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Ade's Journal Part 6

Ade's Journal Part 6
My Valentine & The Elegance Of A Clean Breakup

Ade's Journal Part 5

Ade's Journal Part 5
My Scrumptious Valentine Kiss

Ade's Journal Part 4

Ade's Journal Part 4
A Scorpion is not a Lobster

Ade's Journal Part 3

Ade's Journal Part 3
My Insane Week Before Valentine

Ade's Journal Part 2

Ade's Journal Part 2
He Had The Guts To Come Back

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Sunday, 3 March 2019

The Inscriptions Is Clear


  "ADE'S JOURNAL", 24


Paranoid bunch of buffoons, just look at them, useless set of nonentities. These are words that spring from her quivering gashed mouth as she shivered and booked with rage and started to feel the impact of the several punches she threw at her assailants. It was never the plan, she muttered and scrunched her face into the ugliest cry she could ever imagine. Everywhere hurt and it hurt more that people watched on as she was assaulted by young jobless men, pretending to wait at the bus stop for a bus. The very first time in her life she was attacked and robbed, the pain didn't stop and she felt like she was not screaming loud enough. So she did the most sane thing that spring out of her inflamed head, it hurt and she could feel her brain bouncing and banging on her skull.

'Stop, madamu stop shouting', the sweaty palmed woman tried and failed to comfort her.
The crowd had gathered and a stupid fool shoved a phone in her face to capture her distraught face. Without thinking, she grabbed and tossed the phone and heard it skid and land in a drainage with dirty black soothe. The sould it made as it sunk and drowned hugged her and calmed her down. People were retraining the useless young man that had dived and failed to retrieve his phone.
None of it feels real, no...
  The beauty of thick clusters of brown whirlwind dusts, spiralling out of control and heading towards you just seems all wrong.
There is a strong need to run and just stay out of its way, then again there is a need to stay and just hope it picks you up and takes you far away from it all.
In reality, it slams into you with sharp edges tiny gkasslike sand particles that find it's way into your eyes, nostrils and ears. And as you protest, it races into your mouth with its dirthy filthy taste.
Is that a bug?
I spit and protest and inhale and gulp up dust all at once. So I do the sensible thing and breath out and sneeze and cough.
I can imagine how I look to someone who didn't see that gust of whirlwind race at me.
And if course I hear it, my name. Not in admiration but there was disdain and confusion mixed with shock. I dread to look up, but I know I should.
 Instead I walk away and feign ignorance as I feel for my bag and find a handkerchief in there to wipe away my moist nude and mouth. I feel the wings of the bug against my upper gum and cough it out and spit.
I hate it when people spit and only forgive pregnant women, so I am sure I cannot forgive my own actions.
'Adebusola', he adds and I freeze.
Not only does he know me but he has voiced my full indigenous Yoruba name with all it's intonations and vowels.
There is no escaping whoever this is, so I turn around. And at the same time feel the other wing find it's way to my teeth.
I use the handkerchief to catch it.
'You were lucky', he adds and I look up at him.
I hardly look at man and see a beautiful creature, they are usually square and rough. He was beautiful and my heart jumped because he had the same eyes as he did.
'I'm sorry'.
 I think he realized I thought he was someone else.
'I own the Bee farm here and I hope they didn't sting you'.
He didn't sound like him, this was a tougher and more ripped version of my late partner Henrik.

 The hues of gray clouds fill these sky. Not an ice cream cone shaped cloud, just silhouettes of two majestic bees stomping across a pale blue sky. I watched it change from beautiful ice cream tops to a dolphin diving in a white fluffy lagoon and now into tusked giants. Sleep deprivation is bad but it's time to get rid ofaof tgepthe wet handkerchief and prepare for the day.
My finger feels like I slammed it with the car door and someone with a pliers is pressing and releasing it momentarily. I've never felt this way before and a hospital visit will help. 
'Are you allergic? To bees I mean?'
I shake my head and keep on walking and staring back at him.
'My sister is a doctor, Ayo, Ayo.please come quick?'
A tall dark lady appeared and checked me, examined me.
'You look like you are in shock', she said.
My hands feel his face and then my wet handkerchief, that is disgusting.
He collects it and tosses it in the bin after saying something.
'Hope you don't mind', he repeats.
'Get her some water', Ayo says and I watch him walk away.
'Do you know him?'
'Henrik?'
'No, that's my brother Jimi. We are steps, my mother married his father after my dad died. So no blood link'
I nod and start to stand and swoon.
'Do you know him?'
'He looks like my partner, Henrik. I lost him and it's just me now'
'Well, not just you. I need women in my life because I have four brothers and he has two, so we are all eight children in all. Come, that's our house, we are neighbors'
 I follow her and watch Jimi hand me a drink and avoid his gaze.
'Don't, you look like her late husband'
 Joni's face sank and he didn't say a word after that, I spent lunch time watching them.
Mostly him and then, I left.

The doctor prescribed augmentin any and told me to rest well. 

Back home and on my bed, I keep thinking...

I hope I can sleep a little...
 
 It was a miracle I made it home in one piece and I turn and open the fridge. Get out water and take  set some.
I set my alarm to six hours after now and stretch and put on the air conditioning unit and crash on my bed.

   Finally, the claws of sleep catch me and then my phone rings. I grab it and switch it off, I need to sleep. Two days without and I feel heavy.

*"ADE'S JOURNAL", Season 5, Episode 1**
*"ADE'S JOURNAL", 1, COPYRIGHT 2020*

**© ADEBUSOLA ELEGBEDE, COPYRIGHT 2020**



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Adebusola Ukayat Elegbede is a Playwright and Content creator with a passion for real life challenges. Born in Kaduna state and lives in Lagos Nigeria, she has a passion for story telling from the perspectives of characters in conflicting situations. I started out on the New Writing Project in Nigeria with the British Council Lagos Nigeria and The Royal Court Theatre, Sloane Square U.K. My passion for creating stories led to comic books, television drama's and an online journal on my website (busolaelegbede.com). As part of the WPIC in Stockholm Sweden 2012, the experience has forged life long friends and ignited my passion as a volunteer and advocate for human rights and the United Nations 17 Sustainable Development Goals.

Follow @Busola Elegbede