...
Months later Sandra had gotten admitted to study in the University. What should have been a blessing turned out to be a curse in disguise.
In the second semester of her second year,Sandra lost the innocence of her first year to the open-eyed attitude of sophomores. Then there was something about her,everybody wanted her - even her old Pastor with a pot where his belly should have been wanted her. She soon preferred to spend her nights in the hostel than follow me back home, and even when she came around, she left as soon as the cum had trickled off my 'third leg' after a round of it walking in and out of her wet 'cave' happily. Then she'd need money to make her hair,money to wear the latest make up, to buy what was trending. I didn't mind that I had to stop buying her textbooks to buy her the next looks. I still paid her fees 'cause her parents were late. I loved her still, the same love that saw my degree confiscated on a charge of impersonation having slipped in to write an examination for her no thanks to her being hospitalized after ridding her womb of the embryo that formed from sperm cells micro-waved from my oven-of-a-testis. She got a mere two-semester rustication. My life capsized after that. Somehow my employers laid me off having learnt about the case. Then I had to deal with my landlord waking me by 1:00 AM in the middle of the night to remind me my rent was due renewal, until he lost all hope in me and gave up bothering himself - I was out in the streets with no home a week later. Jobless, homeless, hopeless...I had become less of the man I was. Somehow Sandra had left me hanging all this while which I thought I understood blinded by love.
I had been thinking of how to spill the news to my retired parents in the village when I saw
a car drive past me with Sandra sat in the comfy passenger seat smiling absently and fiddling the phone I couldn't reach her through previously. Sat in the back of a taxi, I trailed the car she was in until it drove into one of the hotels I only saw on TV. There were no nights spent in the hostel reading anyway, and just maybe I'd risked my degree for a bastard of an embryo. Reality slapped me hard in the face in spasms. Right in my head the many sweet words she'd infested my head with turned sharp swords slashing through the very soul of me into tiny hurtful pieces that needed just her love to mend as I trod blindly past the busyness of the town's roads. I tried to keep my calm, to be the man I was, but I had lost my manhood to loving and sacrificing for a girl I couldn't believe could dare to hurt me. Sleep had broken up with me after that evening. My nights afterwards were spent playing and replaying the many memories that came with having her in my life, and the tragedies she'd brought my way. Sometimes shutting my eyes took some of the visions away, save for the thoughts it transferred on to the surface of my mind. Sometimes I still saw pictures of her glued on my inner eyelids hard as they were shut. Just maybe it's my punishment from God for stealing a 'fruit' from his temple, maybe women are all cheats and whores; maybe this, maybe that!
That was before I had summoned enough courage to call her, to even want to meet her this cold Monday night of the new year. Seeing her walk towards me in a gown the whiteness of snow gave birth to happiness that soon gave birth to a sadness that came with the reality of all I'd given and lost eventually to see a smile on her face when there was none on mine. Maybe she deserved another chance to dance back into my life and bed at her will like she often did. The feel of Grandma's rusty blade tucked in my pants sent chills down my spine. I loved her still, deep in my heart I wanted to spare her, to give her another chance, and I convinced myself to. That was until she was just a feet before me and some sort of filth had enveloped her, filth that could be cleaned with just her blood.
Grandma's rusty blade did its job; Sandra lay in a pool of her own blood. I hope it saves her from the filthiness that came with seeing her; her sins I made her wash with her own blood. I can't help that my shirt's been soaked by a river from my own eyes. Tomorrow, the town would have a lot of rumours flying, the cameras would have a lot of snapping to do, the papers would have a lot of stories to tell...of a girl whose murderer wrote on her gown - with her own blood - the words,
