creative Prompt #121 - Creative

[comicfan]

We have all heard the saying be careful what you wish for. Well you just made a wish that has come true, however, you didn’t see the other problems that come with your wish. What are they and what did you wish for?

[LJH]

THE WISH

An African Gay Fable

 

Kajane’s go–go had constantly reminded him not to wander near the old ruins. ‘It is dangerous,’ she said. ‘Only those who are very brave go there.’

 

The teenager’s mind told him to listen to her, but his instincts urged him otherwise, and one afternoon, as go–go slept in the shade of the great willow tree, he sneaked away.

 

The ruins lay under a vast canopy of monkey-thorn trees and thick bush. Broken pieces of the slate walls lay scattered on the ground. Kajane marveled at the idea that people had lived here a long time ago. He glanced around, and discovered a shining object on the ground about twenty meters away from him. He approached it and stooped to pick it up. The moment his fingers touched it, the rock glowed like a thousand stars. He pulled his hand away and it stopped glowing. Unsure of this strange phenomenon, he stepped back to ponder it. The rock was rough, shaped like a cube, and as large as the palm of his hand.

 

A few moments later he boldly reached down and prodded it, first with one finger, then with two. Eventually he gently lifted it. This time there was no glow. He rubbed it against his skin and, out of nowhere; a message appeared on its surface.

 

Make a wish,

it will come true.

Remember, you are the only one

who can choose the best for you.

As suddenly as it appeared, the handwriting dissolved. Fearful of what he had just seen, Kajane tossed the rock onto the ground and stepped away. The moment it landed it glowed even brighter than before, and he raised his hand to protect his eyes from the sharp glare.

 

The glare settled finally and Kajane built up enough courage to approach it again and when he picked it up, the message reappeared, in black cursive writing:

 

 

Make a wish…

 

Kajane knew this was something special. He pocketed it and ran to the top of the viallge hill where he sat gazing out the farm lands and the mountains beyond. Summer had been unusually hot without rain, and most of the tribe's crops had failed. He remembered when his father said goodbye to hunt for food in greener pastures, beyond the mountains. He missed his father. He would wish for rain and wait for his father to return.

 

Later that night the rain came down hard. Go–go rushed to his room and held onto him.

 

‘I am scared, Kajane,’ she clutched him as never before. ‘The lightening is close. The thunder is like an angry lion.’

 

‘But go-go, are you not happy that it is raining? We have had very little rain this year. The farmers have run away. Now they will come back.’ Kajane smiled at her.

 

Go–go hugged him tightly. They had a strong relationship and she was safe in his arms. She was a frail lady who had brought up several children, most of whom had left to earn money and help the miners dig for gold and diamonds in a place called Johannesburg and Kimberley. But, the years had taken their toll on her and she was all skin and bone and Kajane knew she did not have long to live.

 

The rain pelted the earth for five days and nights. Elephants drowned, and the crocodiles ate to their heart’s content. Lions and leopards shared the tallest trees with baboons and snakes. Kajane’s tribe moved the village to the tallest hilltop, and he knew he had made a mistake, the rain would not stop. The trek weakened go-go. Her breathing was heavy. Forced. He did not want to lose his grandmother as he had lost his father, for he had not returned.

 

On the morning of the sixth day, he made another wish.

 

‘I wish the rain will stop.’

 

Suddenly the clouds parted and allowed the sun to shine through. The water drained from the land, the animals returned, and the maize grew quickly. Soon, the farmers returned to their fertile lands and the people rejoiced, singing and dancing around the bomma. But his father did not return.

 

Only one wish remained. He could wish for his father to return, or for his go–go to get better. She was weakening by the day, refused to eat, and turned away all of her visitors. She did not want people to see her illness.

 

The rhyme had said,

 

 

Remember, you are the only one

Who can choose the best for you.

 

On a hot, summer afternoon, one week after the rains, he heard go–go’s weak cry and rushed to her bedside. Her breathing was labored, her face awash with perspiration. He squeezed her hand to comfort her.

