Liquid Demons #ShortFiction

She wept.
My shoulder drenched.
The mucus coagulating.
Slowly. Freely.

Like an exorcist I patted.
Granting the demons freedom.
Her shoulders buoyant with fury.
Boiling. Truly.

My sister who never cried.
The one who scorned weakness.
Turned to me, me…the family weakling.
What could this mean?

At that instant, it meant everything.
That her heart was as weak as mine.
That our souls were threaded by more than blood.
The currency of pretense, dismissed.
And respect, born.

She sobbed for minutes.
Hours. It didn’t matter.
I didn’t care.
We didn’t bother.

She cursed and hit me.
She let the demons on me.
“Thank you for trusting me”, my heart screamed.
Thank you for letting me.

Mother questioned the strange noises.
The guttural muffling.
My lie made no sense.
My honor depended on it.

Mother couldn’t bring my door down.
Martha stopped hitting.
My shirt was torn in many places.
But on her heart…worse bruises.

She rose from my arms.
Towered. Regal.
The demons…gone.
Or so I thought.

“This time, I’m done. Come, let’s pay that idiot a visit.

The Most Beautiful Human I Ever Met.

The most beautiful human I met didn’t look nice.
She wasn’t very attractive. She didn’t have white teeth nor an Ad smile.

The most beautiful human I met didn’t have physique in quantities.
She was imperfect, had mood swings and a unique set of qualities.

The most beautiful human I spoke to didn’t have a cute giggle.
I couldn’t help but smile whenever she giggled.

The most beautiful human I ever met never told me she loved me.
We spoke more during our silences. It irked me how time made it its mission to flee.

The most beautiful woman I met didn’t have a cute moniker for me.
Neither did I. She called my name in the same way all and sundry did.
Only, my heart felt at peace with the same sound.

The most beautiful woman I ever met didn’t speak French.
We hardly spoke in pidgin and we never wrote each other letters.
I awaited her SMSes and stared at my blue Whatsapp ticks with ardor.

The most beautiful woman I spoke to never ever bored me.
She tried. And failed. And tried some more. Then failed the more.
We had nothing in common. Our realms were worlds apart. Our thoughts, in sync.

I don’t know what love is. I don’t know how long it will last and I don’t know if she is “the one”.
Heck, there is no such thing as “the one”.
She is the most beautiful person I want to be with everyday.


It is already hard as it is.

What if we never grow old? What if our bodies do but the same self born years ago just finds better ways of expressing inner needs. I want to think that being human is like an extreme sports experiments.  You’re born. Inbetween , you have to ‘find your passion/dream/goal/[ Insert scary term expressing ‘the’ life quest and subsequent melancholic outcome assuming a lack thereof] And as soon as your’re aware of your existence, you inevitable demise is laid bare.

One of the principles I strive to implement is the daily practice by James Altucher. With small daily increments of the four bodies: Physical, Mental , Spiritual and Emotional.

I try to improve 1% everyday. Like everything else in life, it is not easy. But, I have proof: I watch myself react differently to the same situations I had faced earlier. 

Watching onself.

How often do we try to separate our thoughts from our actions? “ Why did I do this?” ” Why do I feel this way?” ” What is this feeling? ” 

Am I being too rational and not ‘thinking with my heart’ or is this a form of salient self-awareness? I hardly lose my cool whenI expect to. And when I don’t think I will( e.g  during reccurent usage of the phrase: “It is yours?”( intonating a question into the statement ) when the speaker means: Is it yours?

I am far from perfect. In fact, the more I think about how difficult it is for me as a member of this species to attain ANY level of Greene’s Mastery, the less I take life literally.

Life is already hard enough as it is. Why bother with grudges or pretence? If I don’t enjoy your company, I reduce our contact to the bare minimum. Period. I deserve happiness. And so do you. So, I actively escape any avenue for unhappiness or any atmosphere that turns on my melancholic propensity.

It is hard being human. But, what choice do I have?