Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Dangerous Highway – a short story

So I've given you guys some poems to read on this blog, but how about a short story? I was going through my stuff and came across a short story I wrote shortly after I finished Presec. I was a new Odadee. It's titled - Dangerous Highway. Reading it reminded me of how we used to write when we were in secondary (high) school, using all the biggest English we could find and playing with the language to prove we had an excellent command of the Queen's language. In fact, some of the words and phrases I used had me laughing hysterically and I don't understand some of the words (anymore). Well, here it is for you to enjoy.

"Dangerous Highway" - I am not going to give the story away. Just read. This piece has never been edited, it's important for us to read it at its untouched stage to appreciate the beauty of the writing. Or the horror, if you may. I wrote this piece on paper, in 2001, I wasn't used to Microsoft word so this piece doesn't have the benefit of Microsoft spell checker. Just enjoy the choice of words and the ridiculousness of high school writing.

Dangerous Highway – a short story

She was waiting impatiently. Beads of perspiration trailed her face as uneasy lied the head that was eager to wear an untouched crown. Minutes turned into hours and not even a sign of a private automobile was in sight whence having one wheel past her.

Blisters of uncertainty and sores of bankruptcy disallowed her in taking a decision. All she could do was, herald her catchy dress and avidly pin her hope on Jojo. She heaved a sigh, though in difficulty like a fish out of water, when a sleek BMW 7-series pulled up beside her.

“Sorry to keep you waiting”, he said when their eyes paralleled. Esi, comprehensively, answered, “Don’t worry”. A kiss was enough to send her back to ecstasy. Soon, the car was on its way to the latest attraction in town, the Plaza Hotel. That night, before the sun’s rays penetrated the hotel room, the jack of this trade was no more.

Two months ago, Esi contemplated on her future that lay ahead after passing through second – cycle schooling. Her fidus, Eyra in her own romantica, was already making fast money through the ‘night train’. From girl through damsel to a prostitute, busy rooms and nights willed away her time.

The business was good. Perilous parenting overlooked her new ‘joie de vivre’ as she stocked her lockers with elegant and expensive wear drained from pot-bellied and big-pocketed old men. Jollying was the way, soiling the neatness of men was the order of the day, more perfectly, night.

The hen began laying golden eggs. Hellbent on daring money, she joined a workforce of gals. The bevy milled along the sidepaths of ‘Acapulco Base’, an area where night activities furrowed into the depths of the legal tender. Music boomed now and then, enlivening the atmosphere the bevy needed to subdue the conscience of happy-go-lucky men.

Three weeks before Jojo’s encounter, her engraved Madonna-like body caught the attention of Mr. Adjei. This businessman owned almost all the casinos at the base. Belching over the absence of the wife on trek to Sunyani, he rolled his automobile unto the highway and experience applied the brakes in a near accident on feasting his eyes on an image in skirt.

“Any help?”, he sounded. The sonar waves met Esi with appreciation and for the umpteenth time, she said, “Away to Osu, if you don’t mind”. “Fine, why don’t you cool off a tiring day at the Plaza?”. “I can spare such time, notwithstanding the growing worries of my old in keeping late”.

“Don’t worry, as soon as you are mended, I will send you home”. That statement was the thing that broke the camel’s back, Esi all tucked in agreement.

The car rolled into a mansion as the watch alarmed ten. Mr. Adjei exhibited protocol that not even his partner had found such warmth in his bosom. He led her to an aircon room which would incite a lady into a world of ecstasy.

Deep into the night, romant.. platon.. ic bonds prevailed through the time when the moon brightly shone to sunrise. “The growing worries of my old in keeping late” had been usurped. She did her toilet in her immediate home before reaching her modest two-bedroom house in Cantonments.

The unexpected was to unveil through the blinding day amidst the dying sun into the cricketing of dawn. Eyra had clutched a new straw that fateful evening with her accomplices eagerly ogled in expectation of customers.

Premonitions that were nestled clawed at the hearts of all prostitutes. Eyra’s body drenched in blood was uncovered near an uncompleted building. Another killing was reported the next day. “Things are bad”, said the ringleader at the Maja restaurant at a scheming meeting after two more catastrophes fleeting gloomily in their brains were aired.

The nights that unraveled were devoid of booming music, occasional hooting of cabs and the vivacity of casino life. It was at its nadir, fear gripped the money-makers. The tumultuous evenings were now reduced to blood chilling quietness.

Esi and a few others pricked the spell that bedeviled their activities. Customers seldom came by and all was well with Esi. Others shyed away from the trade that thunder could strike them dead out of timidness and tensed, tepid throes.

Jojo was just one of such men who had a playground to soil himself. He was one man who could win the faintest lady. His charisma and character was however a mirage of the opposite’s ostentation. His links with the Nima oracle was well within the scope of a blatant lie or allegation. A great Adonis, he was.

That was the avenue Esi had explored the night before. The lights dimmed out and the two lovebirds were in a different world. Moments after, the transition of dark to bright disturbed the lustful eyes of the gal and she arose to sip wine Jojo had prepared. Osculation followed and everything had been masterminded and ready.

The wine weakened the weary Esi and she was hapless and helpless as he executed a life-ending job on the teenager. Now henpecked and deprived of parts suited for the fetish practices of the day, her body lay amidst frantic flies as other subordinates and onlookers lamented a harlot’s misfortune.
Post a Comment

Disqus for The Vim Views & Versions - Blogs of a MIghTy African