Nine

It is yet another day. For the first time in two whole weeks she had slept soundly. She thought about the evening before. It must be because of the long walk she took with her sister. Eight months pregnant now...she couldn’t wait for the birth of her niece. It would be another bundle of joy and all the fussing from the grannies and the aunts. She will be a spoilt one. She smiles fondly and thinks of the miracle of life. How God in His grace gives life and lights up hearts with joy and yet when He takes it away how we cry in pain and agony.

She remembers that she has skipped the first day that her running routine was to begin. She scolds herself and makes a mental note to set the alarm for five in the morning the next day. Laying in bed she goes through her phone absent mindedly as her brain takes its usual journey into the jumbled forest of thoughts and feelings. She thinks of how retarded her growth has been this whole year and wonders when it will all end. She thinks of going back to the shell she came out of somewhere along the year before. She feels a warmth spread in her as she remembers the days when she was a loner.work-home-work-home-church-home-work-home-work-cinema-home-work...that was the routine. Those days that she went to the theatre, alone and watched three movies in a row alone, in the middle of the week. The nights that she got home and sat in front of the TV set. The evenings that she went to the gym having no real friends just her family around her and her journal at night. It felt good and she wishes she could go back.

She sighs and thinks of her two close friends. A miserable trio. A typical case of "misery loves company”. She remembers the conversation she had with one of them. That she wishes she could have her old life back. Hiding behind walls. It was much safer there. And yet having one another is a consolation of sorts.

She gets ready and heads for work, blocking her thoughts saving them for later.

GOODMORNING.

She tosses a glance at her monitor. Anger is boiling in her like a pot of hot, molten lava. But it’s the hurt that seems to take over; she angrily wipes a tear away and tries to concentrate on her anger. Trying to cover the hurt. Letting the violent anger she was running away from resurface like an unleashed monster. Her face closes into a tight fist of hard granite and her eyes take on a dangerous gleam. "Don’t even think about coming near me”, they seem to say.

She digs into work with a tight energy that seems to be sizzling out of her.

When she resurfaces it is a few minutes to one in the afternoon. The smell of food wafts into the open windows of the office. Despite the cold air from the air conditioning in the small office the smell seems to take over. Her stomach reacts by making a gurgling sound. It the convulses. She runs to the nearest bathroom and retches on the bowl there.

She splashes cold tap water onto her feverish face and then stares at her reflection in the mirror wondering how on earth she ended up being in the dump she was in. like someone once said, honesty isn’t always the best policy. And this was the last straw. Just on the verge of bawling out and crying she closes that door to her emotions with a bang and that stony expression falls on her features again. This time it is intended to stay on permanently.

Hell...