It's been years since I last experienced love.
Everyone seemed to hate me
They claimed I had some mystical powers I don't seem to know about.
Source
It was a quiet evening like this, when Pharrel said his last words to me.
He had asked me to write him a story and read it to him.
Little did I know the story would take form.
Everything happened like it did in the story. I still couldn't comprehend.
Just while he had locked his lips against mine, they barged in.
Pushed me aside and dragged him out.
I could still remember his last words as he led him away.
"WRITE", he said but I never listened.
The next day, he was seen lying in the pool of his own blood and I was accused for taking his life.
I pleaded innocent but my pleas fell on deaf ears as I was thrown out of Zimba.
It's been years and I have never picked up my pen to write anything since that experience.
I had abandoned it for so long and I couldn't explain the sudden urge to go back to it all of a sudden.
I remember he always told me...
There is power in your pen, use it to your benefit, and for the good of everyone.
As I picked up my pen to write for the umpteenth time, after several attempts to do so have been foiled by my incessant downpour of tears.
I pictured him in my mind's eye and with a closed eye, I began to make a sketch.
I'm not an artist but I didn't know how I was able to fit his broad nose and bright eyes in the right place.
Each time I opened my eyes, I made a mistake. But when I shut them, I could see a man forming.
He looked exactly like Pharrel. i still hadn't gotten over him.
"Oh my!, I didn't draw that". I said to myself as I saw a perfect replica of Pharrel on my drawing sheet
"Now, write".....I heard silently and wondered who had spoken.
Nevertheless, I picked up my pen, and again, shut my eyes and let the words flow from my mind through my ink.
When I opened them, I had written well over 17 pages and I soon slept off after opening the first page of the story.
I don't know how long I had slept but the cranking of pots and plates emanating from the kitchen woke me up...
Everywhere and everything looked the same, except the sketch which was no longer where it was, and the 17 paged story book which had been turned to the second place.
I stayed alone, and no one came visiting, not once in the many years that I've been here.
The doors were shut, so it obviously wasn't possible for anyone to get in.
"Breakfast in bed?" I heard as I made to stand up from the bed.
That voice reminds me of....
What??
"Here baby, relax. I made you breakfast already"
"No, you are dead!" I screamed as I immediately stepped back.
"You think? Touch me....I'm not baby. It's me Pharrel"
I soon realized he was the one and wrapped him up in an embrace.
It's been 2 days since Pharrel came around and I tell you, it's been awe-mazing. I got my groove back and I've been so happy.
Although, the story always flipped a page at intervals without me having to flip through but I'm not bothered. I only wondered what would happen when it gets to the last page since it was currently on the 16th page.
Pharrel and I were at the dinning laughing over the Pan Cakes he got burnt while trying to steal a kiss from me when the story book flipped to the very last page.
I heard sounds, and as I looked up, I saw those men, the same men.
They came right to Pharrel and said "It is time"
I didn't understand what that meant but they took his away hastily just like they did previously.
I knew what would happen next, but I sure wasn't letting that happen.
Immediately, I searched for my pen and made to start a fresh story.
Hopefully, I still had ink in the pen.
This is my entry for the twenty four hour short story contest