The Victim

By Phakiso Hlatshwayo

The Victim A moment of thoughtful silence passed between us. He silently took my hand and held it cupped in his. Then he drew me closer to him and I began to respond to his body against mine. My body became hot and I grew afraid, but, at the same time, I wanted him. I surrendered myself to him as he drew me even closer and pressed himself to me. He gazed into my eyes, and I drowned under his love spell as a mixture of feelings arose in me. I was puzzled, enchanted and anxious, and didn’t know what I wanted. I began to climax from only his warm and devoted touch. I was drowning in a world of love and intimacy. He kissed me and I felt as if my soul itself was moaning again and again. My heart beat faster. I closed my eyes and found myself in a very different world; a world I’d never been to. He held me closer and tighter still, pressing himself hard against me. I clutched him fiercely and lay my head on his chest, and he stroked my hair without saying a word. The prospect of doing something different and more exciting crossed my mind.

About the author
Phakiso Hlatshwayo is a young, vibrant South African writer, actor and investor, born and raised in Limpopo, River-Side. His love and passion for writing started at an early age and his mother persuaded and encouraged him to study comprehensive writing so that he can acquire professional skills. He is currently based in Cape Town trying to make a mark in the film and television industry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phakiso Hlatshwayo
• Release date: Mar 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9780620745383

Phakiso Hlatshwayo

Phakiso Hlatshwayo is a young vibrant South African Writer, Actor and Investor, based in Cape Town trying to make a mark in the Film and Television industry.

Book preview

The Victim

The Victim

Phakiso Hlatshwayo

Copyright © 2017 Phakiso Hlatshwayo

Published by Phakiso Hlatshwayo Publishing at Smashwords

First edition 2017

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Author using Reach Publishers’ services,

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Printed and bound by Novus Print Solutions

Edited by Vanessa Finaughty for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

Website: www.reachpublishers.co.za

E-mail: [e-mail]

To my mother, Maseribane.

Thank you very much for all the support you’ve given me and the faith you have in me. I wish you all the best of luck in life!

With all my love,

Phakiso

Acknowledgements

To Reach Publishers you have been nothing but the best. Thank you for pushing me so hard and guiding me and making this book a dream come true. Your work is extremely incredible.

To both my sisters, Metso and Rethabile, thanks for bringing light into my life. Your patience and love has brought us together.

To Eliot, your guidance and care towards me have been exceptionally wonderful. Thank you for being the brother I wished I always had. My time with you in Cape Town has been the best experience ever.

Chapter 1

My heart beat rapidly, as if it would jump out of my chest as soon as I heard the sound of the gunshots inside the house. My nerves were shattered. I rushed into the house as fast as I could. My imagination was fired with frustration and curiosity, as the world seemed to be coming to an end for me. My eyes couldn’t believe what they saw; blood all over the floor and running through the doorstep. I quickly opened the door and entered, and, as I raised my eyes, I saw my infuriated father, Paul, with a revolver in his right hand. My poor mother, Nina, lay on the floor, seemingly helpless.

God-a-mercy! I began to cry.

She was wounded and vulnerable as blood poured from her skull, her eyes shone in her beautiful face, which was like a flower that opened in shade as she rested painfully on the floor fighting for her life.

The minute Paul saw me standing there in shock, he shouted at me furiously, his tension and agitation apparent. Annelle, get out of here!

He quickly grabbed me and carried me out of the house, then threw me to the ground and locked the door behind him. I tried to catch my breath and started to question myself about what had just happened. It was as if it was a dream; a very dreadful dream. Bang was the last shot of the day that burnt my soul to ashes. My father had shot himself this time around, without doubt, I thought. For some time, I did not move. I remained on the ground in silence, despair setting in, and then I burst into tears and began to shout furiously.

Papa, no! I shouted. Noooo!

