FORGIVE ME PAST: Buds of Sorrow

In my heart, I was promising Jesus never to sin again if Stone won the death battle. Gerald and I were soaked in his blood, and this wasn’t a good sign. My heart was throbing, and I could see Gerald also count each second that passed. I think he, too, was making a silent prayer because the car’s speed alone wasn’t enough to grant us the necessary satisfaction.

There was no greater success for the day than reaching Bwaise stage! Stone had already passed out, so Gerald and I had to lift him. Ronnie locked the car and followed behind us through the dark paths. The whimpering wind sang elegies as the tenebrous clouds roamed about the sky, blocking even the faint star- and moon-light from reaching the face of the earth. What a grave night that proved to be!

As we panted our lungs out, Stone weighing us down, the first bulky raindrops began to drum on the dilapidated iron sheets of the forest of houses surrounding us. The good thing was that we were remaining with only a few steps to our doorstep. We doubled our speed, almost flying off the ground, and reached our tin-roof before precipitation occurred.

Ronnie opened the door and we entered the marijuana-aerated abode. This was the first time we regretted practicing the insidious culture. We were unsure of the effect of such an environment to Stone’s condition. What scared me the more was that he couldn’t tell us what he was going through at the moment. We laid him on Gerald’s bed, and as the latter removed his clothes, I tried to blow the smoke out with my dusty blanket that only distributed the infected air equally to all corners.

“If you hadn’t got us into this scandal, all this mess wouldn’t have happened,” Ronnie began his regular work of playing devil’s advocate by putting the blame on me, but I was too busy to attend to the works of his lilliputian brain. I mean, why would he even put all that on me? “Let me go and get some medication for him,” he aborted the sinister attempt immediately after being ignored, and found his way out even before getting any feedback from us. Anyway, why would he when this was an emergency? Despite his misplaced accusation, he was playing his part very well in the set of heroic acts we were doing for Stone.

“Why would he put this on me?” I finally complained to Gerald who was nursing our patient. Before he would reply, Stone took a deep breath, resurrecting from his temporary death. We switched all our attention to him. He started gasping for air once again, but this time with more effort, and in a more lifeless environment. I’d tried blowing out the cloud of smoke but to no avail.

“Come and blow above his face,” Gerald ordered, as he poured some water in the cup and aided Stone to sip on. The latter was not able to take even the tiniest of sips. He gnawed his teeth and stretched his whole body, fighting for his life. We, too, doubled our efforts like the fear and anxiety cropping in our bodies. “Hold on there, Stone,” cried Gerald, passing a wet cloth on his pale face. I don’t know how that would help but at that moment, every non-dangerous act was a therapy.

A few seconds later, Stone began shaking violently. At the sight of this, I just froze. Everything went quiet for a moment. Even the pelting match of the rain was drowned by a feeling I didn’t understand. I think it was anxiety or something. I could see Gerald fight the battle alone, but it was clear he was losing. There was nothing more we could do. Stone’s movements faded with time, and he finally went cold, just like me, but the only difference being that my heart was still beating.

Gerald broke down onto the floor, picked a sacket of gin from under his bed and emptied it down his throat. He succumbed to its flames, folding his visage, as it dug down into his gut. I envied him because of the fact that he could do something like that while in the state we were in. As for me, I needed some adrenaline to kick out the lethargy that had infected my body.

Getting support from the bed, I knelt down before Stone’s corpse, still roaming in the fields of denial. I put my hand on his chest but I never found what I was looking for. It was hard for me to accept the fact that Stone was completely gone! I collected my body up, with a blank mind, and drugged it into the heavy downpour. Gerald didn’t even ask me where I was going. It was clear that he was trying to find his way out of the endless maze of the issue at hand.

The environment of that night proved the presence of the grim reaper; its pitchness, the downfall, the loneliness, the guilt, etc. Rivers of muddy water channeled through the walking paths in that it was almost impossible to move—that is if one was in his right mind. As for me, such facts were no longer visible for my eyes. I couldn’t even feel the icy water-bullets God was hitting me with!

My heart was broken, and the regret nesting in my mind was adding insult to injury. How could I lose both Sande and Stone, in one night, on my account! I was guilty. If there was anything I could do, even if it involved sacrificing myself, I’d gladly do it to bring them back. As I walked through the rain-beaten paths, tears finally rolled down my cheeks. Luckily, it was nighttime, and raining cats and dogs, so no one was present to witness a bearded man crying like a baby.

When I reached the main road, I realised the Spacio was no longer where we had left it. I tried moving my eyes about but I never got a glance of it anywhere. Ronnie had perhaps gone with it to fetch Stone’s medication. Poor Ronnie!—He was going to return, with whatever help he’d bring with him, to the grievous sight of Stone’s breathless body. Putting all our differences aside, I admitted that Ronnie had given his best in the demanding predicament we were in.

As for me, all I could do now was to sit at the roadside and drown in a pool of regrets. My sight wandered about the surroundings; the tarmac river before me, becoming thinner at both ends and disappearing at a distance; the electric stars sarcastically shining brightly on houses-tops; the rods of lightning cutting across the sky; the dancing trees; the raindrop pods breaking at their destination; the cats in a shed, crying like babies, participating in a talent exhibition at such a time when my life was a mess!

The wind gushed straight into my bones as the rain-bullets continued striking my body time after time. I thought about the humane humans enjoying a peaceful rest in such a sinister night, while we, the devils, were suffering in the hells we ourselves created. The only angel that could save my dying soul was Rachael. Oh Rachael!—The author of my peace; the wiper of my sorrow; the immortal melody of my fading song; the goddess of felicity!

I drugged my feet and headed for her residence. To my dismay, the gate was locked and no one answered my endless knocks. I wish I had moved with my phone! My mind pictured a number of crazy things I could do to reach her; climbing the fence, creating a hole in it, etc, but I never executed any of them. I dropped my tired knees onto the rotten ground and wept again. These were the first punishments for knowing the colour of innocent blood: But where they the last?