Harold Lamptey are you Outside your Head?

Harold fidgeted in his bed. “Wake up” he thought. No, not wake up “Get up!” He was transfixed. Body paralyzed and mind alive to the annoying predicament he found himself in. These occurrences weren’t supposed to, well occur anymore, but today he found himself stuck in his body and wondering in his mind.

When he thought about what he would be doing instead of perishing in his sunken bed mattress, there wasn’t much at all out there. His rocking chair. Maybe Charlotte and her heavy shoulders carrying some weight.

Oh yes! Outside. He could be outside breathing in the fresh dew that settled on the broad evergreen leaves that resided on his lawn. Forcing his mind to make some connection to his body, Harold focused on moving his finger. “At the very least I can twitch the damn thing.”

Frustrated at this apparent disconnect between his mind and body Harold shut his eyes.

His breathing gently declined from a trot to a slow step.

In.

Out.

Inhale.

Exhaaaaaaaaaaaaaale.

In hale.

Ex hail………..

A strong wind lashed into the deteriorating bedroom. The books on the shelves were trashed onto the floor and wardrobe doors flapped open and closed maddeningly. The mattress itself fell, and Harold was “floating?” he shockingly realized. Eyes quivering, he felt a strong force lifting him up. The ends of huge wings soared into view and a golden haired man appeared by his face, whisking him upward. Before long, the bedroom Harold had previously existed in was below him, and the broad unending blue sky was all around him. The man turned his head in a curious fashion, almost like an owl, and smiled at Harold. Harold whimpered a reply. “God, am I going to heaven?”

The clouds around him were stolen by the sky and he was soon consumed by a purple darkness. He turned towards the golden winged man for some assurance, but his head had turned to skeleton and on his wings hung loose dying skin. “What cruel joke is this?”

Upward they went past the sky, the earth and into the oblivion.

The skeleton head turned to him again. In its eye sockets were windows and Harold gazed into them. What he saw made him shiver. A child lay face up with her head upon a tree stump. Bright blue pock-dotted dress, and a crooked smile etched on her face. Then a man, as quiet as sleep, marched towards the little girl and hacked her little head off clean with a brutish-looking instrument.

“NO!” Screamed Harold, tears streaming down his face.

“NO MORE!” Screaming madly.

It happened again and again, each time the girl looked up at Harold with a disquieting smile that drove him into an uncontrollable frenzy of fear.

“Please make it stop!” He asked the winged man.

No mouth opened, but Harold heard the soft hiss loud enough “never.”

Breathing declined gently from a trot to a slow step. Harold accepted the burden of his new existence.

Then he was up in his bedroom. Everything seemingly in place and undisturbed.

Crashing into the Sun

It wasn’t Armageddon I realized. The afternoon sun was beating hard on the windows and my damsel had taken her sweet time getting all dolled up in the bathroom. I peeked through the slight crack of the bathroom door and there she was puffing out her fizzy hair, and pouting her bloody lips at the mirror.

She caught my gaze and smiled ruthlessly. I didn’t turn around. I continued to stare. I bore into her light hazel nut eyes and I could see myself falling in them. Her deep pools of pain, love and passion were drowning me even before I got to the deep end. How deep was the deep end?

Where did I pick you up from hun?

‘To me it feels like you are wasting your time. But im sure you know that too.’ I remarked charmingly.

She liked that when I talked trash to her. It was overrated being nice.

She placed her hands in the basin of the sink to rinse her hands as I marched up behind her and sunk my teeth in her long slender neck. My tongue furrowed on up to her ear as I dug into it. All the while she was swooning. Her eyes shut, her hands twirling in the water, her essence shaking.

‘To me it feels like you are a waste of time.’

My hand reaching down below her black leather skirt and brushing her soft lips.

‘But god knows I have no use for that, so might as well waste it.’

She loves the casual mockery of our existence. Nothing will ever feel like it is enough, and we will clutch on to the idea that we are giving ourselves more time but we are just driving straight. She has been speeding. Might as well crash into the sun. A dangerous mentality and code she lives by. I know it.

It took almost another hour before we unwrapped ourselves and left the bathroom. She hadn’t said a word all the while, actually I had done almost all the talking but I knew everything about her.

She stooped down to grab her heels and looked up at me. Tauntingly.

‘Ha! You never know when to stop.’

‘You never know when to “cum”.’ She retorted.

She hangs to that last word as if it were the last bite of hell and I can feel the intent.  I can’t walk up to her and kiss her. If I did that, I would have lost the game before it got interesting.

‘When am I gonna see you again?’ I asked. Defeated.

‘Im gonna kiss you one more time and that might be probably the last time we will share each other. Is that ok?’ Her fingers busily tying shoe buckles, her words cutting into me. She swings her head and her hair flops over to the other side, the long dark curls spiraling over her fiery eyes.

‘You just burnt me. But I don’t mind that. Lets do dinner or movie?’ Im grasping for anything to confirm that she will be back, but I shouldn’t be, she knows what she wants. She will come and get it when she wants it.