I rose slowly from the ground and, with a miserable cry, I went to the house and tried to open the door; it was locked and required an almost burly effort to open it. I looked through the window at my father, who lay behind it helplessly. His blood seemed to burn me and fear began to tighten my chest. My heart filled with pain as I sat there and cried. Confusion clouded my mind; I didn’t understand why my father had decided to take my mother with him. It was my mother I cared and longed for the most, for she was everything I could ever ask for in a parent. After a few minutes, the pain of losing her grew terribly and I felt it starting to disrupt my life, possibly in a different way. I felt as if I had failed her; I had failed to save her last breath. After half an hour, ambulances and police vans arrived and the noise they made was horrifying. Still, my panic and terror grew as I remained still and watched as the paramedics broke down the door and retrieved the two bodies. At that moment, I wasn’t even aware of what was going on, nor was I able to think straight. I didn’t know what to feel. There was an enormous pain within me; a shooting pain that went straight into my heart as I continued to ask myself why my father had decided to leave us. It was a huge shock that left a feeling of disbelief in me. Their bodies lay there on the ground covered in black plastic bags; I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was as if it was a dream; a very dreadful dream.

My brother, Linda, arrived back from school. Lucky for him, he hadn’t been there to see what had happened. He cried miserably when he suddenly realised that the bodies that lay there must be his parents. I could hear him screaming my name, Anne, and I raised my eyes and could see his mouth trembling as he struggled to find his voice. Tears streamed down his face as he became nervous and shivered in disbelief. I shook my head, not knowing exactly what to say to him or where to start. He could not understand, and he was hurt and shocked, as was I; death was nothing one could ever get used to. As I looked, people started to gather all over the place, staggered and shocked as their eyes filled with disbelief too; they felt enormously sorry for us.

Slowly, the heavy load of their death pressed my heart into consciousness, my flesh ill-fated and my soul sick, as though I wasn’t alive. A part of me died in distress and I could neither speak nor notice what people said to me. I was shocked and terrified and a sudden mood of despondency came over me, and, in this mood, a bondage sort of acceptance of their death; I became more aware of it and began to like this bondage. I had found peace and comfort within it.

The days crawled by in gloominess and the next weekend we laid my parents peacefully in the east of River-Side Memorial Park, and that was when I realised that my family was worn to shreds. I cried as I saw the two caskets accompanying each other down the ground. Mr Khuzwayo, the reverend, read the scripture wonderfully, but it seemed like it felt very strange to him; it was not every day that a man and his wife were laid to rest at the same time. It was quite unusual and strange to us.

I came forth from the Father and have come into the world. Again, leave the world and go to the Father.

The scripture stung me and left me staggered when I thought of how my father had left us. I asked myself why those who died were called ‘departed’. Departure was death; it made no difference to me, but I was glad I could find the reverend’s scripture so gentle and kind; they gave me comfort as I thought of my loving mother. His words were compelling as he said ‘soil to soil, dust to dust and flesh to flesh’. They touched me deeply and I felt as if I’d lost a part of me. My heart suffered, longing for their unconditional love, and I found no peace within me. I couldn’t breathe as I saw the caskets down into the holes, six feet under, with the flowers on top of them flourishing and alive, and that was when I started to realise and accept that my parents were truly no more. After the service, I remained there with them, in an attempt to sustain my bond with them.

It will never be the same now that you’ve left us, I said, my pain intensifying. I can’t tell you how much… how much I loved you. Why did you have to leave us like this? I can’t tell you the remorse I feel for my brother and me. I hope we were not the cause of this whole situation. It shouldn’t have come to this. I wish you had handled things differently, Papa; taking your life and Mama was not the only option. Every problem has a solution. If ever we were a problem, please find it in your heart to forgive us. My mother’s duty was to love you, cherish you and honour you, and for you to love her too. Forgive her too if she might have done you wrong; surely she might have died in shame to think of whatever wrong she might have done to you. I hope you’ll find peace in your heart to forgive all of us and reunite again with her wherever you are. You left us earlier than I expected, but you will always be part of us until we meet again. May your souls rest in peace.

