Withered Orchid

       It's funny i once won a writing competition back in College for writing a piece i titled 'When less is more' (http://thawatcha.blogspot.com/2012/01/when-less-is-more.html) but when i read this beautiful piece, dredged up from the frontal lobes of the enigmatic David 'Davinici Da Bohemian' Iruoje, i got even deeper insights into that school of thought. This is not the type you gloss over hurriedly. Let the words sink in, syllable by syllable. Each conjuring emotions so strong, so heartfelt, you sometimes need to close your eyes so it touches the right spot. Take this one like the physician's potions...dose by dose...

Withered Orchid

        

    "...and then she died". 

     She always loved eye-shadows of different shades. I used to find them gaudy. She wore a different colour every other day. 

     "D, what do you think of my..."   "...whatever", I would retort, "we are already late for the outing". 

     That was five years ago in Kaduna. I remember walking along Kano road, Kasua when an old man offered me an odd looking albeit beautiful plant. "They bring good luck, but they do not last long" he said to me in hausa. I ignored the man and his plant.          

     She took ill one day and began to fade. The moment I set my eyes on her, I knew. Intuitively, I knew. The doctors gave me a medical treatise on her illness. "she is responding, isn't she looking healthier today?". Empty tests and meds. Bottom line; her illness confounded them. A month at most, they deduced. But she endured three months. 

     She always wore those eyeshadows even then. She lost her power for speech, but I could see the pain emblazoned in her eyes. I was broken. I was with her one of those days, looking at her weak form when I noticed the eyeshadow. It was Jade-green. "beautiful", I thought aloud. There was a queer look in her eyes, and then she smiled weakly. She handed me an envelope from under her pillow. A small note. "hey D, I'm glad you like them, I have been 'dying' to hear you say they are beautiful. Love, Jessy". I smiled sadly, I think I laughed, laughed at the grim humour, and I wept because I understood...>

....And then she died. 

That evening, it was a friday, April 7. I have always wondered how the dead manage to look so timeless in death, but she was better, you never saw a more beautiful corpse. The day she was buried, the heavens wept. I walked away from the graveside like a drugged idiot. Someone was speaking to me, "did you see, the corpse?, I've never seen eyeshadows more beautiful on the living".

 I looked up at the grey sky and said "yes, they are indeed beautiful..."

      Please drop comments below by clicking on the 'post a comment' button. Tell us your take on this piece, we'd seriously love to hear from you! If you don't have a gmail/google account, just scroll down and click on 'anonymous' or 'name/url' and input your name where requested. 

     Perhaps you're also something of an underground wordsmith yourself and feel like coming out of the closet, well, no better place to start than on this blog. just send in your write-ups to laylow1388@yahoo.com Connect with 'tha watcha' on Facebook by clicking on the 'like' button to the right of this post.

Thanks and God bless!

Tha Watcha.