This came from the word ‘THE PATH’ given to me at creative writing class. It is a total of three parts, and here is the first.
She had always been a little bit lost. She knew it, and it was confirmed to her by everyone around her.
‘Do you take this journey of life seriously Brandy?’ Her grandmother would complain.
‘Where do you want to be in life?’ Her mother would ask in frustration, especially since she started dating, and it always seemed to be the wrong kind of men. The questions just became worse when she decided to marry Lemar.
‘You’re like, the first one like, to get married, like.’ her friend Marsha would say. What would Marsha know about marriage? She was in relationships to get her hair and nails done for free.
‘Are you sure it is the right time? I mean Lemar is a little weird. Don’t you want a career first?’ Her other friend Kat would say. I bet all men are weird to her Brandy would think to herself realising Kat had sacrificed having a man for a career.
She didn’t see much of Kat and Marsha lately anyway.
‘Kat doesn’t care for anything but money. When is she ever there for you?’ Lemar would complain, he didn’t like Kat, maybe she was too smart for him, Brandy believed Lemar was smarter years down the line. ‘Marsha is a slut. How many men does she go through? I don’t want you ending up like her. ‘ Lemar would say. So her two best friends gone. They couldn’t even pull a smile at her wedding, clearly they weren’t for her. They always got her into trouble, Lemar always gave her a slap when she came home after being with them. It was marriage before friendship, eventually even family came second as she saw less and less of her mother, grandmother and younger sister.
Brandy was happy at first, but after eight years the marriage was becoming a drag, a misery. She did everything he asked, she left behind everyone she knew. A routine had developed. Wake up, make he’s breakfast, he goes to work. He said he earned enough so she never had to work again, she saw this as him being a gentleman. After she had her breakfast she would clean the house, watch some TV, he comes home, dinner is ready, he might go out, she reads a book, if he chooses to stay in she gives him he’s ‘goodies’. Then sleep.
Everything was done right; she would still have her head bashed against the wall if the gravy touched the potatoes. Her stomach punched just for a small crease on he’s shirt. The isolation seemed to have escalated, one day Brandy did something she had known she should have never done, she fought back. The feeling her teeth were about to fall out was too much to bear, the pain from a winded stomach was sucking her energy dry, she raised her hand and caught he’s face, leaving a scratch mark from he’s temple to the left corner of he’s mouth, she had strong well cared for housewife nails. He’s anger grew, the carpet burn across her back was the next thing she felt and pieces of hair detaching from her scalp as she was dragged across the room. She screamed, apologised more times than she had done in her lifetime.
‘I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to!’ She shrieked, then silence as she’s pushed, losing her balance, she flies down the stairs.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Story Mode by Piarvé Wetshi is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.