Picture this : you make plans with someone you like to meet up for coffee say Tuesday evening. They actually give you their last word that they will show up. In your mind you even choose what you will wear then, because well, appearances and impressions!


1 PM. You’re there having lunch all excited that you’re actually going to have a chance and sit down with your person. You’re extremely careful not to spill food on your clothes. ( Am I the only one who does this?) In your head you are just imagining this bomb ass convo you’re going to have with them. You just can’t wait.

5 PM. You were supposed to meet at 4 and they’re still not here. You wonder whether they got caught up in traffic or what. You tell yourself if they weren’t coming, they’d let you know in advance BC they’re grown ass human beings.

6 PM. Frustrated in a mat going home.You’re scrolling through your old chats with your person to see if you said something that offended them. Nothing! Every thing is just fine. There wondering ‘man, am I this terrible?’

Sad, right? 

Well, I have been meaning to write consistently since the year began. Third month already in and well, only 3 posts. In my head I have these scenes and stories that in my view would make great stories. Getting anxious in the middle of chores wondering when am going to sit down and actually write.

Wait till I sit down🙆. Words fail me and I stare at a blank page with only a blinking cursor. I flip through my notebook full of writing prompts and ideas I have stockpiled but nothing feels right. I check my stats but they’re not motivating either. Man, it’s the most frustrating thing I have encountered this year and it sucks…I wouldn’t wish it on anyone really.

You ask people how they deal with writer’s block and they tell you take a walk. Aje sasa? I wish they could tell me something more practical, like “have this pill-  I  have been using it for like 6 months now and its really effective. Once you take it you just can’t stop writing.” How cool could that be?😅

Anyway, maybe writing about it might make things better and make my creative juices start flowing again . Just maybe.



Ever had those moments where you continuously do something over and over again until you forget its purpose and just do it absentmindedly because it is expected of you?

Well, that was me today. I am Catholic and I happened to attend the Ash Wednesday mass today. For most part of my years, I have always attended. I however don’t recall where I started viewing Ash Wednesday as an annual ritual rather than what it’s meant to be…the beginning of a period of seeking God’s forgiveness.

Ever wondered why we don’t have booming Ash businesses around this day? Why aren’t there people getting into this business and hike prices to churches around this day? Because, ash is WORTHLESS. And that’s just how worthless we are when we sin against God. Unless we ask for forgiveness, we’ll continue feeling that way.

It’s not until I heard it that I realized how much we feel entitled like we are immortal. Hunnie, remember, you’re dust and to dust you shall return.

Let’s strive to create a true friendship with God that’s everlasting. Invest in it. 

Wishing you a Lenten season full of God’s mercies.


I still remember when mother brought you home. We were coming from school and you were wrapped in some blue thingy. I can’t forget how fragile you were that we feared we might break you if we even touched you. Just like a new baby, only mother was allowed to wash you in fear we might mishandle you. Oh darling! We literally swore by our lives to protect you. How we wanted to play with you but couldn’t because well, mother… We wanted to take you outside and show you off to our friends as we played kalongo, but mother…

I sit here trying to collect the pieces of my mistake wondering what I  will tell mother. Should I tell her you needed cleaning and I just thought, well, I can help mother do this today? What will I tell her if she reminds me how I vowed to keep away from you? What if she reminds me of how I vowed to protect you with my life? Will she buy it if I tell her that you just slipped out of my hands as I cleaned you?

Anyway, I will think of a reason before she gets home from work. Though it was short-lived, I enjoyed the little time you brought joy to us each morning. You were very warm but I cut short your life with my clumsy hands.

I will definitely live the rest of my life with the burden. Mother will always remind me every morning at breakfast despite having said sorry a million times. She will look at me with those round eyes seeking answers and ask,” Sasa mbona ulivunja thermos yangu mzuri aki?” And i will look at her and be lost for words for the millionth time.



January, 1st. 

“This is going to be my year,” she thought to herself as she stirred the pot of stew. She had stayed up so many sleepless nights plotting. Her parents being around didn’t make it any easier. Finally, they were out of town for the New Year celebrations, and she knew he would definitely go out to party, then they’d stab him just as planned. 

Indeed it became her year: her year of court dates, standing before a jury and the year that she was sentenced to 10 years imprisonment for the murder of her brother. Stupid sibling rivalry!

This story was published for the January 2018 edition of Writers Space Africa.


