. Well, the past is like an onion, the more you peel, the more layers you find and more reasons to weep. I am sorry I can't continue. That part of my life has too much pain and darkness. Can we end it here today? Please?


TO BE CONTINUED...


Questions and Reflection:

What do you think will happen to Preye?


Previous Episodes include;
Episode 1
Episode 2


©warpedpoetic, 2018.


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the past is like an onion, the more you peel, the more layers you find and more reasons to weep.

True! Relate much and now I'm emotional

Hmm... I am sorry for that. I believe that is called catharsis; purgation of emotion. I am glad I made you feel.

No worries,
It only means that your writing and story is very effective to your audience! It's the same as watching drama, suspense or comedy movies.

Well done

Its always a previllege reading from you as its always impacted and very educatetive.

Appreciate your always showing care and mentorship

Heart-wrenching episode.

Feeling bad. I wish I didn't read this episode. Just like I always wished I didn't watch the Red Wedding Episode in GoT.

Having a bad time right now because I can sense what later happened to her.

What do you think will happen to Preye?

Preye will be ganged raped. Her juice was probably drugged and in a matter of minutes it will start to wear her down.

I am sorry that I made you feel sad but I don't know how to tell sweet, laughter filled stories.

Hello! I find your post valuable for the wafrica community! Thanks for the great post! @wafrica is now following you! ALWAYs follow @wafrica and use the wafrica tag!

Your post has been upvoted by the @steemiansarena trail. Our goal is to support minnows and help them grow. You can join our discord server here Whastapp here.. You can also support us by either contributing steem or delegating SP to us

You got a 36.52% upvote from @ocdb courtesy of @warpedpoetic!

This post has been voted on from MSP3K courtesy of @isaria from the Minnow Support Project ( @minnowsupport ).

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