Tuesday, February 18, 2014


I am posting another short story.

She By Bissme S

“We could have been have been happy. Why did you choose sadness?” 

She whispered those words in my ears before she disappeared. I dreamt of her, again. She will haunt me for the rest of my life.

He wants her to haunt him. He wants to dreams about her. He will not allow himself to forget her. He is obsessed with her. He loves her like a priest. The only difference is the priest worships god and he worships the ground she walked on.

She wanted me to leave everything and everyone behind. 

“We can go to Paris,” she said.                                      
 “You could paint and I could dance.”

I did not have the courage to fulfil her dreams... to fulfil my dreams...to fulfil our dreams.

“If we go to Paris, we will break the hearts of everyone who loves us,” I said. 
“I would rather have my heart broken than to break their hearts.”

She held my face with her two hands and showered me with kisses. 

“I just want to spend the rest of my life in your arms,” she said.
“Only you give me the happiness I want. Sometimes, to be truly happy, one needs to be a little selfish.”

But I did not give the happy ending she wanted. I broke her heart…I broke my heart...I broke our hearts. Furious, she left for Paris, without me 

"Till my last breath I will hate you," she wrote     

When she was in Paris, she never stopped writing letters to him. Almost every week, he received a letter from her. Her letters were full of hatred and contempt for him. He doesn’t need her letters to punish him. He did not forgive himself for breaking her heart ... for bringing tears to her beautiful brown eyes. He tried to hide his pain. He tried to fool the world that he is happy. But I could read him like a book. He was a tortured soul.

I had written countless letters to her in Paris, trying to explain why our love story could not have the happy ending that she wanted....begging forgiveness from her. She refused to listen to reasons. She refused to forgive me. She was determined to make me the villain in our love story.

He did not tell me about her... He did not tell me about her letters....He did not tell me about their love story.... He did not tell about her hatred.... He did not tell me about her anger. But he should have known that husbands are not born to keep secrets. 

She did not stay in Paris, forever.

“Our past is water under bridge,” she told me.  
“Let us begin our relationship on a new fresh page,” she added.

But when she introduced her husband to me, I knew she had not let go of the past...She had not forgiven me....She wanted to punish me for giving a sad ending to our love story. 

He got careless, one day. He forgot to lock his drawers.  I found her letters. I found his dairy where he wrote about her…where he wrote about their love story. She was his first love. She would probably be his last woman he loved. She is the love of his life. He married me to forget her.  But he was not successful. 

He wrote in his diary: “She taught me what love is. After her, I cannot bring myself to love anyone else. Love begins with her... and love ends with her.”

I had a locksmith to make a spare key to his drawer. Whenever my husband is at work, I unlocked his drawers to read the new letters she sent him from Paris ...to read his dairy....I want to know everything about their love story.

Her husband was Rizwan Hakeem. I had envied him, all my life. He was my school mate. There was a silent rivalry between us. We would compete from grades to sports. If that year I was not a top student, he would be the top student. Both of us entered medical school. But he dropped out. Most believed he was not able to cope with the stress. But I knew him better. Rizwan Hakeem was no quitter.

I could never understand how a man like my husband could be envy of a man like Rizwan Hakeem. There is nothing to admire about Rizwan Hakeem. Truly, Rizwan Hakeem has a moral worst than a pimp.

Many years later, I saw Rizwan Hakeem in the news. He is an artist and an activist. His work of arts was cutting edge, provocative and received world-wide recognition.

He said in an interview:  “I never wanted to become a doctor. But my father wanted me to become a doctor. I love my father very much. So I tried to become a doctor because I wanted to make my father happy.
“When my father passed away out of the blue, I realized I have not lived my life the way I wanted...I realized how sad I was. …I realized how miserable I was. 
“I was so busy making my father happy that I forgotten about my happiness. It was then I decided to quit medical school and followed what my heart desired. I wanted to be a painter.... I wanted to be an artist... I wanted to be happy.”  