This is my 10th blog post and is dedicated to you, my dear readers and followers. I am taking this space to thank you all for your great love and unwavering support.For taking time to open the links, liking, commenting and getting back. For standing with me even during those times I didn’t have any new posts. For nudging me when I took a little bit longer to post something new.

You’re the reason I am holding on, despite the odds and challenges that I experience in my writing. I sincerely thank you for supporting a small time blogger. It has given me enough hope to keep going.

I have learnt persistence, perseverance, discipline and most importantly, accountability. 

 When I began, I didn’t imagine I could be where I am currently. 7 months later, 1587 views, 1021 visitors, 138 likes, 112 comments, 66 followers and read in 10 different parts of the world(Kenya, EU, South Africa, US, Norway, Australia, India, Germany, Canada and Spain)

I couldn’t have done this without you.

2017 was a good one. All I can do is wish you nothing but good tidings and the Lord’s blessings come 2018.




She lay naked beneath the sheets, her big warm body next to mine. Damn! Big girls are God’s gift to men. He thought to himself. Oh! And alcohol. And cars.. Her head peacefully rests on my chest as I watch her breath.  Her leg gracefully and sort of strategically on mine and her hand across my chest onto my shoulder. What a way to start a Saturday morning. Her eyes are shut in peaceful slumber and I think she is dreaming. I cannot bring myself to waking her up.

It’s like a dream come true for me. I had had my eyes on this girl for a long time and when that call came I dropped everything lest my ancestors would never forgive me. I still can’t believe that I did it. Oh! And the way she moaned calling my name last night like I was a demigod, don’t even get me started. You see, we had just finished high school like a month ago. She had told me we would do it after high school. 4 years yo! That’s quite a long time waiting and I just figured that is just but a lie used by high school girls to avoid conversations.

Then I remember how it had all began. On the couch. I had found her watching Submission series and well, I can say we pretty picked up from there. She definitely wanted sum’n tonight.   My hand drifted to her hip, it settled there and moved her closer. She splayed her hand on my chest as if to push me away but she couldn’t. She just left it there. My breathing was tight and I felt like I didn’t have any wind in my lungs. I looked at those big eyes of hers and saw tension in them too. We both knew what was coming. A shy look and I leaned in to kiss her. Her lips met mine and my brain exploded. It was all fireworks, tingles and desire. We pull apart and take shaky shallow breaths. She looks up at me and the swirl of emotions I see in her eyes make me gasp. Lust and desire. For a moment there, time seemed to have stopped moving. Things got heated up and we moved to the bedroom.

Just then, she opens her eyes and snuggles closer, and says good morning smilingly. We cuddle as we say sweet nothings to each other. Her hand wonders down my chest to my stomach. She stirs me up. Breathing hard, temperatures rising and in a tight embrace, we are kissing deeply. Our hands wonder on each other’s body exploring all the bits and pieces. The sensitive spots. Her clothes disappear and she is on top. There is a knock on the front door. We freeze. She gets off me, puts on her top and wraps a leso on her lower self. She goes out of the room. I assume it’s her neighbor. 

Her mother is a high school principal and is away in Mombasa for a week for those annual meetings they hold before schools resume the next year. She will be home tomorrow and so I plan in my mind how I am going to spend this day.

“Ingia chini ya bed faster.” She whispers looking tensed and confused.

“Nini mbaya kwani?” I ask sitting up looking even more confused.

“Mum amecome.” She says shoving my shirt under the bed together with my shoes.

I put on my boxers and pants and go under the bed. I am so tense right now I can’t even think straight. Then her mum comes in the bedroom.

“Nilikucall kukuambia nitakuja leo lakini ulikua mteja. Kwani nini mbaya na simu yako?” She asks as she sits on the bed and I can feel the bed caving in. Crap! Just then I realize I don’t have my phone.

“Uhmm…simu yangu sijui nini mbaya inazimika hivo. Ata we ndo mtu wa tatu kuskia akicomplain ati niko mteja. Nitaipeleka kwa fundi iangaliwe.” She says pretty confidently. All this while am praying that my phone doesn’t ring because that would be the end of me. It’s a little dusty down here and I pray that I don’t sneeze.

“Sawa basi. Nataka kwenda shule kudrop vitu niko nazo hapa alafu nitakuja baadaye nipumzike vizuri.” Her mother says rising to leave.

“Na mimi acha nijitayarishe alafu nipeleke hii simu kwa fundi.”  My girl says and I wonder if her mother can sense anything off.

