Dear M,

Dear Matara,

I was buried yesterday at Kamulu. I am six feet under. The freshly dug grave with flowers; lavender, roses, all showing a woman who lived on the first lane.

I Starlet Wahu ,writing from afterlife do swear that I didn't take it lying down. I put up a spirited fight. The knives, the sharp edges, the blows and kicks, the clenched fists, I did my all. Glad I died defending myself in the close shave of death.

You have killed many and others escaped with wounds but I vowed not to give you a chance to kill me like a rabid dog . Or a rabbit. Or a trapped bird. Look at your thighs. They are red with blood. Look at your chest and red eyes. Your unbuttoned shirt. The disheveled hair. The injuries. A pointer toward your escaping through the narrow route to where I am .

In life,I desired the best albeit on a wrong footing but yes, I have no regrets. I lived a life I would call ; no hindrances. And so when you rose on top menacingly with black eyes, ready to sniff my life out,I cried terribly, I begged,I cajoled you to no avail.

The first knife ,sharp and deep found its way into my stomach at a time I bent low , letting the pain get into my system. Temporarily,I was in free floating state. Unrequited love? 

Jilted? Animalistic? Death?

And I gathered my courage that I lived along, made a single swoop that held your muscular hands, miraculously took the knife 🗡️ dug it deep into your thigh but ..not untol you gave me a resounding whack across my face. Blood sputtered across the room. It made a deluge on the pillows. We fought. Or rather you beat me. And I gave weak ,feeble slaps. I was dying. Letting go of your hands that broke my jaws. 

Few minutes ago,I was happy and alive. But two minutes, our shoes and clothes strewn apart. The mess . The distress call for help. The post copulation energy dying down. The embers of love turned to hate. Then death. You trying to strangulate me. 

My head was dizzy. I saw myself dying. And I did!

So today, the second day after my burial,I want to put off my chest that which is a strong message.

I died a heroine. No matter the life I lived. I put up a huge fight against a gargantuan molester of young girls. I stood up against a bully. I said no to a behemoth of an incorrigible liar, a terrible murderer, an unfazed serial killer on the loose. I might not have come out alive but I made a statement. Never be killed like a fly.

The scars you leave might be the ones that would give leads. The ones that will be your ambassador of a good  fight put up. Of a worthy cause against unbridled serial murderer. 

Life is not a straight jacket. There are round pegs and straight ones. And I don't know what I was.

Yours Wahu S.

Via: hummingbird+

Written by Saleh Clarisssa SG