WHEN PAST SINS PAY A VISIT

WHEN PAST SINS PAY A VISIT
BY EVERISTO TATENDA SIMAYO
“...something impaled a sharp blade into the soul of his sins. Was it guilt or
regret or he had simply ran out of time to go back to where it all went wrong
and probably take a mature path to make the wisest of decisions…”
In the late hours of the night, Phil snapped from the palling cloud of sleep
after being fathomed by a diabolical nightmare. His heart banged against his
ribcage as it yearned for freedom- its beat was like a faint drumbeat to the
ear that made his veins quiver a little, as if some barbarians were thumping
the flat tops of drums with bludgeons somewhere on a quiet mountain.
The echos of oblivion snubbed his conscience with heavy vibrating and tearing
waves. A cold wind blew boisterously along his bloodstream, sending a
horrendous chill down his spine. He sat upright and leaned against the wall as
he fixated his gaze upon the window where the moon cast a dull illumination
into his room through the white curtain.
A flurry of movement suddenly illustrated its pestering presence but he
propelled his insecurities back to the concept of hallucinations as soon as he
digested the menacing sight.
He blinked with rapid nervous blinks. The movement appeared again in a flash
silhouetted against the pale light of the moon. A dense ache suddenly
gathered up at the pit of his stomach. He lurched forward, trying to get out
of the blankets and then eventually gathered momentum to step out of his
cowardly zone.
His toes danced unsteadily as they pressed the chilling tiles. His 4 by 7m room
which was spacious for most days of his life made him feel a little bit
claustrophobic. His bed stood at the right corner of the room opposite the
window and what stood in-between were some antique chairs that spread
haphazardly and a table on which he did his jigsaws on.

The poignant situation that untimely announced itself paraded a malevolent
aura of acrimony. He meandered past the table and chairs in his sleeping gown.
He grasped the curtain with a brittle hand, his heart repelling against the
suicidal actions he was blindly eliciting.
He opened the curtain with a quick swipe. His eyes almost closed forever as
soon as he saw what was once his girlfriend standing in the backyard just a
metre from his window on the asphalt pavement with bare feet -looking pallid
and rugged.
She had a sun-bleached grizzled dress hanging over her cadaverous body that
looked extremely wan and wasted. She had dark hair that spilled on her
sagged shoulders, partially engulfing her virulent crimson eyes that
momentarily glinted a reddish damned glow. Her cheek-bones pushed tightly
outward depicting the damnation that harbored in her deadly and leaden
glare.
Cradled across her giddy arms was what happened to be an unreal and
sepulchral baby wrapped in a cream blanket and dangling around her neck was
a demented poster made out of cardboard box engraved with an iniquitous
message crafted in a bloody cursive writing. The poster leaned slightly in
front of the baby so that he could discern the words displayed to him.
"You told me to abort and I died. This is our time to make amends. Look onto
the bed. I left a present for you. See you back home, I'll be waiting."
Something impaled a sharp blade into the soul of his sins.
His heart was already protesting in his chest, almost hammering his life with
truculent thuds. He swung the away curtain from his hand and glanced at the
bed. A petrifying emotion encroached into the pit of his stomach- sifting
upwards and scraping the prowess in his distorted conscience. He witnessed
his other self, lifeless on the bed with his mother wailing, drenching his
corpse with bitter tears. His head was propped against her breasts and she
was pleading, begging for him to have a second chance but he was gone.
Termy theGhostWriter