One Night Stand

He lay awake, his right hand cushioned under his head and his free hand on his chest. Stroking the sparring clusters of hair on it, he turned to look at the sleeping woman that lay next to him. The light of the moon streamed through the window and lit up her flawless features like a million folk songs being hummed softly on a cool  night accompanied by the soft crackle of the fire.  

  Her breathing was calm and rhythmic as though she dreamed of lullaby's in a flowery meadow. Thick jet black hair plated into neat corn rows sat on her head like the well tilled ridges of rich farm lands...  

  Er wondered how possible it was that everytime he returned, she was always there with open arms waiting for him. She would clean his wounds  carefully with a wash cloth, warm water and some antiseptic. Then she would carefully rub in her home made ointments on them, it was always so soothing... though the wounds hurt, there was always something else that made him believe that she was a healer of some sort.  Maybe it was the way she sat on a low wooden stool scantily clad in vintage lingerie and a flowing house coat with one hand hanging askew from her slender shoulder. Er wondered why she preferred to light up her small home with lots of scented candles instead of just turning on the electric bulb but asking questions would only spoil the magic, so instead he would simply lie back as she treated his feet. 

 'you shouldn't have to do such strainous work Er'... maybe it was because her voice sounded like milk being poured out of a glass jug... whatever the reason was, he found himself at her doorstep time and time again.  

  He pulled the covers over her ever so gently because the slightest thing could wake her up. 

 'Er, your awake?!...' he had thought too soon, her big brown eyes were open now, she sat up slowly and propped her fine pottery of a body on his chest. 

 'your thinking about her aren't you?'

She kissed his chest. But how could she read his mind so. She barely knew him save for his occasional visits and yet she read him like a book, it was as though she could see right through his head and deep into his brain, past his thoughts, right where his fear resided. That lonely place in his mind that seemed to be dominated by a tenant that never cared to pay the rent.  

  'I don't want to talk about it, let's talk about you', he turned to face her, his eyes searching her brown face. This wouldn't be the first time he had tried to get her to talk about herself.

She kept her eyes fixed on him, a blank stare on her face at first, then her features began to take an elegant form 'I am of the wind, no one knows from where I come... or where I am going'. She smiled, almost sinister like a voodoo doll and in that moment Er was afraid of this woman. But once she sat up on him, the bright moonlight casted mystic shadows of her perfect body on the opposite wall, Er wanted to protest but it was too late he was already caught up in heated passion. 

 Er woke up startled, beads of sweat dotted the outline of his forehead. He had rolled off his bamboo bed and his wrap cloth had followed suit. 

 Trying to regain coordination his heart began to race as his eyes settled on the mysterious night stand beside his bed, an old carving of Agwe. 

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This is the end of my story.

Because fiction writing isn't my strong point. Atleast not yet. #Okbye #BecomingTho

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Photo Credit: Rodney Avo