WHEN FATE THROWS A DICE

Although three good years had passed, it seemed with each passing second, the past was oftentimes dragging his soul backwards to dwell there. In fact, the past was looming over his present. The memories seemed to remain fresh. They kept on brewing suffering. Apparently, he was drunk with misery. Without those who were dear to him, life was meaningless and poisoned with each breath he took. Death seemed to be the only antidote to him. He felt like layers of scars that were tattooed unto him kept on heaping. How he had shut himself from everyone after the tragedy, nobody knows what would happen next to the "poor guy," as they put it. Suicide had never crossed his mind because he regarded himself to be already dead. The sting that fate had put on him was sinking deep, unto the depths of his shredded soul, laminating each fragment with negativity.

Franklin slumped his torn-apart pale mortal body on the couch, blindly gazing at the ceiling. It was 2pm in the afternoon, but he was still wearing his morning gown and shoes, a norm it had become. The house was a mess, but his heart, soul and life in general, were messier. Both the telephone and his mobile had rung a couple of times, not mentioning how the intercom had been buzzed over and over that day. He didn't bother to pick up calls or check email messages. He knew none of them were important, for he regarded his fate to be none of their business. He knew they were all for endless pitying and sympathizing, which he hated because it fuelled his agony to the core. He staggered as he stood and dragged his swollen feet, taking a tour in his own house that looked more like a haunted one. In fact, he was a living ghost haunting his own house. It was lifeless, all the glamour was gone. His eyes shot straight to where he had forced them not to land for a couple of months. Temptation was nagging him to overturn the picture frames that he had turned upside down. He tried to smile and cry at the same time but failed, he found no reason to do both. The feeling was unexplainable. Like a statue, he remained rooted there, his thin pale fingers caressing the picture of him and his late wife. His palms began to wet with sweat, the next thing being the frame slipping away, shattering into tiny fragments on the floor, resembling his own life. Memories of how they had met years before started to send replays to his mind more than usual.

It was when he had just finished college when they bumped into each other at a coffee shop one late evening. She was looking at him above the book she was pretending to read, not knowing he was not smirking at whatever she thought he was scrolling on his phone. Truth be told, he was smirking at how she was stealing glances at him. She felt like she was looking directly into his soul, a strange feeling ever. He stood and straightened himself before he strode towards her direction, reluctantly sipping his coffee which he later spilled on her book purposely, waiting to be hit by a tornado. Surprisingly, the opposite happened. She smiled and started giggling. For a moment he stood dumbstruck, but later he dived in and joined her into insanity. It didn't bother them how many eyes were glued on them. He took her arm after their circus show and walked out of the coffee shop like Romeo and Juliet, leaving everyone perplexed. Their souls were connected that very day, before they even introduced themselves to each other, weird wasn't it?

To him, she was golden. Her type was rare, he counted himself to be one of those men on planet earth who were blessed. They had many things in common, a happiest couple ever. The bond between them was unique and extraordinary, beyond imaginations of many. They confessed their love to each other a few days after their circus performance at the coffee shop. Everyone was in awe when they heard about their wedding plans. In their neighbourhood and in their little town, many did admire their love. "What a blessing", "what a weird loving couple", "soul mates made in heaven," they poured praises.

It was midweek, the streets were packed with traffic when they drove to town. After consulting the gynaecologist, Franklin and his pregnant wife headed to shopping, they had to, before the arrival of their alert twins. His wife was expecting in 2 weeks time. They had already given them names, how lovely. The couple was so overjoyed as they pushed the trolley around the mall, arguing and laughing as they chose the baby clothes. They had great expectations. Shopping bags were dangling in their arms as they headed to their parked Porsche. The dark cloud of doom came home for a visit. Franklin was putting their shopping bags in the boot and his wife wanted to buy an ice-cream. The moment he closed the car boot, everything seemed to have stood still. Everyone in the street was standing as if they were electrocuted, eyes bulging. 70 It hit him when he opened the car doors, Celena was not there. What a prank, he thought and smiled, the very last smile. As he turned to the other side of the road, he gazed unbelievably at where she lay plastered on the road painted with blood, together with the babies. He felt part of his soul being uprooted and ripped apart that very moment. He had never imagined the flower of their love being plucked before it bloomed.

Was it God's will? Was it by stars or by chance? Franklin pondered for answers every minute. After the tragedy he was living a lie. He had neither the desire to live nor die, for the difference was the same. Fate had sealed a deal he had never signed and cast the other piece of his puzzle into the deep waters of the dead sea, where no sailor or pirate could retrieve it back.

By Ngonidzashe Mhizha

ngonidzashemhizha90@gmail.com +263785056703