November 27, 2011
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Lovingly she cradled the new born baby to her breast. Rocking back and forth in constant motion, tears slid down her cheek though no sound left her lips. Looking down at the small figure through a veil of shadows she lowered her head, gently brushing her mouth over his forehead. She watched in awe, admiring his good looks…so beautiful for one so young. His long eyelashes fluttered as butterfly’s wings do when preparing for flight, his coconut skin so creamy as if dowsed in its own milk.
She watched as he slept. A touch of envy ate at her soul but she buried it with her many other submerged emotions until a welcoming numbness swept through her. Shifting his weight to her other arm the woman stood and glanced heavenwards. The skies were plagued with threatening storms - sending their messengers gleefully spreading a gloomy air through the rural streets of Sophiatown.
Standing outside an aging shack, a light breeze skimmed across her coffee dyed skin. Looking at her son, recollections of her childhood swamped her. Her father selling her to obtain those horrid illegally imported coffee beans. Not being allowed luxuries during Apartheid times many thing went by unknown. The black children were left on the streets, scavenging for food and comfort. Jaha would have preferred that then what she went through. In another’s arms at night and elbow deep in coffee beans grinding them till her arms were left without sensation and bleeding. Her father took everything and gave nothing. Her body was forever scared from all the beating and abuse she received.
Her looks were exquisite, she knew that – cursed that at best. Even with the scar splitting her face, down her brow to her curved neck line. Now of age and still in debt she had no alternative. Doing what she did best she got by – barely. No one was left to be appalled and sickened with her actions. Family? A choked laugh escaped her – they were not to blame but she had severed any connection with them a life time ago. And friends? She believed in no such thing.
Jaha walked with confidence towards the entrance of the shack, laying the infant in full view of the treacherous rising hope of a new day; its rays spreading its mind playing deception through the hearts of the early birds of the morning. Her hands ran across the rusting metal of the walls and crushed the corrosion between her labor toughened fingers. Slipping her hands under her robe she fingered the fastening and parted it, showing the world what was not hers…what was never hers. Walking exposed, she slid under the rough material hearing a moan of desire beside her. A hairy arm slithered round her waist as another fondled her breast. Two hands pawed, fingered and roughly ran up and down her body. Soon after a sweat covered figure rolled over her, rocking against her hips and forcing itself upon her. Jaha giggled and toyed with him. Dust and sand filled the air as the moving figures disturbed the calm surroundings. She followed all the usual procedures. Sighing at the right moments and screaming at others. Responding to a touch that felt like so many others. It was a small price she thought to keep her little one.

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WhiteStorme said...
Aug. 8, 2012 at 7:33 pm
Your descriptions are really good and your imagery. I loved the beginning and truthfully got a little uncomfortable towards the end but that just shows you that you were able uncover the truth and you should be very proud of that. Really nice job, especially for something so truthful. :) please read and comment my piece as well. Thank you so much.
DanielM said...
Aug. 8, 2012 at 7:59 am
Awesome Job!!! I really like this story. Your beginning caught my attention. Your descriptions were amazing. Amazing Imagery
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