Short Story: 4-2-40

Short Story: 4-2-40

For those of you who think you are uncanny, whatever that means, you are imagining the above is some date. You think it`s 2 April or possibly 4 February, Some-century forty. Well, it`s not.

Four to forty is just a life story summary that you will have to judge harshly; if you are kind. For those who are not, you will have to judge it kindly; being harsh with reality. Whatever judgment you confer upon me is entirely your prerogative, as mine has been to live my life.

Four: At four years of age, I was still left with two more years of suckling to do. This was not unique, regardless of what you may be inclined to think. What is unique here is that I suckled two different sets of breasts (do breasts come in sets or pairs?) I know the Hollywood kind MUST come in sets as it would make it easier to order: A set of 3D Silicone, please. With erect nipples, if you please.

My biggest lesson at this age is Atheistical. I learned that doing good can be a mortal sin. My dad never used to take sugar, though he bought plenty of it. That said, he would shy away from everything sweet though he had a colossal weakness for marmalade. So he would have marmalade on one side of his slice of Tip Top bread, and butter on the cheek of the other. The combination would have had the whole nation in ecstatic uproar. But the whole nation was never gonna get the chance; though my playmates did.

I took this Manna from our house to the potato garden we were playing in. Pretty soon I was snapping off small morsels and handing them to friends who were threatening not to share this or that if I didn`t. Sooner than a pious criminal can say Amen, it was finished. I was good hearted enough to listen to their pleas, and threats, and so went on getting the delicacy from the house; until I realized there was less than half left of a whole loaf.

As God works in mysterious ways, He worked in such a way that day that we got more visitors than normal and had to consume the two loaves at evening tea; except of course, there were no longer two loaves. My good deed earned me a hiding that has kept me mostly selfish up to this day. I`m even afraid of giving away something I bought myself!

Fourteen: At this age, I had had sex twenty four times (yes, I counted). Most of it was incestuous as I did it with aunties around my age. The one I coupled with the most times (twenty two) was a cousin so distant even my mom couldn`t trace a proper blood connection. After this I stayed a virgin (after a certain fashion) until I hit twenty five. I was in my second year of secondary at this age, which was a national record of sorts as I had been made to repeat two classes; being sent back to primary one, instead of primary three!

Twenty four: This was the age when I was one year away from becoming a forced Romeo with three Juliets! Seduced a girl who wanted to remain a virgin until she was twenty, by then she was eighteen. I loved her so agreed to wait. A year later I revisited that commitment and asked her for a solution as I wanted to respect her wish, loved her but also wanted sex like, badly. She told me to get a girlfriend, she her to her, but make sure the girlfriend did not know her, or of her. After three months I got one, who said she loved me but did not want sex either. Two months later I got another who went to bed with me two days into the relationship. I told her about my other two and she said she was okay with it. I also told the other two so that we could not have problems, you know, of the…Had you told me about this…kind! They all said it was Kosher. It was, except the spelling changed to a `C` for then Girlfriend No. Uno badly wanted sex as she did not want to lose me to No. Drie. Then Numero Desi badly wanted sex so that she would not lose me to the other two. Me?! I wanted sex with all of them and did not want to lose any of them. This worked for exactly eight months then the fan was splashed with stuff meant for the toilet bowl. But that`s another story.

So many sad things went on at this age; I failed to become the youngest author in my country. I also failed to get a publishing contract with a government-owned newspaper because their Editor could not believe that the quotes I sent were written by me. I asked his Bureau Chief where the Editor had ever read them from, or heard of them, but have not received an answer right up to about one second ago.

Thirty four: Is when I should have had children, a steady job, a thriving career (yes, both), and a gorgeous wife who thought the ass shined out of my sun…or something. Not true. I kept meeting ladies who only wanted fun, adventure, sex and money. Excepting they preferred to start with my money; and sometimes that was all there was to it. At this age, I seriously believed that women were created with handfuls of money and would be obsessed with it forever. I still do as no woman has proven me wrong.

Forty: When my life is supposed to start, by Western standards, back home I`m being regarded as an old man with maybe fourteen more years left to live. The more conservative of my countrymen put it at nine, as they believe all the Human Index bull carelessly scattered about in neat piles of bureaucratic rigmarole. As if my relatives were not dying in their seventies and eighties. As if I do not have a desire to die at 120; with full faculty and mobility.

I did not celebrate my birthday because a certain animal that keeps following me around relentlessly is still snapping at my heels ceaselessly. That uncouth, untamed, untameable animal is called Brokeness. Whatever I do, it keeps following me around and though I have kicked it in the cajones a few times, it is one very stubborn animal. Yet I am hard working, frugal when I need to be; but my bills always manage to be a little ahead of my income. Damn!