 I swear that if I am delivered from this, I will never have sex again. After what seems like an eternity, her mother leaves and I hear the front door closing. Still shaken that I am looking through the window to see if she’s left the compound. My breathing is still strained and relief has not found me yet. My brain is racing and I cannot even hear what my girl is saying. All I want is to go. Leave this place and go home. Go home and keep my promise to the heavens and probably  join the priesthood.


​19th October 2017


Lady butcher: Ni mbavu pekee zimebaki.

Me: si unaweza nikatia tu hiyo nyama juu ya mbavu.

Lady butcher : aii! Apana. Ikifika kwa mbavu huwa hatufanyi hivo.

 So when I turned to go, she called me back. The conversation was in Kikuyu.

Lady butcher : kuja tu nikukatie sababu unaongea kama uhuru.

Me : (shocked) haha

Lady butcher : kama ungekua unaongea kama Raila, singekuuzia.

We small talk weather and the current political state of the country, how kimundu is destroying this country, before I leave.

 On my way home, I just can’t help but wonder.

 It’s 2017.

Tribalism is still deeply rooted in people’s minds. Who are we really and where are we headed? I must admit I have never been a victim of tribalism. But yesterday, it was quite an eye opener. The lady looked like she was in her mid-twenties. This is the youth who we’re looking up to, to at least have an open mind towards things in this day and age.

Normally, Mashujaa day in Kenya is set to collectively honor all those who contributed towards the struggle for Kenya’s independence or positively contributed towards the post-independence period. I don’t think the kapenguria six looked at ethnic background when working together. They were just Kenyans who wanted a better country for their fellow citizens.

Sad enough, the better country they stood up for is no more. Watching news lately is just frustrating. Tension, striking nurses, police brutality, killings, babies with stray bullets in their bodies, ethnicity, political division, and etc. they’d turn in their graves if they knew what state we are in currently.

My heart cries out for Kenya. Should it still be Happy Mashujaa Day? Whatever!


“Do you feel guilty? Like at all? ‘’

“I don’t have time to feel guilty and neither do you.’’

“But we …”

“We what? We did what had to be done. Just promise me that you’ll never bring this up ever.”

“OK! Whatever,” Chinedu said. His hands were shaking, his heart pounding and the heavy breathing didn’t do much to help. He felt like he would use the bathroom, again, for the 5th time.

“In the name of God the merciful, we commit the body of Onyancha to the peace of the grave.” The priest took three handfuls of sand and let them fall onto the coffin saying, “From dust you came, to dust you shall return. Jesus Christ will raise you up on the last day.” These words made her ponder. Was it just a formality said during funerals or would Jesus really raise people up on the last day? 

Chinedu had been Kerubo’s best friend since the admission at the state university. 10 years down the line and they were still the best of friends. They worked in different law firms but this didn’t hinder their friendship. Kerubo thought of how far they had come just to distract her from the current situation. She had always hated funerals. Funerals, to her, just reminded one how short life was and she hated the feeling. And the food, ugh!! A mountain of rice, one big potato, two peas and a spoon of meat soup.

A week ago, Chinedu had been the most peaceful person. Now, he had never been able to sleep again since the incident. He knew he needed to talk with someone but whom? Kerubo was so adamant on speaking about it. He didn’t trust any of his friends for the fear they would rat him out to the cops just as soon as he had finished telling the story. He had been toying with the idea of going to therapy but he had always believed that was a white people thing. They had made all kind of jokes about people who went to therapy. I mean, there are better ways to deal with your feelings: food, anger, food again and the list was endless.

He remembered how Kerubo had pulled up to his workplace’s driveway a week ago and told him to come down because apparently, something had come up.

“Hey, what’s up with the new wheels?” he asked looking all excited and anxious.

“Ah! Nothing big really. Just that I have a bank robbery in like 30 minutes and who wants to use their car in a robbery?” Kerubo replied jokingly as they got inside the car.

“No biggies. As long as you let me drive on the way back.” He replied as he eased himself on the plush leather seats of the car.

“Anyway, it’s about my dad. I’ll tell you on the way up there. Just fasten your seatbelt.”

Chinedu regretted why he had not probed before he got inside that car. 

“I have been working on this case for like the last 6 months  and it got me thinking. The client is accused of sexually abusing his female workers but I can tell you he’s guilty as sin. He pays handsomely but, what about the justice of all those women he has abused? ‘’

“Is this one of your mini-stories or what has this got to do with your dad?”