I looked closely at the stones, then touched the closest one and realised that I could never see them again and this time I ran out of words; I began to live a superficial life and I find peace within me. I walked alone on the road; all the guests and relatives had left, and it was said I would find them at home. On my way there, I began to fume, then I took a deep breath and relief washed over me. The ocean of my mind never seemed to be washed with anything new regarding how I could overcome this horrible pain inside. I kept walking until I reached home, where people still gathered as they paid their last respects, I suppose, and my eyes perceived unusual and very absurd behaviour under the shadow of the tree that my uncle and his friends sat underneath by the corner of our yard. Bottles of whisky stood in front of them as they sat in a circle. They indulged as if it was some sort of a celebration in my father’s yard. They seemed very pleased with themselves as one of them poured himself another drink, laughing raucously.

It really got to me, as it wasn’t something I had expected to see. I felt as if my parents’ funeral was some sort of party that had to be celebrated, and now I felt as if my Uncle Jeff was expecting something out of my father’s death. It shocked me; I had never seen anything like it before. I rushed into the house, where I found my brother, Linda, sitting by himself in his room. He seemed very tired, but I wasn’t particularly pleased about what my uncle was doing and I didn’t care that I was bothering him. My anger was clear in my expression and I spoke furiously of how I felt.

Linda, you should come see what Uncle Jeff and his friends are doing. Is this some kind of a happy funeral that should be celebrated or something? This is very inappropriate and unacceptable, for heaven’s sake. We should be mourning, not celebrating, for heaven’s sake. A tear fell from my eye. I found this whole situation quite disturbing and offensive.

You’re still too young to understand, Anne; those are your elders and this is how people live these days. There is nothing I can do about it.

What’s that supposed to mean? Do people celebrate after they have lost their loved ones? Prepare some kind of party and drink their life away like they are doing? I replied confidently.

It’s not a celebration, for heaven’s sake! Linda’s face reddened. It’s called an ‘after-tears ceremony’. It’s how they pay their last respects to their loved ones; everybody does it these days. You’re just too young to understand; just leave me alone. Go, and close the door behind you. I want to get some rest.

I was surprised by how our beliefs had turned out. Perhaps he was right; I was just too young to understand this kind of mannerism, as I had found it absurd and intimidating. I sat by myself, wondering; nothing seemed to make any sense to me at all. I wasn’t wrong for asking, was I? I guess I was, as my brother hadn’t been very pleased to explain it to me. I grew embarrassed as I looked at my uncle and his friends through the window from the lounge. I didn’t know his friends’ names, but their faces looked very familiar and I remembered that they must have been my father s colleagues. Yet they shared excitement, judging by the happy expressions on their faces. I couldn’t care less, so I left the room and went to my bedroom, where I found my Aunt Rose, sitting all by herself packing my mother’s clothes. I looked at her silently; her mind seemed to be elsewhere and she looked miserable. I kept staring, seeing how comfortably she continued to fold the clothes, one by one without haste.

Her actions spoke volumes; she seemed to be grieving all by herself as she picked up a very beautiful, colourful dress from the basket.

From behind her, I said, My mother loved that dress.

My aunt looked up to see who it was.

Anne, how long have you been standing there? she asked in a soft, nervous voice.

Her eyes were teary and she looked like she had been crying, so I went to her and hugged her, and her eyes began to tear again. This time, they caught me too and there was no way I could escape them.

Don’t cry; it’s all going to be all right. She held me and looked me in the eye, then wiped my tears with her scarf. I could see that she still wanted to cry again, but kept it in to comfort me instead. I realised then how much of a mother and a sister my mother was to us, for it was very difficult to accept that she had left us and we would never see her beautiful face again.

I said, I will have this dress, as I picked it up from the basket; surely she might have wanted me to have it. It will remind me of her every time I wear it, and I will also leave it to my children one of the good days. Oh, how she loved this dress; you would swear that it was made especially for her when you saw her in it.

She gave me an intimate smile. Clearly, she found my words fond and compelling, since I spoke so beautifully of her sister. It caused a lovely excitement and cheerfulness in her, as she had not spent so much time with her. We continued to laugh it all off and suddenly Uncle Jeff entered the room. Charming as he was, he was also very full of himself, which seemed to have made Aunt Rose even more fascinated. I knew he wanted to see her; I had seen how interested he was when he looked at her, and I had seen how Aunt Rose loved how she was perceived and had simply fallen under his charm. I watched as he approached her, and they started talking very pleasantly together.