‘No. Don’t be stupid. Now kiss me and let me go.’

The kiss is horrific. A moment in time that feels beyond that, and one I know might never come again. Fear isn’t knowing the end, it is realizing that it’s started and will slip away from you.

‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’

I shouldn’t have said anything. I look at my watch. Almost 3pm and I have dinner with my agent soon. Grab the car keys and dash out, is what I thought.

Don’t know if it is what I did.

Leaving Church

Hands clasped in prayer, face covered in the shadow of the lord and savior Jesus Christ, Charlotte prayed.

The muted rows of benches listened intently as golden light filtered through the gilded windows of the church’s ceiling. The Holy Father, silently absolving her of her sins and absorbing her prayer for her beloved grand father.

‘Father, please forgive my grand father for his sins, for my sins, for his son’s sins. No man should live his final years in a mist of delusion and madness.’

Charlotte had taken up the responsibility of tending to her grand father. Her father had left Ghana entirely, mother moved to her hometown village and siblings were all overly successful in their respective fields to pay much mind to a mad old man.

Charlotte, herself, had made the most of her situation she thought, reassuringly at times. At home after a long week she would collapse onto her couch and watch Tv till the early hours of the morning. Every Sunday she would drive her rackety Opel Astra to her grand fathers home out in Aburi and watch over him. He mostly just rocked his favorite chair silently on the front porch, humming to unfamiliar tunes.

There were occasions that her grandfather would act, well to be honest, quite mad. Last weekend Charlotte had brought the gardener over to her grandfather’s house to tend to the untamed front lawn. Whilst discussing the means by which the gardener was to mow the lawn, her grandfather stampeded into the kitchen barking out something about keeping the noise down. She had been so startled by her grandfather she had dropped a jar of tomato paste on the floor.

Charlotte lifted herself from the church floor, padding away the dust that had pressed on her knees and gave a final gesture to her lord father Jesus before leaving the church.

Slumped into her dilapidated car, she sighed heavily as she begun the long wrist twisting process of trying to start the metal contraption. Jingling the keys left, then sharply cutting right, then again, and again until there were sore marks on her palms, the car kicked into life and she hurriedly rattled out the church compound into the brain draining traffic on the spintex road.

Traffic wasn’t always such a bad time. She had left lite reads in her car, and found some interesting self-help audio tapes hidden in a cardboard box in her grandfather’s place as well. She was playing audiotape number 4: The conscious decision.

Today is a day to feel like you are in charge, a day to make up your mind on who you are.

But today she didn’t feel in charge, she felt remorseful. The weight of the world’s problems seemed to be slumped on her narrow shoulders and the sweat trickling down her forehead were the solutions, wordlessly dripping away.

A haze of sleep crept into the car suddenly, and the sun’s glare bleached Charlotte’s sight until her head rested on the steering wheel.

Eyes were fractions. Tiredness. Sleep.

There is chasm in which we all stand. And we can choose to be anything. But you can also choose to be the best of yourself.

BAM!

Crash.

Traffic

His two hands wrapped around the steering wheel of his red Porshe Sport.  He likes to think.

Staring. Tense. Gripping.

The car in front, a Rocket Ship. A huge furnace of an exhaust pipe blasting out spiraling flames that reached out into the dense heat of the day.

Transfixed.

Unable to process that his hands were his own, that he could move them, that he was in control of them. They twitched.  His veins pulsating up into his head. Pounding feeling. A never-ending pounding feeling.

Not a migraine.

A black hammer, bashing against unyielding metal. Over and over again. The clanging sounds piercing.

‘Excuse me mastah! U R slowing Dooooooooooowwwwwwwwwnnnnn traffic!’

He looks out the tiny crack of his window at the policeman.

Sweating. Dripping.

What was this fascinating beast of a person, draped in navy blue and capped with an astonishing mushroom cap. How could he mutter those words to him? He looked up into the rear view mirror and there was a wave forming.

He looked again.

Dread.

The wave, had turned into a tsunami, rising up into a gigantic colossal being eating up everything in its wake as it stampeded onwards to him.

Fragile. Useless.

The world was silent, and the road in front of him was a climbing stairway to the gates of the realm beyond human comprehension.

He steadily got out of his car, the policeman standing aside confounded.

His naked feet crunched softly on the grainy cool sand beneath him. The tsunami had collapsed into the vast space behind him and was now creeping at his ankles, tickling and friendly.

Reminded him of Patch, his dog he had loved and cared so much for. He would come home from school and Patch would pace around the compound lovingly, finally kneeling, licking his ankles and panting excitedly.

A car had knocked down Patch in front of Victor’s house one day and his dying dog’s last motions were to drag his battered body to the side of the road, probably to avoid being of further nuisance to anyone.

Uneasy.

The stairway had formed fully, and he shuffled across the sand to the base of the stairs. Raking his head up, he absorbed the enormity and splendor of the walkway. Each step was embedded with sapphire gems that gleamed an astonishing blue radiance. Higher up, the blue submerged into a wash of white light.

