It was the summer of 2018, on a night when curtains closed and the sun hid herself slowly into darkness. The portrait of this woman lay with that goddess of a body, finely paragraphed by two attentive bananas eagerly eavesdropping. She stood up and set the tune, aye, "The Take". I knew she's a soul taker and being alone was a good feeling until I met Anne, it just didn't feel right anymore. I needed to be taken, what use is a god without worship?
I staged an alter of romance, tasting every incense of that feminine frenzy as we slowly consumed what was left of each other in sexual confessions of ubuntu. The sun soon peeped in and found me naked, it was 6am and as usual she was down the Alley, aboard Worcester station and all that was left was the usual, the scent of her hygiene, coffee and this time, a note I hastily read,

"Twain, the next time I see you, I must have been a mother, a wife, a whore or all of these at once, I don't wanna be saved, some rings sit heavily on the very little fingers of women more than the joys of motherhood"
💘Anne.

I reached for my clothes and walked to the sink where I rinsed my mouth and quickly got dressed, another day to be at the mines I thought. Life seemed too easy for Anne and moving on was always like a walk in the park. I felt for her, maybe she will rot in the dirty and violent brothels of Worcester or be a single mother and struggle with the bills, she might even contract a disease and die lonely in the gutters of Worcester. All of these yet, not of success? But she remained a puzzle or maybe I was just ignorant, and for a world where men are boys and girls are women, ignorance on fire seemed better than knowledge on ice.

©Nzekwe Folarin Tochukwu