They didn’t seem to mind my presence, so I remained there as if I didn’t hear a word they said and continued to fold my late mother’s clothes. My aunt was unable to tear herself away from him, although she knew that Uncle Jeff was a happily married man – which was something that concerned me even more than the fact that their relationship was getting even more intimate in a time of grief. I shook my head in shock. What he did in front of me was a total sign of disrespect, but then, I was just a little girl; I knew nothing, as my brother had said. I looked at them again, how smoothly they talked, and I could see that there was a certain kind of bond that grew between them – a very strong blood bond between them that wasn’t very easy to break. Their eyes said a lot about them, and their body language was sensual. However, they were courteous, as if their love appeared at a very rightful time; I guess they found love in my parents’ bereavement, though, on the other hand, my uncle seemed to have been celebrating this kind of love with his friends.

I constantly thought about his actions until I was unable to find peace within myself. Their conversation seemed to get more and more interesting, as Aunt Rose giggled a lot. It made me very angry, because she wasn’t being honest with herself. Before I knew it, he put his hands around her waist and Aunt Rose swiftly buried herself into him. My uncle s eyes met with mine as his head rested peacefully on Aunt Rose’s left shoulder. She seemed to have suddenly forgotten that she was packing her sister’s clothes. The entire situation was too much for me. They didn’t seem to care that I was too young to see such things; no, they were caught up alone in their own love triangle. It was quite dramatic and bizarre, and my face heated as I watched them with displeasure.

Suddenly, he pulled away from her and approached me. I couldn’t tell if he had noticed that I wasn’t pleased with what he was doing. He rested his hand on my shoulder and bent his head a little as he looked at me, smiling swiftly – but it was in vain, as he had never said anything to me before.

I then began to lose control of myself. He didn’t seem to mind, but said what he wanted to say. I looked at Aunt Rose and realised how fascinating and adorable she found this. She folded her hands behind her and kept staring at us as if we were strangers to her. She seemed excited enough to jump and dance all over the room. I realised that it must have been what they were talking about as I wasn’t paying attention; it must have been intriguing, as she was unable to stop herself from smiling happily at me. However, I felt sorry for her, because she was biting off more than she could chew.

Anne, this is a very difficult and hurtful time for all of us; not only us as a family, but the rest of the people who knew your parents. Hopefully soon you’ll get to the bottom of why my brother had to take his life and your mother’s. I know it is going to take a little while for you to accept, but then you just have to hang in there and be strong. You’re lucky you’ve got this beautiful aunt of yours here to take care of you for the time being and you have to be nice to her, okay.

I nodded swiftly as he moved away.

He had spoken genuinely and made me forget all the wrong things he had done in front of me. I could feel my heart becoming so full and bewilderment shook me and excited me in some way; I couldn’t believe he had said something so sweet to me that gave me courage. I couldn’t think of anything so eloquent to say to him in return; it was very strange, as he had never said anything so sweet to me before. His words inspired me and, for a moment, I felt loved again by a father figure. I drifted away in the sweet moment.

He glanced at his expensive watch. Oh, look at the time. He walked over to my aunt and kissed her on the cheek. I have to drop some of the guests at the bus station, ladies, if you could excuse me. He pointed at the basket that stood by the bed. Those clothes there need to be washed before you can wear them; you can wear them after ten days have passed. He walked out of the room and left us alone.

I could see that he was delighted, although it seemed like some kind of madness between two fully matured people, but I couldn’t say that to my aunt, because she was very happy and it would be ugly of me to turn her off like that.

She continued with her errands as soon as she came back from her ‘love land’. I could tell from how she smiled back at me that she was really caught up in her own little world, her expression happy as I watched her. She was very glorified and persistent as I watched her. I was afraid to ask, but I began to wonder what had suddenly triggered her good