For once in my life, I really envied Rizwan Hakeem. He is living the life he wanted and I am too busy making everyone happy including my late father.

Rizwan Hakeem is no artist He who uses art to create havoc. I remembered years ago, he had exhibition where he did a series of painting depicting an older woman in the nude.
It wasn’t the nudity that bothered us.  But the older woman in his paintings was his mother. Most of us gasped in disgust to learn a son had painted his mother in the nude and had allowed the world to see these works.
There was huge call from the public to ban his works. But the gallery owner had refused to give in to the request.

“I believe in the freedom of expression and I will not let anyone to pressure me in changing my mind,” said the gallery owner whose name I cannot remember. 

There was a huge of demonstration in front of the gallery. Police had to be called in to control the situation. 

“What you have here is not art but the death morality of our society,” says one of the demonstrators in an interview.
 “The day we allowed a son to draw his mother in the nude and allowed the works to exhibited so openly then we are no different than animals,” added another demonstrator.  

Then, one night, someone had burn down the gallery and all of his art work turned into the dust.  Of course, most of us speculated that Rizwan and his mother had a relationship that was beyond a mother and son.  

“Just because I draw my mother in the nude, it doesn’t mean that I am sleeping with my mother,” Rizwan said.
“My mother and I do not have an incest relationship. There is nothing wrong for a son to draw his mother nude. My mother and I have done no wrong. It is not my art is that dirty. It is your mind that is dirty.”

Of course, most of us do not believe him. A decent man would not draw his mother nude.

The day his mother died, Rizwan Hakeen cut his ties with his motherland.

“With my mother’s death, I have no reason to live in this fucking country anymore,” he says.
“This country does not like me and my paintings.”

He went to stay in Europe. He never stayed one place for too long. Every three years, he moved from one city to another .She took the trouble to track him down. Once she found him, she seduced her way into his heart. She convinced him to put a wedding ring into her finger...She convinced him that they should return their homeland. She purposely got a house next to mine.

“You playing with fire here,” I told her.
“You do not love with Rizwan Hakeem.”

She laughed loudly.

 “Of course, I do not love Rizwan Hakeem,” she said.  
“There is only man I have loved in my whole life and no one can replace him. But sad to say, the man I love is a coward. 
“He does not have the balls to make me happy. He is too busy making others happy except the woman who had loved him with all her heart.
“He brought pain into my life. I want him to suffer like me.  Now every time he looked out from his window, he would see the life he wanted is just a door way.”

I pretended to be happy when she told me that she would be my neighbour.

“We can hang out like the good old days,” I lied.

But in reality, I wish that she was not staying in the same region as my husband...I wish that she was not breathing the same air as my husband.
I lived in constant fear that she would grab my husband away from me. I am obsessed with husband in the same way my husband is obsessed with her.
My husband is my first love. I really believe I was born to love my husband and no one else. I cannot afford to lose my husband at any price. I am not designed to lead a lonely life.

When we were kids, I teased her...I taunted her... I loved playing pranks on her. But the older she got, I stopped teasing her... I stopped taunting her. ...I stopped playing pranks on her.... and I fall madly in love with her. I never had the guts to reveal what was in my heart. I got extremely jealous when guys shown any interest in her. But she was different. She was daring. She was not afraid to show what she felt about me. Passionately, she planted the first kiss on my mouth and the rest was history.

I was desperate to hold on to my sanity. ... I was desperate to hold on to my marriage...... I was desperate to hold on to the man I loved.  And desperate people resorts to desperate measures. I invited her and her husband, Rizwan Hakim to a dinner at our house.

After the dinner was over, I said: “I have good news to share with you. I am pregnant. I am going to be a mother.”

My husband was surprised

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asked
“I wanted to surprise you,” I answered.

He got up from his chair and hugged me.

“This is a surprise but I am extremely happy,” he said.

