Kemang woke up one morning to realise that the world was beautiful and pristine.
The world is a beautiful place; he expelled excitedly.
And as he woke from his bed, feeling vigour and surety about himself after a mind-warping long time. He decided he would not dull his mind with the mundane tasks of everyday life. No, ma’am, he was hellbent on maintaining this sort of euphoria.
As he entered the kitchen, on-route outside, he encountered dirty dishes. He observed them but decided to move swiftly along.
But along the way, he pondered for a moment!
I stay alone, he thought! So do I care about the dishes? Good riddance!
For a moment, he seemed to be stuck in a frenzy, an autotuned sphere of mind that he visits now and again. When his brain is short-circuiting due to overload!
I always do this to myself, he muttered; I am the queen of self-sabotage; kings would never do such a thing!
As he stood there, stuck in his momentary self-deprecating act, outside light permeated through the windows and upon him. It brisked him, and he concluded at once to proceed forth and relax into this newfound euphoria.
‘You jerk’-yelled a lady, as she threw a newspaper at him. He was barely out the door at this stage.
The newspaper itself was dense and quite perplexing that a young lady would be carrying it in the first place. This gave him further surety that the world is indeed a great place, where brainless young people are now keen on reading rusty old newspapers.
His face now seemed a bit deformed under the jury of light! Women from his street had habituated throwing stuff at his face and accusing him of being a ‘thief-of-hearts’.
Then he remembered that he had encountered four different women the previous day. He remarked on how beautiful and stylish they were and left it at that.
‘It’s all my fault; it is clear that these ladies misconstrued my intentions’, he uttered.
But I am a nobleman; I do not prey on women, and what I say is born from a genuine place. I just hope that they see the light as I do, one day; He continued.
And he seemed optimistic about his stance and seemed to stamp on the authority of his goodness.
Now he was preparing himself to sit on the lawn and be useless for the rest of the day when a group of a thousand faces passed by. They were a group of young women, all college-age.
He got thrust from his slumber and moments later was hanging on the fencing, yelling that every Tom, Dic and Harry would mortgage Rome just to bare witness to such majestic faces.
They paid no remark to his utterings, though! And they disappeared shortly after.
A neighbour who had witnessed the ordeal decided to confront him and threaten heresy on the lunatic of a man that he is.
She blurted-The community will know about this, and I will ensure that. My heart has not been at peace ever since I met you. (she concluded)
Sir, we don’t do kindly to ‘playboys’ here, so I suggest you call a different community home!
But Kemang was selective listening. As far as he was concerned, his highest duty was to tell women how beautiful they were. It’s called an ‘ego revival’!
Ever since one sad day when a crude lady remarked how short and disproportionate he was, he has ceased pursuing ladies. The keys to his heart were now missing in action.
He is a nobleman; he will not confront her for it. Bygones are bygones, right?
But at times, he sorely misses the tender body of a woman or simply their perfume entering the hemisphere of his nose.
But he knows better than this, and every time he reassures himself of this, he senses a gene activation of sorts. A sort of placebo effect tailored purely for him.
It’s been years doing this, and only “God” knows how much solo mastery this guy has undergone. Yet during the silent night, that tender body crawls back into the thickets of his neurons like a lion waiting to pounce on his deepest weaknesses. This is why his brain short-circuits. He’s on overdrive!
But as far as it goes, he is born only to complement a thousand faces under the sun.