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Lime's Diary Of Madness
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TITLE (EDIT)
Lime's Diary Of Madness |
DESCRIPTION
a true story
[782 words] |
AUTHOR
Lime |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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[July 2000] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
dath@hotmail.com |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (1)
Lime (Poetry) This is about how you only understand things when its time. [72 words]
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Lime's Diary Of Madness
Lime
Diary of insanity
Let’s start at the middle, shall we? Right. So I’m a white 19–year old in Durban, South Africa twelve o’clock on Friday night. I am South African, but not by birth. By birth I am Swazi. (What is ‘Swazi’ it’s a country – look it up, lazy) And here I am in this low–budget jazz club with two Americans, two Canadians and two Germans. They all treat me pretty badly or look down apon me for whatever reason they see fit which suits me fine. I am not bitter (The bastards) at all. I decide, though I’m in the worst part of town, to leave the club and walk around on the desolate and revolting streets. So out I go, and after five minutes of walking, I decide to try something I’ve never done before and get a prostitute. That should be fun. So I walk from brothel to brothel being turned down because I only have 30 Rand in my pocket. Finally I find a lady who I go up to and say something to – I can’t remember because I was quite drunk and we go up to the room. I strip down to my socks then she asks for the money and I give it to the lady who counts the notes, sitting naked on the bed. She says “I can’t do anything for 30 Rand. I have to give 10 to the guy who owns the hotel anyway.” O god. So I try to convince her but she tells me no, and so I shrug, put my clothes back on and take the money back. Well buggery buggery I think to myself. I leave the hotel and walk the streets a bit longer and decide to go back to the club for no reason whatsoever and ask two guys on the street where it is. They tell me that they know exactly where it is and practically take my hand and lead me to some dark alleyway. I feel one guy’s hand in my pocket and try to resist, but the other chap is holding my arms behind my back. That’s when the hitting starts. I must have been hit in the face about six times – And the guy hitting me had quite a lot of room to wind up, but I didn’t get such a good look. Anyway, so that’s when my night ended, pretty much – me borrowing money from a friend and making my way home in a taxi ranting about how this whole fucking country is going to shit.
Before then though, The insanity was really getting loaded. I was experiencing the world through colour. Everybody has their own colour, like ‘green’ for instance – the colour of a person with a good heart, and ‘red’ (and obvious one) the colour of a person with passion. Et cetera et hannahanna fishpaste.
Not only that, but I had sex with some girl at some party and the night after I had a frighteningly realistic dream:
I was sleeping in my bed when I heard knocking on my door. I opened my eyes and saw a guy-friend of the girl whom I had had sex with the previous night looking through the window above the door. So I got up and opened the door, and there she was, leaning on the doorframe looking at me menacingly, with the guy friend behind her. I shat my astral pants. But luckily behind them both was a person glowing a brilliant white light from his/her forehead, so bright that I couldn’t make out the face. I woke up instantly with my soul intact. Phew. Before this was no respite from the madness. My world is a Pastiche of colours and symbols. Now I am on holiday from all this crap though, and my life seems to be getting back in order.
During all this though, I somehow seemed to have misplaced my heart. Not physically obviously, but somehow, the statement is true. I had no power, no direction, and no air of decisiveness. I was spiritually soft, easily manipulated and I was paranoid.
Every time I tried to allow the flame of positivity into my heart, everybody around me tried to stamp it out and crush me. Because I had no heart, I had no strength and I turned to alcohol to console me. I was weak. Now, with my family in Cape Town I still drink to alleviate depression, but my heart is strong. It certainly is a tough thing, this ‘life’ but to quote someone I know ‘life is a struggle between fear of death and the hope that life will get better.’ Have a good day?
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2000 Lime |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
July 2000 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1850
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