 

‘My grandson, it is time. There is one thing I have not told you.’

 

‘What is it, go–go? Please, you must tell me.’

 

‘The elders from the next village have kept this from you, but I cannot. Your father has joined our ancestors. His body had been cleaned by the great wall of water that rushed downriver. The elders buried him among those who had perished. We did not tell you for we feared you might run away, get lost in the big city of the mlungu…’

 

Tears washed his face. Silent tears of the frustration of hope. Still, he held her hand tightly.

 

‘You must not mourn long,’ she said. ‘I will keep you safe.’ She touched his face, and her arm suddenly dropped. Kajane wept for three days, knowing that he could have used the magic to make her well, but he had not, and the guilt was too strong. Now, the only person whom he had ever loved, besides his father, was dead, and he cried, and slept alone, with no one to comfort him. In the dead of a moonless night, Kajane rubbed the rock with his fingers, and once more, a heavenly glow surrounded the rock.

 

‘I wish to not be so alone and unhappy.’

 

On the third morning, a young man whom the people called Shoshongu, appeared at the door of go–go’s hut. They had been born on the same day, Shoshongu and Kajane. The villagers celebrated their birth through prayer and thanksgiving as they always did a new birth. Shoshongu’s skin was velvet black, and he always wore the clothes of a warrior; a crocodile skin loin cloth and wristbands made from the penis of lions.

 

In his hands he held a pot of white pap, and a plate of inyama cut from a kudu.

 

‘You must eat, Kajane.’ The young warrior prodded him with the pot, but Kajane would not hear him.

 

He refused to eat and talk for a full month.

 

Every day the warrior came to the hut and asked him to eat. Each day he held Kajane and prayed with him for his father and go–go.

 

One morning Kajane finally spoke. ‘Why do you do this, Shoshongu. You are here with me every day, holding me, praying for me, feeding me. Why do you do this?’

 

‘I am alone, Kajane. I do not want to be alone. I seek your friendship, and your love.’

 

Kajane gazed at the large brown eyes and the lean, square face before him, and realized that Shoshongu was touching his chest, and moving his fingers up towards his nipples.

 

He grabbed Shoshongu’s hand and put it to his lips. ‘I too, am alone, Shoshongu. I seek love and friendship, will you be my friend?’

 

‘No one must know of this.’ Shoshongu whispered, leaning in for a kiss.

 

‘No one shall ever know of this. It is between you and me. It is what we will do forever.’

 

‘There is something you must know, Shoshongu.’

 

Shoshongu waited in silence for Kajane to tell him.

 

‘Something I must show you. It is the thing that brought us together.’

 

‘I will gladly treasure it for all eternity.’ The warrior said.

 

“You will promise never to speak of this. It has brought tragedy upon me and the village.’

 

‘You have my word.’

 

‘It is this.’ Kajane reached under the bed and brought out the rock. ‘It glows and told me I could make two wishes. My father had gone out for the great hunt, and I wanted him to return, so I rubbed it and it glowed, and I wished for rain so that he would return. The rain came and wiped away everything on this land. But he never came back. When go–go died, she told me that my father had been killed in the floods. I wished not to be alone, I needed companionship, and it brought you to me. Look, I will show you. I will rub it with my fingers and when it glows I will make a wish for my father to return.’

 

Kajane rubbed and rubbed, and spread his fingers all over the stone, but it would not shine.

 

Shoshongu gazed into his eyes and said, ‘My warrior man, you are a teller of tales. It is good that you have sought to equate our love and friendship with a tale of magic. But the rain was not your doing. And I am sure that our coming together was only because I had watched you from afar for a long time. I could not bare to see you waste away through your loneliness, and that is why I came. To be with you. It does not matter that the rock does not glow. My wish has come true.’

 

But Kajane knew it was not so.

 

End

 

 

 

Go-go = grandmother

Inyama = meat

Mlungu = white man.