Crazy Insane for you.

One man's loss is another man's gain

In a small house lived the Mabusha family, a well respected and successful family that comes from a lineage of doctors and lawyers. Mr and Mrs. Mabusha, my mother and father, were held at gunpoint by members of the RAF (Rwandan African Rifle, an elite military group branched off from the army, that is only subservient to the dictator, Marcus Al'akinto) in our house. They knelt before the soldiers with rifles glued to their heads.

They prayed for mercy which was not granted because they were silenced by gunfire. My brother and sister, Antonio and Mariah screams of grief alerted the soldiers and it too was silenced by gunfire.

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs but the fear of death squeeze my throat so tight that not one squeak left my body. Throughout the commotion in which soldier will get my mother's most expensive traditional and colorful African cloth to present to their mothers, I had a sense that they would capture and execute me, so I had to think fast before my death was inevitable. I looked to my wardrobe and saw a half empty bottle of Gramaxone and disguised it in a way that I had committed suicide.

As they opened my door, my great experience in acting took the cake due to the fact that I can hold my breath for long durations and can endure anything given to me. They did whatever to my body and went as far as fondling me. After they had their fun, one soldier slung me over his shoulder and walked for miles on end to find a hole where they dumped the bodies of their victims. I was left in a cold, putrid place where the foul odor and the pitch black night drove me to insanity.

After a few hours of still playing dead, I felt a force pulling me. I thought it was an animal but I squinted my eyes to get a glimpse and thought it was a soldier who heard my screams of insanity. I fought with all the strength remaining in my macilent body until I passed out.

As I relapsed in and out of consciousness due to fasting; I woke up in a room, on the bottom bunk of a bed, pondering my own whereabouts. Then a voluptuous Caucasian  woman with hairs the colour of a ripe wheat field wearing a khaki shirt and short skirt with a shark tooth necklace in which the pendant falls perfectly between her breasts entered into the chamber.

"Hey, my hot chocolate, how you doing" said the woman checking my well being.

"I can't believe I sat in my room doing nothing, but I will not stop until my enemy's blood is filled in my bathtub". I said out of the pent up sadness and anger I held back from hearing my family's screams and sudden deaths.

"By the way, I didn't catch your name, mine's Richard Mabusha". I said casually showing her my debonair demeanor after calming down.

"I'm Carissa Atkinson, part of the Armenian Red Cross Association, helping the minority survive during Marcus Al'akinto's brutal regime".
"You should get some grub, it's like you haven't eaten in four days". Said the angel of a woman in her silk smooth voice.

"I try to keep lean, no girl wants a man with a protruding stomach". I said in a weak Nigerian accent.

"Tomorrow, we will get some work around the camp done and see how those crops turn out". Said Carissa whose soothing voice calms my tortured soul.