“I want to make peace with my old man,” began Kerubo, “He did some pretty nasty stuff to us back then. He is the reason I became a lawyer. To defend the weak, to ensure justice. See, what he did to us cut us deeply. I am not proud to call him papa.  I hated him for it. Still,..” she took a sharp deep breath and shuddered.

“He lost his job, and then he lost his humanity and his family too. When he was laid off his job he started coming home drunk every night. Mama tried to encourage him and support him to make something new for himself but he had given up all hope. One day, late into the night I heard them argue. It had never been that bad before. Mom sounded so hysterical. Suddenly she was screaming. Dad was beating her. After that it only became worse and worse till one day mom found him on top of Nyakerario, our house help. He was raping her and had been caught red-handed. Nyakerario could never afford a lawyer, so she had nothing on him. Mom was furious and filed for a divorce right away. She however withdrew when his folks said they would talk to him. They never did. He drew his last straw when one day he…-sic- sob- sob, when he…” Kerubo was stuck, she couldn’t continue. Chinedu wanted to tell her to pull over but he couldn’t move his lips. He stared at her face, big fat tears rolled down her cheeks. More welled up inside her eyes.

Kerubo gathered up herself as she focused straight on at the unfolding tarmac before her. “One day me and my friend Truphena were doing homework at our house, we were in class 7. The schools had just closed for holiday. He came home and it was just the two of us. My mama was still at work. He took a knife and ordered us to remove our clothes…” more tears now, it was getting harder for Kerubo to see. She couldn’t back out now, she had to finish. “…and not to produce a sound, or else he would chop us to bits. We were scared. He took some rope and tied me and stuffed one of his smelly socks inside my mouth. He pulled his pants down and forced himself on Truphena. How she cried and screamed, but he had his hand firmly on her mouth. There was blood everywhere. After a while, he was done. He was laughing maniaclly. Truphena was too weak to even move. From his coat, he got a brown bottle of whisky, took a gulp, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then advanced on to me. I tried to scream but no sound came out. He forced himself in me. It was so painful.  I passed out because I woke up to find my mother screaming over me.

Our house was full of people and our feeble minds were still trying to make sense of what had happened. Mom separated from dad and moved us away halfway across the country. We had to shift schools go through counselling and I lost all of my friends. They could never associate with me ever again. When I finally had the strength to move on, I decided I would be lawyer, wear my wig like a cape and be a hero to any others with a fate similar to mine and Truphena’s. But this case, it brought up all sorts of feelings inside me. I need closure. I am going to see dad. Its time he faced justice of his own too.” 

Chinedu was shell shocked. He would never have guessed that Kerubo had seen so much hell in her lifetime. And the way she said the word ‘justice’, so ominous. He had not even realized that he had sat in that same position for 4 hours listening to Kerubo. She pulled up into the parking lot, just outside a fenced path that led to the dilapidated building that had withstood the test of time.  Most neighboring houses were empty, in ruins or on sale. They climbed out of the car and slowly walked towards the house. Kerubo’s heart was beating furiously but she soldiered on. Chinedu was with her. He was her best friend. He would help her when it came to it. The house stank of whisky and cigarette smoke. Perhaps even a few dead rodents. The paint had peeled off, the furniture was in disarray and a thick layer of dust coated the windows. No sane soul could possibly be living here. On the couch, lay a disheveled man in his late fifties. His clothes were dirty, grime clinging to him like a babe on its mother’s breasts. This was Onyancha. He opened up his red blood shot eyes and demanded to know who had dared awoken him from his mighty slumber. Kerubo could never believe this man had fathered her. She loathed him. She knew the world must be purged from people like him. His madness was a disease to  the world. She needed to contain the situation. She pulled out the gun and pointed it to him.

Onyancha stared at the gun and the woman before her. He didn’t fear death. He knew it was long due. The man behind the woman was tall and thin, with a round head, like a praying mantis. He would make fine firewood, he mused. He wasn’t sorry for anything. He could never care less if the person standing in front of him was his daughter or Mary mother of Jesus. He knew she would come to do this. It was a matter of time. His family had been cursed. Sooner or later, at a certain point, they all succumbed to their dark urges. Like it was genetic. This was their inheritance. He had long come to  accept that the dark side was irresistible. His daughter had come to take her first step. Just like all the others, take on the mantle. He knew the woman in front of him was going to hurt many people, and what is more is that she would enjoy it. He looked at the gun again. He smiled like he had been called to the light. He heard Kerubo say “Goodbye papa!” as she pulled the trigger. She had taken her first step.

