Darkness was shadowing the golden-brown valley, the spectrum of light was diminishing into a black sky, refurbished with white crystalline sparkles which twinkled as I looked up. My bike was working for quite a while, three hours, without stopping. I was on the road, heading south, to pay her memorial site a visit.

It had been three years that I had been on this routine, mid-summer, rode my trusty 1980-Harley, sticks of cherry blossoms wrapped in old newspapers were kept in my yellow backpack, and a steadfast love for her that steered me safely throughout the journey. The head lights of my ride shone brightly, giving me a clear vision, granting me a safe journey. The cool night wind swept through my body gently, reminding me the way we were before the pandemonium stroke.

March the 13th, 2008, I remembered the date precisely. We woke up laying on each other, the sun was peeping through the blinds of the boarding house which we stayed with the motorcycle convoy which I joined since I was a teen. The bed was tattered with creases left from the night before when we had made passionate love. Her tenderness, her stamina, her enthusiasm, and her hunger for me was unfathomable. Nothing could stop us or come between us every night, except for ourselves. As two bodies, two worlds merged into singularity, time had lost itself to the love that was overwhelmingly sophisticated yet simple.

Daylight gradually filled up the crammed room which had space for a single bed and a small aisle to the bathroom cubicle. My eyes pried opened, looking at her pristine face, her deep cleavage, enticing me to pine more of her. I was reluctant to disturb her from resting, she deserved it, I needed her to be fully energised. I gently laid her down on the crumpled pillow, swept her hair across her face, exposing her demure complexion to satisfy my eyes.

I slid on a pair of boxers, walked to the cubicle, washed myself up, stared at the mirror, realising the terror in my bloodshot eyes, the lethargic in my face. It had been difficult for me, the anxiety of our future, the path that I had been choosing, her well-being, her future, everything that was happening at that moment had been a dilemma for me. This convoy was a cover-up for a massive drug shipping desperado worldwide to the opulents, especially the nouveaux riches which were the primary money-flowing stream, without them, we could not afford these beauties from the Big Five. I got myself a Harley 1980 in exchange of serving them in drug-dealing for a life-time.

My adolescence was in delinquency, filled with misdemeanor of the law and order of the nation. Lost my parents at thirteen in a car accident, instantly killed in front of my very eyes, blood was sprayed everywhere, and covered me with the shock of losses, and tonnes of changes to my life. When I first started middle school, I got beleaguered by the students in school, influenced by the outlaws of the neighbourhood, ended in juvenile prison for a couple of grueling months, and here I was, signing a contract of no turning back. If I broke this treaty, it would spell doom to me, my life.

Did I have a life? a perturbing question that constantly popped up inside my heart after being into this crime- drug dealing, for months. I neglected it, the puerile me reckoned doing all this was akin to the movies, I felt that I was in the blockbusters when I was drug trafficking. Invulnerability solidified my thoughts, I had got over my head in no time. That was what I had become, an arrogant, impertinent fool who made plenty treacherous enemies throughout this ‘industry’, and got myself landed behind the bars.

The environment in the hollow, dark, lonely cell set my faculty of thoughts into a sprint, pondering about the intrinsic values of life. Since I had lost my parents, I still had myself to cling unto. My wayward style of living had shepherded me into an abyss of no return, I had realised this cruel fact.

Nobody visited me. Nobody cared about me. Nobody knew my existence. Even my so-called friends did not give a damn to my sorry ass in jail. It was disheartening. I sat in a cocooned posture at the corner of the cell, staring blankly into the solid concrete floor, acknowledging the reality of this inhumane world.

There should be some way of leaving this pile of mess, doing other things in future. Should I continue do drug trafficking after being released? The rivulet of thoughts overflowed my mind, translated into tears of oblivion, confusion, and fear. Weeks passed with tears rolling down my cheeks, I shouldn’t waste time. I got up, did some push-ups to maintain my fitness level, requested some reading supplements to catch up on the harnessing of knowledge, faced the harsh reality, equipping myself with all that I could to embrace whatever that was laid after my release.

A year passed in a breath of life, the solitude departed myself along with arrogance and impertinence, imparted me with being humble and the wisdom of life. I marched out of the dreadful place as a renewed person, attempting to start over. Dozens of Big Fives lined up when I walked out, they were here to pick me up. I guess this will be temporary, I can’t retire now, there’s no chance. I reckoned. They need me, I need them, make use of them.

The laterally inverted image formed in the mirror of the bathroom cubicle reflected my deadpan, demeaning features which made me despise myself even more. She pulled me from the back for an intimating cuddle, I turned myself to her, reciprocated her with a warm hug whispering, I’m not going to let anything happen to you, She pounced unto me akin to a ravenous creature, ravaging more of me, my love.

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