Sample Stories

Life Is Not the Dance
Floor
-And certainly, God is not the DJ-

By Skeelo Khumalo

Complimentary extracts from his Book.

About this document

You are reading a sample chapter of the eBook :

NOT GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT. (Short story)

THE POEM IN YOUR HEART (Poem)

The full eBook contains 128 pages of unique African stories
and poems only Skeelo can offer.

Enjoy this FREE sample chapter
Review the Table of Contents of
the full eBook
Visit the website at
http://www.skeelo.8m.com

Get the full eBook for only

R49.99 R 49.99
Order it at:
http://www.skeelo.8m.com/order

Order now and receive a Free Bonus of a short story still to be
published:

The Chamber of my brain

NOT GENTLE
INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

wasn’t sure what day it was any longer, nor did I care. Why should I?

I Every day was the same as the next. They all ran together like a
never-ending throbbing headache, but no amount of aspirin would
relieve the constant pain.

There was a time when I led a full, rich life. I mattered, at least to some
people. I loved and was loved in return, I had a family, lots of friends, a
home and all the typical luxuries to enjoy, including the usual
responsibilities and obligations that seem to go hand in hand with all
these blessings. But sadly, my good fortune is long gone now.

The problem is that my life changed, became mundane. Monotonous.
My daily routine became a matter of instinctive survival - no more, no
less. Eat, drink and sleep. Eating was as monotonous as any other
physical function. Sleeping was either a welcome escape from reality, or
a vivid nightmare filled with large doses of my hellish reality. There was
no compromise.

Then there was thinking. One occupation I couldn’t escape, as there
was no door out. Trapped inside an unrelenting world of two realities;
heaven and hell. Notation to self: list heaven first, hell second. Bear with
me and allow me to describe heaven first, saving hell for later. It seems
appropriate, considering that this is the order of my life now.

Yet here I am, living in an unfamiliar apartment. I am staying with a
relative stranger, an elderly woman who had pitied me and taken me in.
I hadn’t even known her before. Now I am on my own - no friends, no
relatives, no family, even colleagues I used to socialize with. They all
walked away.

Perhaps I should be thankful; at least an elderly stranger picked me up.

I was sitting at the window of my small bedroom, propped up with
pillows, listening to the rasping noise of my radio in the confined space

-1-

Life Is Not The Dance-Floor – Skeelo Khumalo

of my bedroom. It was quite strange after being in hospital for almost
eight months.

I could hear the old lady, who I decided to call my grandmother, bustling
around the kitchen, banging pots and clattering cutlery. I wondered what
she was making. She was an amazing cook. It was too bad I could not
eat much these days.

Outside I could see people walking their dogs. There were couples
wrestling on the grass carpet, children playing. I wished I could be out
there, walking, feeling strong and healthy. At times it was too much for
me to try to accept the fact that this was I had become.

My gaze dropped to the photograph propped up against the window. It
was one of my favourite photos of Billy, taken when he was two years
old. My wife, Angela, and I had taken him out for the day, and he had
been so excited to be with the two people he loved most in the world.
We had been best friends. I remembered watching him running up
ahead, stopping to stare out at the open field in the middle of the fort. He
gave a shriek when he saw the cannon behind one of the walls, and I
snatched up my camera to take a picture. Billy was my best subject, my
son. He always knew when to give me the right shot.

A light scratch came at my door. quot;My son, do you want something to
eat?quot;

I turned my head slowly to the side, trying to see my grandmother. The
door was just out of my line of sight and I was too weak to move much.

quot;No thanks,quot; I replied.

My guardian angel came into the room. She was tiny; like a doll, with a
shock of white hair and a wrinkled face.

But apart from her outer appearance, I knew that her heart wasn’t
wrinkled but soft and kind, and that it had the ability to heal the wounds
to mine. Sometimes just being around her made me feel as though I was
going to be all right.

-2-

Not gentle into that good night – Skeelo Khumalo

She leaned over me and checked my air hose. quot;My boy, you need to eat
something. The doctor said you have to eat so that you can be strong.”

I looked up at her. quot;I’m tired, Gogo.quot;

She pressed her lips together. That's the only reaction I saw before she
put her arms around me and gently hugged me against her.

quot;You’ll be fine… you’ll be just fine.quot;

We didn't say anything for a moment, then she leaned over and kissed
my forehead.

quot;My daughter is coming with her husband and their twin sons today,quot;
she added.