I purposely got pregnant. I knew my pregnancy would trap my husband forever.  My husband is a good man and a good man never abandons his pregnant wife.

“Aren’t you happy for me?” I asked her.

She lied.

“Of course I am happy for you,” she said.
“I wanted to be the godmother to your child and I will be the best god mother in this whole universe,” she joked.

Did you get her pregnant just to spite me because I got married to Rizwan Hakeen,” she shouted.
“I did not know that she was pregnant,” I said

She did not believe me. She slapped me.

“I am the only one who has the right to be mother of your children and no one else,” she said.

I meet her first before I met my husband to be. I was her friend first before I became the wife to the man I love.  My family has become her new neighbour. My parents are born again Christian. So was hers. And that bonded us. She was the one who introduce me to the man I love. 

“Let me now introduce to the irritating specimen of my family, my brother,” she said.

How do you tell your wife that she is not the love of your life? How do you tell your wife that you are in love with your sister? How do you tell your wife that you are having sex with your sister? You just don’t. You keep these secrets buried in your heart forever.

Her brother was a true gentleman. The more time I spent with him, the more I wanted him.  I was jumping with joy when he wanted to marry me. Only much I later learn he married me not out of love. He married me to forget her. And I had failed him.  He can’t forget her and I can’t forget him. He could not let her go and I could not let him go. What a mess we are in...

Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her?  Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t I forget her? Why can’t forget her?

With the pregnancy I thought he will be mine, forever. But God has the last say.  The stress of losing my husband was too much for me to bear and I suffered a miscarriage.  I was not sad of losing my baby. I was more afraid of losing my husband. I have nothing to hook him.  

She came to the hospital to console me. But I was cold towards her.

“You must be happy that she has a lost a baby,” I said.
“I am not because the losing the baby had brought so much sadness to you and I cannot see the man I love in pain,” she said.

Like a baby, I cried in her arms and she kept hugging me  

I waited for her husband, Rizwan Hakeem, to be totally alone in the house. I showed him the letters she has sent from Paris... I showed him the dairy that my husband wrote.  Rizwan Hakeen is no longer ignorant of what is happening between his wife and my husband.

I told Rizwan: “I love my husband and I do not want to lose him. If you love your wife and you do not want to lose her, then you have to take her away from this town.... You have to take her away from this country...  You take her away from my life”

Rizwan did not say much. I returned home. I put back the letters and my husband’s dairy where they belong and locked the drawer.

I received a call from the police. Rizwan Hakeem had shot the woman I love. Then, he shot himself on the head. She was still alive. She was barely breathing.  She was rushed to the nearest hospital.

I did not expect anyone to die... I did not expect anyone to get hurt... I did not expect anyone to end up in hospital.   I just wanted her to disappear from my life.

What provoked Rizwan Hakeem to kill her...To take his own life? What really took place in the house? I have so many questions but no answers.  

She was in coma. After two days she woke up from the coma. She looked at my husband and said: “We could have been happy. Why did you choose sadness?”
Then, she stopped talking. She stopped breathing. She stopped existing. She was gone. Finally God has listened to my prayers. She has disappeared from our lives, completely and I no longer have to live in fear of losing my husband, any more.  

I dream of her again. We were not talking. She was in my arms. She was smiling. We were enjoying a sunset. Only in dreams, I could give her the happy ending she wanted.

I wish I have the power to erase her memory from his mind... I wish that he would stop dreaming of her....

The End

Monday, February 17, 2014

The Woman I Love

Since the publication of my book Doubt ( a collection of my short stories), I have been extremely lazy and has not been producing any new short stories. Recently  I got my Mojo back, I managed to write a few short stories and I am posting one of new short story in this blog today.  I am dedicating this story  to all those who bought my book Doubt, read them and  have been saying nice things about the book . Thank you for lovely encouragement.  

