The irony of shooting stars is that they are dead stars, it’s their last ember we see across the sky. And to know that we wish on them is appalling, has it gotten so bad that we cling our hopes on what is dead?
It wasn’t a dark night, thanks to the full moon and countless stars. I dipped my face into the bucket again, I didn’t want to know if I was crying — burying my head in a bucket of water was a safe bet, who can separate tears from water?
So I continued with my bid to break the record of the longest mourner. I was on a streak, seven removals in a row. They never got past six weeks. Every time, it happened exactly the same.
The house dead quiet, lights turned off. He never knocked and never pre-informed me of his visits. I stopped struggling after the fourth visit; I just laid on my back, closed my eyes, bit my lips, spread my legs and imagined it didn’t hurt when he slid in. He would drool, then ten minutes later remind me to keep our secret safe, roll off me, lay on his back and I would pinch his nipples. He always insisted I did that, it was the icing on his cake.
Sometimes he would scold me for lying flat without moving.
“You are not a piece of wood. Stop acting like you don’t enjoy it too. Research shows women enjoy it more than men even though you lots pretend not to.” He would then spread my legs again, slid in and out until he falls on my breast. Worn out from his work out.
“Remember to show me your used pad, we don’t want to be caught unawares. Getting it out early is essential. You do not want to ruin your future by becoming a baby momma and I don’t want an illegitimate child. Besides, your aunty will skin you alive for seducing me if she finds out.” he would say then stagger out.
With my head still under water and shooting stars travelling across the sky , I wish my dear Aunty Preye never gets pregnant. It hurts doing that but if it means one less person for her husband to abuse I can live with that. Moroever it would be easier for her to walk away if she ever finds out.