“Kerubo, what have you done…?”

Kerubo was numb. She couldn’t believe she had done it at last. This mission had kept her awake for many nights, like it was something imperative, something she must really do. She let the cold black .42 colt clatter to the floor. She was however, a woman of strong resolve. That’s how she had gotten here after all.


If you are great in bed, I will love you.

If you make me feel good, I will love you.

If you are successful and popular, I will love you.

If you make me feel good, I will love you,

If you believe in what I believe, I will love you

I will love you only if you maintain your good looks.

Sad enough, right? Unfortunately, this is the kind of world we are in. unless you meet conscious or unconscious conditions, then you don’t deserve my love. We require some kind of finite exchange for us to return our ‘love’. This typa love is do this for me and I will do this for you.

What if we loved others the way our parents love us? Do you stop being their child after you make a mistake? If this was it, then we could all be orphans. But they love us despite our flaws and shortcomings.

Imagine if our parents love us that way, what about our heavenly father? How much does he love us? How many more times is he willing to forgive you even after you go astray? How many more times is he willng to give you another chance? He still calls us child despite all the lies and the letting down.

Fake eyelashes, fake accents outside Galito’s on Tuesday evenings, fake phones from China, fake smiles and don’t even get me started on the fake butts. Honestly, the world could do a lot with a little less fake. We could start by taking a step in that direction and love others exactly as they are without imposing any desires, rules or expectations. Completely free, limitless and selfless.


1st Corinthians 13 : if I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have no love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have no love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver my body to be burned, but have no love, I gain nothing. Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful. It is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends; as for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away.


It was a Sunday afternoon, nothing could go wrong on that May 5th. Kitana was free, he had given up his criminal lifestyle. He had even gotten baptized. No one had seen that coming, not even his own brother. That is why Kitana was up for a special welcoming back at home. As he and his brother walked down the village path headed for home, recounting tales of when they were young adventurous boys, a black sedan crept up slowly behind them. Then it was over before it even started. All Kitana had was enough time to push his brother down to the ground, as he met his fate at the end of a gun barrel. In a quick succession, there was a loud bang, a screech of tires and a lifeless, headless body on top of the younger boy. The horror. The shock. The denial. He couldn’t believe it. He knelt there, tears streaming down his face and bore his heart out to grief. After a while, there was but one thought in his head. A clear concise course of action.
I will avenge. I will avenge. I will avenge. Many, many days later, he was holding the gun…

She stared at the barrel of his gun as she fell down to her knees.

“You do not have to do this.” Tears strung her eyes as she said this.

He breathed deeply aiming the rifle at her skull. The demons inside his head were aroused again. They wanted him to finish the job. They wanted him to avenge.

“I wish that were true.”

Cold sweat ran down her spine. How did it all get here? After all those dates they had been? He had been her idea of a perfect date. Had all this been a game? She had always felt safe when they were together. She saw herself in him when they talked about stuff and that’s why she had opened up to him. Now here they were, her hands tied behind her, legs tied together pleading for her life in a dark room that reeked of every smell from marijuana, alcohol and a stinking smell of urine.

She remembered that blissful Friday evening when they had just met. It had been a hectic day filled with activities from her classes.  She was going to make her daddy proud. Mwende  had never been a party animal; her ideal Friday nights were being curled up in bed with a good novel and a big mug of coffee. Having broken up with her boyfriend over a year ago, she had never considered dating soon. She always told herself that she was working on herself first. She declined any offer from numerous guys.

Their hands met while reaching for the same book, The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.

“Aha! She’s pretty and she reads too,” he said. She looked up to see his face, but only briefly.

“You know that’s a cheesy pick up line, right?” she said moving along the large shelf, she had gotten to the book first.

“Is it? I honestly thought it was bomb.”

“No it isn’t. Please don’t use it again to try to get a girl talk to you”

“Ok, how about, hey I am Karani and I am pleased to meet you?”

“Well, there’s some improvement in there but we’ve just met and you’re pleased? I must be a delight to be around.” She said smugly.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt if you told me at least your name.”

“You might be a kidnapper who’s just confirming details or worse, a killer.”

“Yeah right. Because kidnappers go around asking people they have just met in book stores for their names.”

“Ha-ha! I wouldn’t know since I am not one. I don’t know their ways.”

“C’mon! “

“Ok! I am Mwende and I am not pleased to meet you.”

She took the book that had stirred up this conversation and proceeded to pay. Karani had a copy of Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mocking Bird and stood behind her in line. They were just the two of them. They continued with their small talk while they paid up.