The Woman I Love – By Bissme S

"Why did you kill her?" I asked.
"Because I want our love story to have a happy ending," Malena answered.
Slowly, Malena walked towards me. Malena kissed me, passionately. Malena unbuttoned my shirt. Malena kissed my chest. Malena unbuckled my belt. Malena put her hands into my pants. I melted. We were on the floor, fucking each other's brains out, in front of a dead body.
Out of exhaustion, I slept off, on the floor that we made love. When my eyes opened the next morning, the dead body was missing. She entered the room with two coffee mugs in her hands.
Placing one of the mugs in my hands, she said:"Drink up your coffee before it becomes cold."
"What happened to...." I asked.
Before I could finish my sentence, Malena answered: "I have taken care of everything while you were sleeping. All you need to do is to make a police report."
Like Malena had instructed, I went to the police station. I told them that my wife was missing ...and I could not find her anywhere.

A few days later, a letter arrived for me. It was from my wife. She no longer loves me...Our marriage was making her miserable…She felt like a bird in a cage that was crying for freedom…She had found a man who brought joy into her miserable life…She wants to spend the rest of her life in his arms.
She wrote: "Forget that I existed in your life. Forget that our marriage existed. When I married you, I really believe you will be the first and last man that I loved. Perhaps, we are not meant to love one person for the rest of our lives"
I showed the letter to the police...To my friends…To her friends…To my relatives….To her relatives.
"My wife is not missing," I said.
"She had abandoned me.”
They believed every lie that was written in the letter. My wife was dead before the letter was even composed.

Have you seen the movie Silence of the lambs?"
"Do you know the character Hannibal in the film?"
“Like him, I eat human flesh. I have eaten every part of her. There is nothing left. I do not think the police can find any trace of her.”
Looking at my shocked expression, Malena laughed her head off.
"Sometimes you can be so gullible," Malena said.
"You believe everything I say and that is what I love about you."
Malena had invented many wild stories on what she did with my wife’s dead body. But all her wild stories had one thing in common. The truth is always missing.
 In one of her wild stories she said that her best friend owned a swimming pool filled with piranhas and she had thrown my wife’s dead body into the swimming pool.
“The piranhas had eaten all of her and there is nothing left,” Malena said with a huge laughter.
The other wild story Malena told me that she had sold my wife body to a pharmaceutical company who was always looking for dead bodies to conduct research on the effectiveness of the new drugs that the company was producing.
“They paid me a hefty sum of money for the dead body,” Malena said, winking at me.
Many times I had lost my temper hearing her wild stories. I wanted the truth and I was not getting it. But I can never stay mad with her. Malena always knows how to win my heart.
"I like it when you get angry," Malena said while resting her head on my chest after one of our love making session.
“You look more handsome when you get angry,” Malena added.
"You will never tell me the truth on what you did to my wife's dead body," I said.
"I always tell the truth even when I lie," Malena said.
"Here you again, speaking in riddles, again," I said.
"Why are you so obsessed with the truth? My darling, the truth is over rated. The truth is not important. All you have to know is that your wife is no longer in our lives. Just be happy. Do not worry about anything else," Malena answered before planting a passionate kiss on my mouth.

"As long as men exist, a woman will have a suffering life.”
That was the motto that my wife believed in when she was not married with me. She belongs to a group of friends who hated men the same way Hitler hated the Jews. If they had ruled the world, they would have wiped out my species. They wanted a world without men.
The first time we met was in a college. I was studying to be a chef while she wanted to be a painter. For me, it was love at first sight. But love had no place in her life.
"I have seen many women giving up their dreams in the name of love,” she said.
“They end up in an apron and making cookies for their husbands.  I am not going to be one of those women.”
She sent back all the love letters I had written to her. She dumped all the flowers and gifts I sent to her in a dustbin. But I never stop pursuing her. I was determined to win her love…I was determined to make her as my wife….I was determined to make her the mother of my children.
“When I go hunting, I rarely go home empty handed,” I told her.
She found my determination attractive, charming and extremely, sexy. Slowly, she allowed me to dance into her heart.

