6 keys from the edge…

A young woman identified only as Mama Deborah has stepped forward and added her two cents to the Gay Pastor saga. After it was revealed that Kayanja paid his alleged victim shs.2m, Deborah said she would have let him take her using whichever point of entry he desired and she would have charged less. “The thing is that man likes very classy things. Now you see, those classy things have costed (sic) him very dearly. If he had come to me, I would have been for discount and what’s more, me I would have kept my lips sealed.”

Asked why she has decided to come forward with this offer, she denies allegations that she is a prostitute looking to make a quick buck, “I am not a Malaya! I just like money a lot and I like sex! This news is an eye opener. I am not an opportunist, but rather, an entrepreneur. I saw an opening and I thought I could use it.”

A gentleman that was on the scene had this to say after her remarks, “That’s what he said!” When asked to explain in detail, he said that unlike the pastor, he did not want to get into these things. He proceeded to give a nearby onlooker a high-five and they laughed at what this reporter suspects is what is commonly referred to as a ‘private joke’.

Mama Deborah said she is using this forum as an attempt to let the good pastor know that she is keeping her door open.

The Pastor  could not be reached for comments, but a source close to him said he assumed that he may seize the opportunity to avoid the dock.

In other news, one of the other victims has withdrawn his accusation.

Reports suggest that he was informed that some high ranking members of the police task force are homosexuals as well and would leap at opportunity lest it presented itself.

Asked whether these allegations were true, an officer who spoke on condition of anonymity said, “I cannot get into that shit”.

Philip wakes up with a start, his forehead awash with sweat. His breathing comes out in spurts and his heart palpitates at an alarming rate.

The room is dark, so it takes him a while to figure out where he is. He reaches around and finds it. The lamp by his bed side. That was the easy part. It takes a little longer before he can find the switch.

He flicks it and the room is bathed in light. He looks beside him and she is still there. All his panting, his gasping, she slept through it all. She is a heavy sleeper and for once, he is glad. He wouldn’t want her to see him like this.

Suddenly he realizes that he has a headache. It’s nothing serious, so he figures he will ignore it. He finds it upsetting that the nightmare that had seemed so real a short while ago is fading into the darkness from whence it came. It bothers him even more that he is still unsettled.

There is nothing more frustrating, more disturbing than the fear of the unknown.

He can’t go back to sleep. He doesn’t even try. Whatever it was that scared him, got him real good. He feels a need to make sure everyone in the house is safe. Protected from… even he doesn’t know. As the man of the house he feels it is his duty. No, his responsibility.

The door to the kids’ room is slightly ajar to let some light in. Little Sara is only two years old and the darkness gives her nightmares. Her brother Nicholas tries to put up a brave act for his father and pretends he fears nothing. Ordinarily Phil finds this endearing, but right now he thinks its pretty dumb. It’s okay to be afraid once in a while.

Perfectly normal.

Both kids are okay. Sara is clutching at her teddybear and Nicholas has his back to him. Facing the wall. If you can’t see it, then it can’t harm you seems to be the reasoning at play.

Phil decides to go downstairs and check the doors. Everything seems to be in order. It’s no use going back upstairs, his sleep has left him for another, and he’ll probably catch up with it tomorrow. He walks over to the fridge door and opens it. His hand lingers above the last can of beer as he thinks to himself, ‘can it ever be too early for a drink?”.

Something tells him, he shouldn’t. He fights it for a while. Right there, in front of the refrigerator, he is engaged in a fight with his conscience. It wins and he pours himself a glass of juice instead.

He checks the doors once more and then, satisfied, goes to the living room and switches on the television.

Somehow, the channel surfing provides him with a modicum of relief. Sets his mind at ease. For a fleeting moment.

There’s the sound of a tiny explosion and he feels a great pain shoot through his chest. He drops his glass, wincing. The pain forces him to look down and he realizes, that the front of his vest has gone red. He reaches over to touch and it feels dump. There’s no doubt in his mind that it is blood.

But why…how…who? Nothing makes sense.

He musters what little energy he has left to turn and then he sees her, holding a gun, aiming it at his head.

His lips part, letting a whisper escape with his last breath, “Sophia…why”.

There’s another shot and then darkness.

Then he wakes up with a start.

Last night was a trip; he’s never had a hangover this bad. There are gaps, blank spaces from the night past of which memories refuse to form. There are bits and pieces, but that’s all. The phone rings. And rings. And rings. He wants to ignore it. Call back later, he tries to will his tormentor.

It doesn’t work.

He lifts it and there’s no name. No caller ID. It says unknown. He figures he shouldn’t. He knows he ought not to. Mama said don’t talk to strangers. Maybe the caller can fill in the blanks. Shed some light on his activities nocturnal.

He answers.
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Man I hate bullets. It’s not so much the whole “they kill people thing”. I know they do, but I am not afraid of death. We all have to die some time, right? I made my peace with that. The thing about bullets, and I’m sure you’ll agree, is that they hurt. A lot! And they place people in hospital beds and shit.

 

Hollywood paints a pretty glamorous picture of shoot-outs. Mostly slow motion and black and white flashbacks. Then the screen fades to black signaling the end of a character’s life. Or the beginning of some messed up situation where the said character has this desire to seek vengeance or some such thing.

 

That’s not entirely accurate.

 

The bullet that hit me was not moving in slo-mo. It knew exactly where it was going and it had a sense of urgency about it. Also, my life didn’t flash in front of my eyes. It was just sound of gun fire and then the whore screamed and I thought maybe I’d hit her. I distinctly recall thinking to myself that as far as losses go, that wasn’t much of one. Then I felt a searing pain and then there was that classic fade to black moment.

 

There was no grim reaper or angel of death babbling on and on about how I’d been bad and was going to hell. Straight to hell. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Go directly to hell. Actually, in hindsight, that might have been a little funny.

 

Had it happened.

 

None of it occurred.

 

Just a shot. Pain.  A scream. Then darkness.

 

TO BE CONTINUED. . .