The Day The World Stood Still

This is a fictious story inspired by true events.
Ladies and gentlemen,
I present

THE DAY THE WORLD STOOD STILL

‘’ Dear Diary,
Today has to be possibly the worst day of my life.’’
I shook my head once more. The day’s events had thrown me into utter disbelief. As I sat in the massive cavern that is my classroom, directly under one of two working fluorescent lights I smiled ironically. This has to be the most yawa thing which could happen to anyone. Imagine what would happen if anyone caught wind of this. In a big school. You wanna know how big? Motown big. I let out a deep sigh. Presently a mosquito hovered near my nose. A thunderclap later and there were bits of mosquito exoskeleton and goo plastered in my palms. The sound rapped sharply in the cool evening air. It seemed to reverberate as murmurs around the class. A back seat boy snarled ‘’ Ah you too what that?’’ I suppose he was interrupted in the middle of getting under a girl’s dress in the dimly lit rear of the room. I shrugged. I stared at the rest of the not so blank page and squinted. Through my half lidded eyes the world seemed to rewind.
‘’ Warning for juniors leave the annex!’’ the din of the brass bell and the hoarse bark of the bell boy cut through my sleep like a hot knife through butter. Someone muttered ‘’ This bell boy kraa ede like ring the bell hard too much.’’ ‘’ Make you no mind am. E be like say play dey en eye top.’’ Rising bell was always a cause for grief. Even though I could afford an extra ten minutes of sleep, the whiplash caused by the bell is not so easily forgotten. The house came to life raucously. I trudged out of bed. I checked whether my school uniform was safe nestled behind the thicket of coat hangers. Satisfied I made a beeline for the tubes. In the dank toilet stall a mix of relief and worry creased my face. I was constipated for three days straight. Relief because I had more time to bath and worried because I felt like I was carrying a pack of C-4 explosive in my rectum and I didn’t know when it was going to explode. I trundled through the rest of the morning ritual. No chores because of my semi-senior status. Form two third term meant we were at the top of the hierarchy. While some of my mates were busy being apex predators; having few natural enemies and plenty of prey to choose from I was largely invisible. Due to my melancholy and (enforced) solitary habits I wasn’t part of a clique. If I was part of an ecosystem I would be the seventeen year cicada sleeping under the soil. I lived a largely lonely existence.
I wasn’t looking forward to the morning. Breakfast was foregone because it wasn’t my week to eat. Empty wallet (I left it under my pillow) and empty chopbox (the padlock was stashed away in my trunk) meant I was going to have to wing it. Visiting can’t come quick enough. But it was Thursday and a gloomy one as that. Foreboding grey skies over a grey hill. ‘’ Funny.’’ I thought. The first warning started on my way to class from morning assembly. I was tall and skinny and it showed in my gait; an awkward ambling stride. I feel like a giraffe sometimes. So I was walking on the lover’s lane when I felt it. A knife twisting pain in my gut. I winced and soldiered on. Gladly I had just one paper today. Unfortunately it was in the afternoon. Around 12. It was gloomy and cold. Just great. I had left my cardigan in the house. Cardigans are ubiquitous in Motown. In hot or cold weather you were definitely going to find students wearing them. I cursed myself silently. I made it to class. Word going round was that we were going to write the paper at the Art School. Nice. If it rained we were going to be trapped. No access to the snack square or the school annex.
I sat down in silence. Everything was a bit blurry. Hunger necessitated a reduction of activities. No energy wasted on extraneous things. I avoided the group discussions. No talking. Not even to the girls. I slept away the hours. Everyone in class was accustomed to my quirky ways so I wasn’t disturbed, not till it was time to go to the Art School. GKA wasn’t ordinarily a difficult paper. The history made revising for it a chore. It could be overwhelming. Hunger pangs tore at my stomach but my concern was the slow turning of my bowels. I positioned myself in the middle of the class. It was much harder to cheat from there and I really just wanted to be left alone. The paper looked easy on the eye. I set to work. I was done in half an hour. Yeah yeah I know. I liked to finish my papers as quickly as possible and daydream or sleep the rest of the allotted time out. I felt the urge to fart and I positioned myself; one buttock up. Almost immediately I held it in.
Second warning. My eyes watered. The knife twisting gut pain was back. I wasn’t going to wing this one. I had to get to the school annex asap. I looked up at the invigilator and raised my hand. Without waiting for him to get to me I darted out of the classroom. How the art school lacks toilet facilities I have no frigging idea. I set out in my mile eating stride to cover the fifty plus metres to the school annex. Ten seconds into it and it was already a bad idea. I doubled over in pain. I started hobbling. I was in a dilemma. Holding in three days’ worth of crap was a herculean task. I was facing off nature and gravity and they were winning. I could hear the churning of my colon’s contents like an organic cement mixer. I burst out on to the road between the dining hall and the co-op shop. Then wham! It hit me again. My lumbar region screeched in pain. Tears welled up in my eyes. Mercifully there were no students in the form three block (their previous occupants were busy regaining the fat lost in three years of their academic travails). I half imagined how this situation would have panned out if they were there. Some of the boys would have been lounging out of the window waiting for unsuspecting juniors to pass by and send. One would have bawled ‘’ Yo! Form two boy. Drop.’’ I would have given them an incredulous ‘’WTF’’ look and continued my meandering on. ‘’Herh! E no be you we de call? In fact clock for there. Why are you loitering around during school hours?’’ I would have stuck my fingers in my ears. Fortunately this was never going to happen. Ultimately the delay would cause outright disgrace to me. It wasn’t worth obeying a senior for.
I laughed manically. I felt my coccyx sway. The school annex was just up ahead. I tried to increase my hobbling speed. Home straight. I veered into the hedge right beside it attempting a shortcut. The school annex was little loved. Despoiled and desecrated on a daily basis by the Anumle boys it was a place of darkness and unspeakable terrors. My need however trumped this. It was just too great for me to care. Then I heard a sound like a balloon deflating or cattle groaning. I felt the warm stickiness in the seat of my shorts. I lurched in horror. ‘’ Oh God, why now?’’ I whispered. Too late. How I tore off the shorts without a fleck of human excreta on it was mind boggling. It was bye bye boxers though. A tremor ran down my spine. A sharp cry of relief, tears of joy streaking my cheeks and the human sewer chugging its waste to the ground. A blissful idyll.
While I had the forbidden pleasure of relieving myself I wondered ‘’ What if Kasa saw me?’’ I was not about to be lulled into serendipity. He had the nasty habit of jumping students in the most undesirable areas. As I wrapped up there was still no show. I cleaned myself up by the tap which was most fortunately stationed a few feet away.
I snapped back into the present. I crossed out the opening sentence and scrawled again. I just had to record today better. The weirdest of the weird I know. It now read ‘’ Today is the day the world stood still.’’

OSOMUE!

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The din suddenly shatters

 

 

Glass shards.

 

 

As the sound of drumming feet hits the air.

 

A mass of well-oiled figures pouring out like rats from the gutters

 

 

Ochre to olive; boyish and Adonis,

 

 

Kilts of the triumvirate their waists adorn.

 

 

The roar of their voices echoes;

Undeniably male,

 

 

The thunderclap of hands is not frail.

 

 

This is the Boys Chorus

 

 

Osomue!

 

 

© Sena Kodjokuma, 2013