I nodded. quot;Gogo?quot;

She paused on her way out. quot;Yes dear, what wrong?quot;

quot;Are they going to be okay with the fact that I am staying with you?quot; I
could feel my heart beating a little faster.

quot;Don’t worry my son, I have already told them. My daughter is an angel.
Oh, I forgot to tell you, she’s a nurse. I’m sure she’ll be so happy to meet
you. You’ll be in good hands.quot; The old woman came back and kissed me
again, then she left my room.

I could feel myself relaxing. I was not sure if it was the intravenous
painkillers that were being fed into my bloodstream, or maybe it was
because I was going to meet my grandma’s family. It was still very hard
for me to admit that my life depended on a stranger, but nevertheless it
was a fact that could not be denied.

I blinked and stared outside, watching people walk by. I used to do that
a lot when I was healthy. Billy and I used to walk around the
neighborhood, picking up sticks or counting the cars driving past. We
would sometimes take a ball to the park and play, or just run around and
chase each other. He was a fun kid.

-3-


The doorbell tinged faintly, jerking me from the past, announcing the
arrival of grandma’s family. I waited patiently for her to come and fetch
me, which took longer than I had expected. When she finally came into
my room, I could see that something wasn’t right. Grandma looked as
though she'd been crying, but she tried to smile at me while unlocking
the wheels on my wheelchair.

quot;Are you all right, my son? They’re here. I don’t know if you want to see
them?quot; she asked, leaning down to look me in the eyes.

I nodded, aware of how she battled to push my wheelchair. I suppose it
would have been difficult even for someone of average height and
weight. I am tall and well built, and even though I had lost quite a lot of
weight in recent months, I was still heavy. The additional load of all the
various pieces of equipment necessary to keep me alive, like the oxygen
machine and heart monitor, made it even more of a struggle for her. But
we eventually got going, and she steered me slowly into the kitchen.

Julia Chula, grandma’s daughter, and her husband Dave were sitting at
the kitchen table, Julia sipping water while Dave busily flipped through a
newspaper. He looked fit and healthy; even though he

was in his forties his hair was still black, without any hint of grey - unlike
me. I knew that I had aged.

Julia was beautiful, almost regal, not at all like the picture I had of her in
my mind. She reminded me of Angela, my adorable wife. The memory
was so painful that tears came into my eyes, and a pang of grief tore
through my body.

They both looked up at me, but only Dave spoke.

“How are you doing, my man. I hope you’re getting better every day.”
Not sure of what else to say he got up to shake my limp hand, then
returned to his chair.

Julia’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came. She finally forced
a smile.

-4-


quot;How are you?quot; Her voice was cool.

She came over and gave me a kiss on the forehead, then leaned back
to look at me. I wondered what she saw. Probably a man who looked
old, whose old self had died. My skin was pale and rough, my hair was
turning grey and thinning. Not the kind of guy you’d want to hug and
kiss.

quot;You look fine!quot; she remarked brightly, but I was aware of the falseness
in her voice.

I suddenly realised that Julia was not at all happy about the fact that I
was living with her mother. Maybe she already told her mother, which
was probably why the old lady had been crying. But Julia was good at
pretending: she was trying her best to act as though everything was fine,
but her face contradicted her actions. Perhaps she didn’t want her
husband to know how she really felt.

I had a sudden image of what my funeral would be like; it was already
happening. I looked up at grandma with pleading in my eyes, my throat
closed.

She didn't need to hear my question. She said something about my
being overtired and wheeled me back to my room.

She crouched down in front of me, staring into my face.

quot;I'm sorry, so sorry… but things will be fine very soon,quot; she said brightly.

I tried to hug her but I felt so limp and weak, like a piece of cold
spaghetti. She gave me a hug then she went out and closed the door. I
could hear the couple’s children screaming in the other room, and Julia
raised voice, telling them to be quiet.

It made me to think of Billy, his sweet personality. I never had to yell at
my son, nor did his mom. We never had to scold or punish him for
anything. It wasn’t necessary, because he was such a good child.

-5-


Always smiling, always cheerful. Even when he got sick, he never
complained.

I reached out and picked up the picture of Billy, almost dropping it as I
tried to lift it onto my lap. Running my fingers over the glass, around the
smiling figure of my little boy, I remembered how frail he was that last
week in the hospital. He had been seriously injured in the car accident,
and had fought so bravely, but his injuries finally got the better of him.
He was only five.

My wife and I had also been in the car, but Angela didn’t even make it as
far as the hospital. That was my fault.

We were on our way home after a party. I didn’t think then that I’d had
too much to drink. All I knew was that it was late, and I wanted to get
home. If I had known how everything would turn out, I would never have
broken the golden rule of not drinking and driving. But I hadn’t, and now
it was too late for regret. And too late to mourn the fact that my life was
also coming to an end.