“How about you give this kidnapper your number and he’ll call you later to ask for your specific location to kidnap you? That’s our way”

She liked the fact that he was funny. He read too, so she gave him a plus. She gave him her contact but she knew she would just block him when he texted, it wouldn’t be her first time. Or she would say something really dumb that he wouldn’t want to talk to her ever again.

Karani called her the next day. Small talk here and there, weather, how the book was, if she had arrived safe…And then he called the day after.

“Would you like to go grab coffee with me sometime? It would be in a public place so you can’t be abducted.” He asked

“Well, I would love to but I have a tight schedule.” She declined.

Karani however was persistent. He never texted her, just called. She didn’t know that such people still existed since a lot of relationships started, blossomed and ended via messaging on Whatsapp.

Finally she gave in and went out with him. It was the most magical  had ever been to. Coffee, talk about books, wasn’t lost for words and didn’t try too much to make conversation. He walked her back to her hostels. They hugged goodbye and he left. Many dates followed after this and they really got comfortable with each other. They hang out together a lot, sent each other a lot of stupid texts and clips and long night calls (thanks to airtel tubonge). 

She really liked him. It was the most honest thing she had felt in a while. Karani liked reading and writing and he even ran a blog. He introduced her to the many literal forums for young writers to grow their writing career. She looked forward to the forums  since they would attend together and later hang out in the evening.

She had read wrong. She thought she knew him. She had no clue who he was.

“Karani please! You don’t have to kill me. Whatever it is I have wronged you can be resolved through conversation. Talk to me!!!”

“You don’t get it. Do you? ”

“Tell me what it is and we’ll talk it out like we always did when we disagreed.”

“We?” he asked mockingly moving around her still pointing at her with the gun. The demons in his head were getting louder by the minute. He looked crazy, disheveled and scruffy. His eyes shot out. His hair looked like he had stuck a finger inside an electrical outlet. Veins bulged and pulsed in his neck. Mwende had never seen him like this.

“Karani? We’ve been together for a year now. Please untie me and we’ll talk things over in a calm manner.” 

“Calm huh! Was your dad calm when he blew off my brother’s brain in plain daylight? Tell me now, was he?” He asked angrily kicking her feet.  His temperature was escalating. The voices, they were giving him a headache.

“What has this got to do with my dad?”She asked surprised.

“What has this got to do with your dad really? Ok, it has everything to do with your dad. Let me paint you a picture. It was the afternoon Kitana was coming home. We were all excited. After all these years, I was getting my big brother back. You see, he had just come from prison. He had served his sentence and had plans to testify about the big politician that had wrecked so many lives. It would be perfect, just like old times. Suddenly a black sedan, KAK 312P pulls up right beside us, as we head home. Kitana was shot right next to me. This is justice for my brother and all those people who have died in your dad’s hands, or you think I do not know that Mr Politician is your dad?

Karani let out a loud burst of maniacal laughter. The demons inside his head were clanging and banging. He was giving control over to them. He did not like to read at all. All he was bent to do was to avenge his fallen brother. He had learnt about his killer from the street urchins, after all, they heard and knew everything. He had learnt about ‘Mr Politician’s’ daughter. He had decided he would take her away the way Kitana had been ripped off from their lives. He had gotten her to trust her, to coincide her death exactly when he knew her father would be running for office again. He knew the greedy pig and his cronies would suffer politically. He loathed them. He had been patient with her. He had everything thought out. Tricked her into coming to the run-down shackle. But for the voices inside his head, the voices made him groggy, they made him sloppy. Sure about his Mocking Bird, he had sent word to the pig that he had killed his daughter. This he did with a traceable phone. 
Mwende couldn’t believe her ears. So all this had been a game from the very beginning. She was a target from the moment they met in the bookstore. As if reading her thoughts, he chipped in. “I really liked you Mwende, I did. But you understand I have to do this right. I’ve got to have my Mocking Bird right? So, I am going to take away something so dear to him like he did to me so that we’re even.”

Just then, the wooden door was forced open and 5 police officers barged in. 


Karani then realized his terrible mistake. At that moment though, a sudden wave of calm came over him. The voices disappeared. The police faded away. Inner peace. He knew there was no way he was getting out of there alive. He had to have his prey. He pulled the trigger just as the sniper atop a tall building meters away fired his shot too. The police team leader watched the lifeless body collapse as he barked commands into his walkie-talkie.