Celebrating East African Writing!
They appear in my life as skeletons for breakfast immediately after breakup. Their bones are dry while others are fresh. Sometimes worms start eating the fats before me. I remember the one on my table today. He drank himself out of my life. This Number Ten just died and his body is still hot. My mouth and heart are hurting by the first bite. This softens my heart and I allow Number Nine to have a bite below the waist. This area is always hot and hosts the hottest part after its final touches at the mortuary.
In today’s breakfast, I chose to eat the one who became broke and too broken to handle me. His brokenness was even on his dick. However, Number Six still got a share of what all others received from me. That is the reason he is here on my table. He died out of shock. He did not see light after darkness covered his eyes at the VCT when he learnt what I did to him.
He did not have a chance confront me. In a way, he was like me. I did not confront Number One. I did not ask him questions even when I had the chance. He was the guy that I loved with all my hurts. I was in a clinic. Not the voluntary type but I was forced to come due to vomiting, dizziness and headache predominantly in the morning. It was compulsory to take the test to save one life. Darkness came to me. I knew not what news to take first; new life or end of life. No wonder I was able to see light at the end of the seat where the nurse sat. While still digesting the news I decided that I would allow the virus to digest me until I get to Number Thirteen because it only took me thirteen minutes to give and take away life from me.
Number One is here with me to enjoy the meals that he created for himself. I have not though of the joy or the sadness of the day I will be on the other side of this table. The day that I will have eaten Number Thirteen. Then offer myself for a feast before the virus feast on me. Before my sexy sunken eye sockets are taken away, before visible hip bones vanish, before my sharp nipples and small itchy breasts are gone, before the few freshly retouched scalp on my head go with the comb, before the joints of what used to be my hands and legs start to separate and my small bones fall off.
Number Two will enjoy feasting on me. He used to like skinny girls, the reason why he ended up with me. He was too damn to stay longer. His stupidity did not allow him to know that skinny girls can give him what I gave him. Every time I hold his fleshless waist for a hug, I tell him got what he wanted. The moment I am out of my seat, he will gladly extend the few bones of his hand and pull himself to have a bite of my skin. It is unfortunate that he lost his hands while struggling not to die. It is further unfortunate that in the world of this table, there are no plastic hands.
Number Seven was just like my second victim. He liked light girls in the SPU (slim people United) not knowing they were to take him to ICU and finally on my table. He confronted me when I went to pay him a last visit. He had lost it all apart from his voice. It was stronger than his heart when he assured me of his boldness to face death. His words mocked me, “I am not a coward of your type that will have my skeleton on your table.”
I laughed when he said that he was going to die a dignified death after living in integrity. To this day, I still call him a coward because he almost crashed his wife’s hand when death came knocking. From time to time, he used to go back to her to apologize. Only that the wife reported to the pastor. They constructed a fire wall that has kept him all to me.
I always think that the two skeletons that had wives and are on my table as a punishment. I wanted to punish more of them. I suppose Number Twelve and Thirteen will be a married men just like Number Nine. He approached my pussy on the ground that his wife was pregnant with another man’s child. Sometimes I suspect that he does not belong to my table. That is why he regularly eats the palms. When greed and hunger hit his teeth, he eats the hot bodies. My collection sends him away once the body becomes cold. Today he is sleeping on the corner after burning his bones.
I am yet to meet the woman who ate my Number Four. He was handsome, his masculine body made me to take the chances. We made sex and sex made us make it. The desires were beyond my need to protect myself from eating what belonged to another woman. Although I was dead and walking, I risked dying in the hands of a woman. It was a risk but I lost my own food. I will be the one to eat and feast. Sex made me feel he belonged to me. He stayed a little longer before leaving. I may not even harm the woman who took My Number Four. She has already punished herself.
I hope Number Thirteen will fulfill my dream of getting married in a church wedding. I cannot stand in the holy place, I might be punished for bring more food on this table. I will spend all my money on the wedding. I will first surprise him by booking at Windsor then much later surprise him with the original certificate of my HIV status.
However, today’s meal did not surprise me. It had cancers that were not good for my tongue. The rest enjoyed it since they were here to please their teeth and dry bones. They were here because they first pleased their bodies. Above all, they pleased the boneless part. In particular, all of them are fleshless today. Sometimes they smell but Number Three has helped me to cope with the smell. I am glad that I personally brought him to the table.
Characteristically, darkness covered his eyes. He fought to see light since he knew I worked in the next tent. This was a LVCT camp between Tuskys pioneer and Bomb Blast. He rushed in my counseling tent. I had volunteered just to make sure I did not die after touching anyone who belonged to another woman’s table.
He confronted me and wanted to tell the whole world that I was one of the women having this table in my house. I gave him full rest and explained to the Supervisor that he was restless and uncontrollable. He woke up exactly when I volunteered to take him home for further counseling. He was found dead in his house after two weeks. It was clear that he committed suicide after knowing his HIV status. His cold body smelled to an extent of killing my smelling ability. I got used to it and enjoyed my first bite celebrating my victory.
Number Eight resembles Number Three. I was the one who encouraged them to take the test. Never the less I suggested a different VCT for him. He in no way confronted me after knowing his status. He knew where he belonged. Similar to the way he looked for me to quench his thirst; he found his way to my table to feed my hunger.
I seat in this table to defend my rights, my justice, and my ego. To fight, for my lost baby. By its positive status received from mother and father, it had a right to be on this table. It promoted the father to have the first to have a bite of me. It is regrettable that its bones were not well formed. It gave me a right to have a table and fill my stomach. Apart from my baby, I have no regrets. I am going out to look for my last man.