© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2019. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
I had a relationship with patience.
She would calm me with a pause before my lips.
When hunger emptied my core, she’d fill it with a soft aroma.
Any doubts that lay with me, she could cast away with one question.
But i never loved her.
My head was turned – i saw a beauty that promised to fulfil my every desire.
We would sweat our bodies sore caressing spherical wants. She made me a better player than i was.
Wrapped up warm in front of a fire we poured every fantasy into pages that turned over quietly – perpetually, like her, like me. She made me a better writer than i was.
She was the opposite of patience, a constant need for the now. However, i couldn’t have known one without the other.
My greatest weakness, becomes my greatest strength – two sides, same character, same coin.
By Alpha Cauwenbergh
🌀Haiku No.20 – Days Of Future Past.
A heart felt experiment in haiku structure. what do you feel?
The aim was to tell a story, where the first two lines worth of syllables where comprised of only two words. Words who’s connection to the last line would become more meaningful when related to each other, and not just in the context of this miscarriage.
Why are people becoming less religious?
What are your experiences growing up as a Black Man in Britain?
Why did you leave The Congo?
So excited that this day is finally arriving after two and a half years! My novel will be available in ebook and paperback forms from Amazon as of the 9th. All i can hope for now is that people enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it!
(full story available here http://alphacauwenbergh.com/short-stories/)
Joseph, upon hearing the man’s words, pauses to think for a second…before he can say his next words, something changes his expression from a pleading focus to concerned puzzlement. Jennifer, tired of waiting, begins to try and fight her way out of his grip, screaming repeatedly “LET GO OF ME!! LET GO OF ME!!” Joseph’s pupils suddenly dilate, his mind struggling to deal with the onslaught of incoming stimuli, rushes to a brutal conclusion. Within a fraction of a second, he’s shifted his bodyweight towards her, and thrown her towards the glass window of the store behind! Her body flew back, as if weightless, the gawking people around gasped in horror at her impeding plight. The seconds slowed in Jennifer’s mind, her anticipation of the impact was a brief torture, compared to what fate had in store for her…
A song called pain had just started playing at the scene, the people gathered here by his invitation move to its rhythm as they stare. She was the belle of this ball and was asked to the dance floor by the figure ‘in all black tux’. To be close to her was its desire, for It had been written in cosmic ink that she would dance with death, dance to a requiem called pain. But, before she could, another stepped in, taking her place in its hypnotic sway. He would surrender to its will and perform this art in sacrifice, dancing his final steps towards the grave. For Joseph had actually saved her from an oncoming car that had lost control. He paid a high price for admission…And now the song called pain was finished. Although Jennifer was saved from its melodies, another song began, only she could hear…a song called sorrow.
Before his final breath, he left a parting message, “Babe…you have to go see her…I know we were moving on…but, she still has a piece of me. Forgive me…I really did want to spend the rest of my life with you, I never wanted things to turn out like this…”
Jennifer couldn’t calm her mind enough to understand the meaning of his words. By the time medics arrived in their blue and red lit chariots, Joseph’s broken body was pronounced dead at the scene. Watching the love of her life carried away left her inconsolable. The medics were attending to all her wounds- all but, the one that counted. She retreated into herself, looking for solace in memories of their time together. Yet only the unhelpful kept turning in her mind – “You said you’d never leave me…even after my 3rd miscarriage, you said you’d stay…Every time you came to visit me in rehab, I thought it would be the last…but you stayed. You said you’d never leave me…” This line of thinking was slowly circling her around the drain. she was on the precipice of a deep darkness…and unlike all those times before, he wasn’t going to be there to pull her out if she fell.
She was still, sitting on the edge of the pavement; the wreckage behind a cocoon of screaming people that insulated her from the horror of the past minutes. Since she wasn’t the only injured, the medics took her tranquil gaze and bandaged wounds as sign that their work was done, and so moved on. A fatal mistake. In the confusion she invisibly slipped away, making her way back the car they’d bought together. She sat in the front seat pensive, the subtle taste of her own blood still in her mouth. After a few seconds of silent waiting, she came to a conclusion. “You said you would never leave me…but you have…and its her fault. You would still be here if it wasn’t for HER. She can’t get away with this…I won’t let her.” she thought, bereft and angry. In that one moment this ‘other women’ had inherited all blame, become the focus of all hate…and now Jennifer was going to seal her fate.
20 mins later…
Jennifer arrives, behind her a trail of broken dreams and in front, a green wooden door. Its number – like her, barely hanging on. Three loud knocks signal her intent; the person inside senses it, tentatively comes to the door, and seeing who it is, feels compelled to let them in.
“Hi Jennifer…” She whispers, with shame in her voice.
-“Hello…” she replies, just as quietly.
“Do you want to come in?”
-“Yes…I think I should…”
In a vacuum of quite awkwardness, they both walk into the living room and sit down and Jennifer’s asked if she would like something to drink, but she doesn’t answer. Her mind is occupied by how much she hates the fact this women is prettier than her, how she would love to change that…with her bare hands. Gritting her teeth, she stares at the other women, who nervously eludes her gaze. She thinks Jennifer has come merely to discuss why she’d called Joseph, even after she claimed that she never would again. She was wrong, and soon would find out just how wrong. Knowing she had a lot of explaining to do, she began the conversation. “Erm…so I guess you want to know why I called him…well–”
The women’s explanation was cut short by a sudden breath-stealing surprise. Jennifer had just plunged a blade into her stomach. It was something she’d stolen from the medics treating her and was now trying to penetrate the women’s flesh as deeply as she could. Her face close enough to her victim’s to be able to kiss it with her warm murderous breath. The unfortunate women – in shock – didn’t even let out a scream…Until Jennifer wrenched the blade, turning it, dragging it across her stomach, splitting her open, exposing her insides. Screams of agony poured out of her just like the blood flowing across Jennifer’s unforgiving fists. She continued her brutal attack, every strike an accusation of stealing Joseph from her. In between the women’s flailing and screams for mercy, she was trying to tell Jennifer something. Something Jennifer’s temporary insanity would not let her hear.
“Please stop! STOP!!! You’re KILLING HIM!!!”
-“No B**** you killed him, YOU did!”
This blind rampage continued for a few, yet interminable minutes, before her victims life began ebbing from her body…fatigue had slowed Jennifer movements and mind, and at this pace she could finally hear it properly. “You killed him…You killed Joseph’s…” Blood and tears muffled the words, but their meaning was clear. “…Joseph’s baby.”
Those were the last words the women ever spoke, and with them, Jennifer understood the truth. She was the only person responsible for removing the last piece of her fiancé from her life, from the world.
Death’s song of sorrow started anew.
© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc. 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc. with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.