Sunday Fiction: Zulu

‘‘Your mum should have aborted you.
You’re a stupid retard.
Miss! I don’t want to work with her!
Zulu! Zulu!’’


Marie shook her head and tried to concentrate on the teacher. Behind her, the sniggering started like an orchestra: low and jagged. The conductor, Reece raised his baton and the pitch rose in accordance, each instrument adding their bit to her torture. The music ended abruptly as a piece of paper landed on her desk. She couldn’t help it; she reached out and unfolded it desperately hoping for a kind word for once.

‘‘Nobody likes you! Go kill yourself, Zulu!’’


The audience laughed and clapped encouraging the orchestra who again began to play the bitter song of torment. The teacher, after years of abuse from his subjects looked away droning on about the importance of chromosomes in the human body.

‘‘Nobody likes you! Go kill yourself, Zulu!’’

The show ended and the orchestra disbanded but the song remained, feeding and growing on the audience’s claps and squeals of ‘encore’. It began to seep into her skin becoming a part of her just like her chromosomes. She ran.

***

Sniffing the foul air around her, Marie welcomed the familiar odour of urine as one welcomes a lifelong partner. It steadied her heart beat ushering in memories of a time when everything was different and roles were reversed.

‘Marie?’ Childhood and fear softened his voice many a times. He desperately hoped for a kind word from his sister.
‘Leave me alone! Idiot!’ she would reply. Other times, she would ignore him all together knowing this hurt him in ways he couldn’t even explain. She never realised it at the moment but looking back now, she noticed the wicked glint burning in her eyes for everytime she caused him pain.

‘‘Don’t walk with me!
Don’t hold my hand!
Idiot.
Just shut up and get out!’’

And of course, there was a physical side to it too. For a quick moment, she felt raw power as she remembered the slapping, hitting and beating: a possessed form of pleasure.

Marie breathed the foul air around her. There was a new addition to the odour: a menacing enemy masking as a friend. She ran trying to flee her wickedness but it had dug its roots into her soul. The punishment of God located her.

Arise, O LORD! Punish the wicked, O God! Do not forget the helpless! (Psalm 10:12)

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6 thoughts on “Sunday Fiction: Zulu

  1. Tomi Ola says:

    Lolahbf, your stories always have a certain ‘deepness’ about them that I love. I always have to read twice or thrice to grasp the full message. Lovely short story.

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