Scribbles

I do not know when I realised my brain was wired this way. Long silences stretched into moments that buzzed with sound. The incessant dripping of the tap. The electric hum of the fridge. Forever growing louder until there was no space left in my brain. Voices whispered in my head. Shadows whizzing in and out of my peripheral vision.  There was someone in here. Someone watching. They didn’t speak. They waited. Waited for me to be alone. For those quiet moments at night when the world slept and my thoughts crept in. my heart rate spiking as I imagined the things within and without. Mama had warned me about the silence and the shadows. Had warned me that they moved when I slept. That they rose and crept closer as I dreamt. I could never see them. Except when I let them. When I let the shadows slip into the consciousness of my dreams. They would cajole. They would coerce, but most of all they would wait . Wait for me to sink deeper into my subconscious wait for me to ...

Once, a local newspaper reported the bizarre story of an adulterous couple that got stuck together during sex. The husband had done that to them. I dint understand how but a nerd friend of mine informed me that if during sex a woman is stressed enough her vagina will close up. Bollocks. That was a simple case of witchcraft. The husband confirmed it by going to a witchdoctor (n’anga) and getting them unstuck.  It worked. My nerd friend whispered that the perceived danger had been removed and she had no reason to fear so her vagina had loosened and let her ‘lover’ go. I love that word, lover... it seems so lovey dovey, so yours truly innit? Bollocks. I digress.  Years later when I moved towns, I heard of a man who could let you see who had stolen from you. He would lead you into an ill lit room sit you in a chair and hand you a mirror. Then the rest was all you, “Mirror mirror in my hand, show the fiend who stole my beast/bra/phone/money/sho...