A blinding star? Almost.

A distant dream? Maybe.

A lost memory? Definitely.

He had been losing so much of his memories he sometimes could feel it slipping off his head, but now it lay at his feet. With each step upward, he delved deeper into the gallery buried in the dark cave of his mind. His legs effortlessly carrying him toward the manifestation.

Was it fear of some unknown entity that reverberated from his drumming heart? His physical being was fine but his soul was disturbed, uncomfortable with the ascent.

He could sense emotions that had anchored in the pits of his stomach for many years suddenly surround him. All around the clouds of his memories pressed on his shape and the white light loomed ever closer.

At one point he felt a sudden jolt to his fingers and he relived his mother’s comforting hands soothe the pain he had endured as a busy child playing with sockets. She had always been there to soothe his pains.

Mother’s touch. Love.

He was reaching for it, her hand/ the light. All one and the same thing. In a moment he will be back in his mother’s arms being cradled and loved. One final step to be with her in eternity. What he had fantasized about as a child, the heaven of the bible, the Quran, the stories. All those dreams had faded with age, and the memories were cramped together one against the other in a long cue, lining the stretch of his known history.

The only thing that remained free was the open road ahead. His hands placed firmly on the rubbery texture of the steering wheel. He jammed on the accelerator but reversed straight into the car behind him.

BAM!

Crash.

Eve of Tomorrow

Woke up with a head full of nails and what felt like a fist in my mouth gagging me. My nose was jammed with so much coke it was hard imagining ever breathing through my nasal cavity. Groggy and teary eyed I managed to wrench my hand free from underneath the pale caramel skinned damsel lying beside me. Naked as her name day, I grabbed her breast and gave her dark nipple a soft kiss.

The bedroom smelled of damp sex, and two cigarette buds twitched on the desk next to the breathing window. I didn’t know the time, didn’t know the place, I didn’t know my face. I groped at it, reeling my head back and sniffing hard to drag in any remnants of coke left in my throat.

Blocked.

Sniff again.

Blocked.

Again.

Ah! There we go.

The bitter fluids trickled down my throat and the haze of the room sharpened. I could feel my man parts stiffen as I did some more groping of the delicious treat next to me. The question I always asked myself, is this ethical? I guess technically she is asleep, however I could make a strong case that sex the night before gave me some consent.

Where did I pick you up from hun? Is this your place?

The night before wasn’t worth remembering now that I was in such a pleasant place. It always wasn’t worth remembering. Last week, I had woken up in a crude position between; a she-ox and a slightly disfigured elf. An orthodox two guy one girl threesome gone wrong, or a fantasy quest to rid the world of all black holes gone right? You decide.

But here wasn’t the place to do any remembering. The wind whipped in and out of the room dragging all that would sway with it. My heart diving in and swooping out, my mind frosted with the cold numbness, my eyes transfixed on the specimen by my side.  

Nothing was worth remembering. Just onward, forever searching for happiness.

My fingers were dancing on her tummy, gently skipping down the sheets and to the soft wetness between her thighs. Her pouted lips arched and her body swooned. Stirring back to the subconsciously conscious world, her nails instinctually dug into my balls and her thumb stroked my organ with such subtle ferocity I could feel my posterity sprinting to the top.

I kissed her with all my Armageddon. Many miles away I could feel the tides of the sea crashing over the cities of cement, as the meteors cratered the earth’s crust striking with apocalyptic dissidence.

The whole of humanity deteriorating as my tongue plunged deeper into her mouth, the universe on standby, my heart standing on the sun.

All was done, and nothing was worth remembering, just the tranquil brilliance of space holding us on this bed, this morning.

Charlotte what's the noise!?

"Charlotte do you hear that? It is absolutely terrible! Terrible noise! Where is it coming from Charlotte?" 

Harold struggled onto his feet draining every bit of energy he had. The nearly blind old man was rocking his favored couch chair on the front porch when he heard the noise. A ripping sound of what sounded like a chainsaw. Lurching from his rocking languor he shuffled toward the noise. Shifting through the dusty wooden floor Mr Lamptey made his way to the kitchen. The blind man knew every panel of his oak wooden floor.

The sound was god-awful. The ripping noise reverberated on the hollow walls of the creaking house and Mr Lamptey strained his eyes to see what was going on. In the kitchen he saw what he thought was the shape of a muscly man drawing the pull of a chainsaw. On the floor was a butchered mass.

"Charlotte! Whose your friend? Whats he doin with that thing in my kitchen. When you get up please clean your mess and get me my moringa."

Mr Lamptey shuffled on the spot and made his way back to his rocking chair. The ripping noise had stopped. Setting himself down on the chair he gazed at the scenery before him. A shifting collage of green swirls dancing on the dry uncut grass of his front lawn. It made no sense to Mr Lamptey what he was looking at, but he thought “thank god the noise has stopped!”