Our love story would have a happy ending. But I made one mistake. I introduced the woman I love to my mother. Abandoned women can be complicated and my mother was no different.
Since my dad left us, her world revolved around me.  My mother never liked any of my friends. My mother wanted me to have only one friend and that friend has to be her. My mother was a controlling freak.  My mother was choking me with her love. There was always tension between us. I wanted freedom. I wanted friends.  Every day I hated my mother, more and more.
“You are my universe and why can’t I be your universe?” my mother asked.  
The moment I was an adult, I decided that I would not stay under the same roof with my mother, anymore.
“You are going to abandoned me like your father did,” my mother said, angrily.
“Mother, please do not be dramatic. I am not abandoning you. I will come to visit you,” I said.
My mother used every trick in the book from tears to begging to change my mind but my mother failed. I kept to my promise. From time to time, I visited my mother. I just wanted a distance between me and my mother. I just want my mother to stop choking me. So I was not surprise that my mother hated everything about the woman I love, from the way she looks to the way she talks.
 “Mother, I know you want me to only love you and no one else, “I said.
“I can’t make you my universe, because I have certain needs that you can’t satisfy. I am sure your religious values would not allow you to jump into my bed.”
A slap landed on my face. I laughed hysterically.
 “Get out from my house,” my mother screamed, angrily.
“Get out from my house...Get out from my house. I do not want to see you, any more.”

Two years later, my mother was back in our lives. The woman I love has become my wife. And we were waiting to receive our first child.  My mother was thrilled to be a grandmother. Desperately, my mother wanted to be a part and parcel of my family. But I was not ready to accept my mother in our lives.
“Never marry a man who hates his mother because he will end up hating you,” my wife said, jokingly.
“I do not want you hate me, so you need build a better relationship with your mother. Besides, it will be nice if our child has a grand mother’s love.”
Reluctantly, I listened to the advice of the woman I love. And that was my second biggest mistake.

Most daughter- in- laws hate their mothers-in- laws. But my wife became my mother’s new best friend. They spent a lot of time together. Under my mother’s influence, my wife had changed a lot. There was a time my wife was ambitious. She harboured a dream to be a well known painter.  As a wedding present, I built a shack in our garden where she spent many hours painting.
But she no longer dreams to be a famous painter. She transformed the shack I had built for her painting into a play house for the child we are going to have.
She was outspoken. Not anymore.  My wife became a docile house wife who whose main aim in life is to make me happy.  My wife became one of those women that she despised – A woman who gives up her dreams in the name of love, ended up in apron and making cookies for her husband.
“I have trained her to be a better wife for you and a great mother for your future child,” my mother said, proudly.
My mother, the woman I hate, had changed the woman I love. I could no longer recognise the woman I love. She had become a stranger to me. Slowly, I was beginning to hate the woman I love. What do you do when you hate the woman you love?
“Let us face it, God has an ego problem. Why do we need to worship him, always?  I cannot believe in a God who wants to be praised all the time.”
That is what my wife said when we were dating. But motherhood changed her drastically. My mother took my wife to one of the church sermons and my wife had fallen madly in love with God.
“I want heaven,” my wife said.
“I want heaven for my husband. I want heaven for my child.  Follow the road the God had chosen, heaven will be given to us on a silver platter.”
My wife had became a born again Christian. Literarily, my wife twisted my hands to believe in Jesus and churches.
“Don’t you want your child to grow up with religious values?” my wife said.
“Don't you want your child to go to heaven? You have to be religious at least for your child’s sake."
I have always allowed the woman I love to run my life. I can miss paying my taxes but there is no way I can miss going to church on Sundays. I pretended to be excited about angels, devils, heaven and hell. Inside I was miserable. This was not the life I wanted. I hated God. I hated religion. I hated churches. And most of all I hated my wife.

