You never know how it starts. But when the end is imminent, you will tell. It comes like thunder on a clear day. Its ominous, the end. It follows you around. Nipping at your ass. Throwing jabs at your tired heart, puncturing your lungs. It lingers in the air like smoke from those Cuban cigars. You can feel it, the end. It reeks of death, betrayal and everything in between.
You knew it was over but you didn't have the courage to say it to each other’s face. You hang in there, hoping, praying, that maybe. Just maybe, cupid could change his plans. Not really, your union was on the rocks. But cupid didn't give two shits about it. You were sailing on different boats, your only love headed West, you, North.
You knew it was done when they viewed your WhatsApp status and didn't say shit. It was over when they stopped viewing your Instagram stories. It was done when they no longer liked your posts on Facebook. It was finished when they wrote on their status "MOVE ON." This was there veiled message to you, so you tried to move on. It was done when you saw them in church, but they plainly ignored you. After church, the youth leader escorted them home. Because you don't have any position, you trudged home with your brother and the boys. The boys will always be there. They had warned you not to associate with the bitch. You did. They had told you'll get your heart shattered, you did. They had told you that she was bad-ass and you were not in her category. You never listened. But the boys, they're savage. They don't give a hoot. So they laugh at you.
"Romeo! Ulijiona lover boy!"
To make it worse, you bloody brother joins in.
You're alone.
It is over. You want to rip her out of your mind but you can't. Dammit! You liked that girl. Then one evening you watch this motivational speaker on YouTube. He says stuff about, "walking away." How people are like currency and you can always change the currency. A glow spreads through you, new found happiness. You feel alive, magically, you no longer think about her. That evening you WhatsApp her, "Go to hell, I don't wanna talk to you again."
"But why?"
She replies with those lousy emojis.
"I thought we could be friends."

You don't do friend zone. This is the final nail in your lousy love story.
It's finished. But again if you think it's the end. You're fucking wrong!
I am just kidding. That’s the end of the above story.
Another story was slated to run here today. But then, the guy who was to feature started playing a game of cat and mice. In this town, there are no free lunches. Not from me.
As I write this, I am pretty fucked up. Not because the motherfucker failed to show up, but because the story might never see the light of the day. It may never be read, and mark you it was a beautiful tale. I skipped meals while working on it, then some dumb-ass character fails to live up to his end of the bargain. Kenyans can be lousy assholes.
Some few minutes ago I was in a PlayStation joint, I hammered fifa as a blankness streaked through my soul. I was thinking of what to write but nothing was coming to mind. I walked to the comp lab to work on this tale. I punched away on that lousy story above, but then, I ran out of juice.
I am not the kind of writer who forces a story to confirm to my tune, how I want it to be, no. I let my stories free, I unchain them, I let them walk naked without a bra or any covering. If I am not feeling the vibe of a story, I let it be. It should have been a love story. Please stop laughing, I know  I am not good at telling love stories. But then, it was not picking. It had no direction, it was wavering in this sea of despondency, so I let it sink, drown to the darkness of the murky uncharted waters.
I never write my stories in the comp lab. I prefer the silence of my room, but today the comp lab called me, made me its child. Its 9:18 pm, most comrades are in their rendezvous but some are here in the lab. What catches my eye is the female to male ratio. Honestly, there is no lady in the house, only men. Tall men, short men. Men with beards, men without beards.
If you ask me, I think most of the dudes here are single, lonely and everything in that line. They are scared shitless when it comes to chicks. It’s not crime to be single, but then a part of me thinks that these homeboys are here to escape the reality of their lives. While other guys are socializing and making out with chicks, they are here glued to computers. Maybe they can’t get it up. You can’t blame them really, maybe they have been heartbroken before, their hearts were ripped out and hang in the hot sun. They have given up on love maybe.
We will never know for sure. Those are secrets tattooed to their hearts. Stories they never want to let out to the world. And those stories which remain unsaid are certainly the most beautiful.
I eye these men with suspicion. None of them realize that I am studying them, that they are featuring in the story of a distraught writer. They laugh at those funny YouTube videos, they gamble on sportpesa, it fills them with life. I am not judging but honestly, I feel sorry for them. Or maybe I am jealous?? Hell no! I am just never a gadget kind of guy. It never works for me, It will never. When I am not chasing words or reading, I am chasing people. People fascinate me. I don’t care who you are, where you’re from or the fuck you do. I just want to know people, their stories, what kind of demons give them sleepless. It’s the wind which fans the fires of my soul. Giving me the courage to tell my next story, and my next story and my next story.
In a few moments, I’ll stop writing this. I will go through it once more before I go seek my bed. I have an assignment I haven’t completed and I have no idea how the lecturer will react. She has an attitude, that woman. Maybe she will hate me, she might give me an F, but then, life must continue.
Stories must be told.
Photo credits [ @_nashangai_] isn't she pretty?? Please don't ask me for her number, I don't have it. And even if I did, why would give it you bloody nosed motherfuckers??

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