The Apple and the Tree II

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Courtesy: IsysIfe

THE APPLE AND THE TREE II

The room was cold and dry. The incessant rumbling of the heavy skies told the inhabitants of the room that the thunderstorm was still waxing strong and four hours of non-stop rain lent a chilly ambiance to the room that was slowly being filled by the muffled sobs of a distressed female. Tired old candelabras graced the four walls of the little room, shedding an amber glow that fought the shadows for supremacy in this little corner of the world. With terrified eyes, the little girl watched as her mother was mauled by the red-eyed beast.

“CRAACK!!!”

The sound of the sailing whip broke through the din of heavy rain on rooftops, the howling wind battered against the blackened windows of the room with paws of air, growling as if desperate to get out of the rain. She watched as her naked mother shrieked through the ball gag in her mouth, thrashing in pain against the ropes that kept her on her toes. The red-eyed beast was pleased at her mother’s suffering, she could see it in his eyes, she could also see it in his “special place” for it was hard and throbbing wickedly as he circled his wailing subject. Fat tears flowed freely as she watched her mother bleed under the ministrations of the evil beast. He pulled his hand back to unleash his whip one more time; he paused to smile lecherously at the little girl who promptly wet her pants.

“CRAACK!!!”

* * *

Funmi woke up drenched in sweat. She breezed through her morning workout session that included a series of lunges, crunches and katas. After a quick shower, she made herself a cup of coffee and settled in with the morning’s paper. As she read, she thought of the clients whose work she was yet to complete, not that it was difficult, she just knew how to milk her clients for a few extra bucks. She smiled when she remembered the guest she had “dispatched” only yester-night. She shut her eyes and buried herself in the memories of their short time together. The feel of his skin, the colour of his eyes; she had enjoyed the way he squirmed and thrashed to her tunes and the way he had thrust repeatedly with the fervency of a lust drunk adolescent, surprising her by his sheer strength and longevity. She knew it was selfish of her, but she kept him longer than she thought she would.

She remembered the look in his eyes when she told him she loved him. She loved him even more as she watched the shock die from his eyes along with his life as she twisted the knife in his heart.

She tearfully listened to Abba’s “The winner takes it all” and “Cosmic Love” by Florence and the Machines as she chopped his up his body, and made mince of him in the meat grinder. The bones and skull, she buried in the play grounds of the Princess Diana Park a few miles away from her guest’s home.

Funmi was happy as she fed her dogs that evening; her panties were soaked through in the time it took her to prepare a pot of spaghetti and meatballs. There was something morbidly erotic about having her guests in her long after they were gone. She showered, creamed and laid down nude in her bed. Several orgasms later, she was smiling to sleep. As she closed her eyes, she made a note to herself to take some of the spaghetti and meatballs to her mother the next day, and then she said a short prayer to the gods that roam the winds, she asked that they keep the red-eyed beast out of her dreams. She could do without seeing her father tonight.

No peeking…

* * *

The stalls in the bathroom were almost empty as Sola toweled herself dry. She did not like to be seen without clothes. Contrary to what her fellow inmates believed, she was not a prude, if anything, she was the farthest thing from a prude that she knows. She had seen and done things that most of the ladies in the Sioux Penitentiary for Female Offenders would cringe at. As she dressed in her sleeping jumps, Sola traced her fingers along one of the many, blade thin, scars that ran across her body. The scars ran deep on her flesh but they ran even deeper inside.

The most glaring were the angry slices of flesh that marred her back and thighs. Each crissed and crossed over the other indiscriminately with no apparent pattern in sight, but Sola bore even deeper wounds in her soul where the man whom she gave herself to – in body and soul – broke and marred every inch of it in the worst possible ways. Even long after his death, Sola could not stop herself from shivering at the thought of the man who destroyed her hopes and trust in humanity.

She remembered how perfect he was when she met him during her early months of her M.Sc program, fresh immigrant in an unknown land that was chillier than the coldest drinks she could think of. How he made her feel welcome and loved. She still recalled how he stood up to his parents and went against their wishes to marry her; a few months after she told him about her need to return to Nigeria after her studies which lasted only two years.

She thought herself really lucky, back then, to have found such an angel who would fight his family to have her in his life, a man who would move the world to make her smile. She let love guide her choices and for a while, they were happy.

She did not seem to mind when he introduced some oddities into their bedroom, she did not complain when he took to tying her up and making her beg for his mercy.

‘He’s a white man’, she rationalized, ‘They have very odd needs’.

His needs got odder as they stayed married and after she gave birth to their daughter, he got even meaner and crueler. He went from spanking her on her bum with his hands or a hard hairbrush, to wielding a belt and from there he got himself the whip which was responsible for most of the scars on her body. In the early days, he would apply salve in her wounds, crying as she cried and apologizing to her. Making promises of never-agains and I-don’t-know-what-came-over-me, he would profess his love and make her feel loved and special and irreplaceable in his life. Almost as if he feared to lose her.

She loved him, foolish little girl that she was, she truly did love him. Even when he developed his cruel streak, she still loved him. He could not control himself, he had his needs and his desires overwhelmed him… these were the words with which she consoled herself.

But I still love him…

At first she stayed for love of her husband, then for the sake of their kid, at some point she could not even consider leaving because she knew he would probably kill her if she dared to. Even worse was the sinking feeling in her gut that threatened to drown her when she realized that she had begun to crave his painful, death-flirting approach to love making… she craved his cruel and painful assertions of dominion over her life and because she knew her pain gave him pleasure, she screamed her head off every time he inflicted his will on her.

“LIGHTS OUT IN TEN, YOU MISERABLE CUNTS!!!” Officer Kendrick’s voice thundered down the cell-block, her repetitive banging on the prison bars broke through Sola’s reverie. She knew she had to stop pitying herself for the things that were beyond her control, she knew this, but she could not stop herself from worrying about these things. The things her husband did to her, the things she had to do to survive, to escape that sad reality and the things her little girl seemed to be enjoying at the present.

She could not control them, she could not change them; but she could only hope that tomorrow yields better fruits than the bitter results of the past.

To be continued…

7 thoughts on “The Apple and the Tree II

  1. …The howling wind battered against the blackened windows… with paws of air… as if desperate to get out of the rain…

    Dude!!! Thou art great. Such refined strokes with your quills. Such subtle nuances.
    Personification never looked so easy.

    Impressive.

    I don’t want to believe she ate that guy’s flesh afterwards. I’m assuming you were just playing with words.
    Yes. Before i start looking at you differently.

    Liked by 1 person

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