 “I did not only lose my mother- in- law… I have lost a mentor … I have lost my best friend.”  
That is what my wife said at the funeral service of my mother. I was not interested to give a eulogy on my mother. I would not have anything nice to say about my mother. Gladly, my wife filled my shoes. My wife worshipped the ground that my mother walked on.
“I was a lost soul.” my wife said. 
“But once she entered in my life, I was no longer lost. She had put some direction into my life. She was an angel that saved my soul. She has made me a better human being. I do not have my mother-in-law besides me, anymore. But what she had taught me will never disappear from my heart.” 
Indeed, there is some much truth to what my wife said. My mother was gone but not her influences. My wife had become the carbon copy of my mother.  The woman I hate, my mother had taken over the soul of the woman I love.  My wife was no longer the woman I love.

“I was born to love you and no one else.”
Boldly and bravely Malena confessed her love to me.  Malena wanted me. Malena desired me.
"What you feel for me is madness," I said.
"When love is not madness, it is not love." Malena said.
"Stop chasing me, I would not become your lover at any price," I said sternly.
“When I go hunting, I rarely go home empty handed," Malena said.
Malena never stop pursuing me. Malena never stop seducing me. Malena never stop writing love letters to me. Malena was determined to be my lover.
Malena wrote to me: "I am in love with a man I can't have and you have a woman that you can't love. What a tragic life we are living."
Then, one raining cold night, I became weak and allowed Malena to jump into my bed.
"You are born to ruin me," I said.
Malena wrote poems about me.  Malena painted me. I never felt so loved in my love. I was no longer miserable. When you are in love, you are rarely miserable. We took extreme measures to make sure no one knows about our affair, especially my wife.

The first time I was impressed with Malena when she had her first art exhibition. We had not become lovers, then. Malena presented a series of paintings that depicted the relationship between God and human beings. Her paintings tell the story of human beings who are tired of their God who wants to be worshipped and praised all the time .They invaded Heaven, captured God and beheaded God.
Malena ended her painting series with a quote:" Men will never be free till the last priest is strangled to death."
The paintings were visually stunning but the messages were too twisted for most to digest. God was not portrayed in the good light. Some cursed her. A few spat on her face.  But Malena didn’t care.  Malena had a sheepish smile. Malena enjoyed the havoc she had caused.
Malena said to me at her exhibition: "I find all religion have one thing in common. They are all annoying."
Two days later, our church priest visited Malena with aim of reforming her.
"Repent! God will forgive you and you could likely enter heaven," the priest said.
"But I do not want to go heaven," Malena said.
"Why not," asked the puzzled priest
"Because in heaven, all interesting people are missing," Malena answered with a loud laughter.

Malena was a painter, an activist, a rebel and a feminist.  Malena had spent many nights behind bars for taking parts in street protests. Malena believes in speaking up against injustice and making the world a better place.
Malena is not the kind woman who dances her life to the music that society had set for her. I loved her rebellious nature. But then again, everything about Malena fascinates me.
"Well behaved women do not spent time behind bars," I teased her.
"I never wanted to be a well behaved woman," Malena said.
"Every woman dreams to be a well behave woman," I said.
"Not me. I want to create history and well behaved woman seldom create history," Malena said with a huge smile

I became careless. Malena became careless. My wife found the love letters that Malena had written to me. My wife found paintings Malena has done of me where I was not wearing anything.
My wife shouted : "How could you let our daughter paint you naked?.
How could you have sex with our daughter?"
I tried to explain to my wife that what Malena and I have is not an ordinary case of incest...we love each other...  we are born to be lovers. My explanation infuriated my wife even more.
"I will report you to the police," my wife yelled.
I will make sure you spend the rest of your life in prison. I will make sure you will never see our daughter again... "
It was then Malena appeared from no-where with a hammer in her hand.  I just watched Malena smashed my wife - her mother - to death. I did nothing to stop Malena. I have always allowed the woman I love to run my life.
The End