Two Hugs and a Kiss.

Hey guys! This was written about 3 years ago and edited recently. When I wrote this short story, I was furious about something, I can't remember what it was, but it birthed this.




It took two hugs and a kiss and I was sold.

     Mother had told me to keep way. She said my eyes followed him with the wasted lust of youth. But rebellious as I was, I didn't listen. By the time my eyes were cleared, we were married. Married two long years.

     His name was Obi, short for Obidimkpa. I loved the name, but then again, I was in love, nothing is short of beauty when you are in love. He was a hunter, and I was a singer. But he had a maddening passion for hunting and I just loved to sing, mostly as a hobby.

    As I now sway with the chains of mostly wonder than captivity (one of these foreign me staring at me like I'm a scientific experiment. He obviously hasn't seen black people before), I realise Obi had more than just a “passion” for hunting.

       But why would Obi sell me to these hefty young me for a gun? We had a fight a week ago and I left to a friend's house, but what couple can escape fights?  And I know he holds things to heart but I had no idea he was still furious. Furious enough to send these people to capture me just as I let my guard down and returned to his house.

      His usual antidote was hunting. Mother once said a day will come when I’ll be his prey. But I couldn't hear her words over the rhythm of his feigned love, over the tune of a one sided passion. Now it occurs to me that it wasn't  the songs I would sing for him with an exaggerated melody, or the meals I cooked with expensive spices that lured him home after every hunting trip. It was the joy of his satisfied gun, the scent of gun powder on his shirt and the serenity of the shooting addicted monster in his head.

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

Ha! I tell you, there is no way to a man’s heart.