My eyes were smarting with unshed tears, but I could not cry anymore.
The time I had left wasn’t going to be spent on tears. It was the only time
I had left to think about the next life, if there was any.

I was lost in thought when I heard Julia shouting at her mother, quot;I can't
believe you are taking care of him after what he did!quot;

Her mother murmured something; I couldn't hear her words, but I heard
Julia’s loud response. quot;I don't care, Mom. He's an alcoholic. He
murdered his family!quot;

So that was it. I wondered why Julia still hated me. Her hatred made me
hate myself even more. I listened for more angry words, wondering
where Dave was.

Grandma was saying something I couldn’t hear, but again I clearly heard
Julia’s angry reply.

-6-


quot;I don't care, Mom. He killed his wife and son, his own flesh and blood. I
really can’t believe that you feel sorry for him. Do you know… I think
you’re brave, if you’re not insane, for having a serial killer in one of your
bedrooms? Even if I turned out to be one of the biggest angels in the
heaven, I wouldn’t let a monster stay in my home. Not even in my dog’s
kennel, and certainly not even in a hospital ward as long as I’m working
there!quot;

I could hear my grandmother now. quot;He doesn't have much time left,
Julia. Why can't you try to have some pity or understanding for a
change?quot;

A few seconds passed without any answer from Julia. The old lady
came into my room and closed the door. “Are you okay?quot; she asked
softly.

I looked out the window. quot;I suppose so. Are you?quot;

I didn't expect an answer: I could see the expression in her eyes. She
left the room quietly and a few minutes later I heard the dinner
preparations. The noises seemed to be coming from far away; my ears
felt odd. I had no intention of joining them at the table - I wasn’t hungry
anyway. Instead, I watched what was going on outside. There weren’t
many people around now; it was close to suppertime. I remembered all
the meals Angela, Billy and I had shared. We'd eat at the coffee table,
just the three of us cuddled up on the couch. It was very casual, but we
loved it. How I missed that.

Grandmother came into my bedroom again and stood in front of me. quot;Do
you want to eat with us?quot;

I shook my head. I felt dizzy. Tired. quot;I think I'm going to sleep; could you
help me get into bed?quot;

After doing what had to be done, she tucked the blanket up under my
arms. Just moving from one spot to another in bed was exhausting.

I could feel myself sinking, drifting towards sleep. A soft kiss on my
head, and she was gone.

-7-


I closed my eyes but couldn’t shut out the scenes of the accident that
started running through my head, like a video. I saw my son, Billy,
bleeding from his wounds, I saw my Angela, lying on the side of the
road, not moving. When they covered her with a sheet I knew that it was
too late for her.
But it was too late to tell myself that if I hadn’t been drunk, then all this
wouldn’t have happened.

The scene changed; it was my last night in the hospital. Doctor Simon
told me I was going to be discharged the following day because my
medical aid could not provide any more cover. He was holding a
newspaper, and asked me whether our home had been insured. I
wondered why he wanted to know.

After telling him that I wasn’t, he gave me the folded newspaper and left
me alone. I almost collapsed when I saw the photograph of the house
that had burned down. It was mine. Or should I say, it had been ours.

According to the article, the fire had been caused by a heater that had
not been switched off.

I had nothing left: my family, car, medical aid, house and furniture; they
had all vanished into thin air. What else did I have left? Only pain and
thoughts I couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard I tried. That was
when my life turned into a living hell, and I spent my time thinking
endlessly about the events that had led me there.

There was nothing really left to do, or live for.

I was still alone in my bedroom when I suddenly felt a hand on my head.
I looked up to see grandmother standing next to me, smiling that
crooked little smile I loved so much. I was surprised because I had not
heard her coming in.

“My dear son, it’s our time to go now,” I heard her say.

She had not told me that we were supposed to be going somewhere. I
wanted to ask her where we were going, but I didn’t. I just stared at her.

-8-


She helped me out of my bed, and I noticed that we were almost the
same height.

“Don't be afraid. Your wife and your son are waiting for us.”

All my pain had gone. I could not believe that I was standing on my own.
I turned around and saw Billy and Angela standing at the door. I was so
shocked and trembled so much that I fell back onto the bed.

“I’m dreaming. No… this must be a dream. I know that you and Billy are
dead.”

Angela walked towards me, smiling. “Don't be frightened, darling. It's
time to go, that's all.”

I looked from her back to my son. They both seemed so… serene was
the only word I could think of.

“Go where?”

“I’m taking you to our new home, and you’ll be staying with us.”

She stopped in front of me, her brown eyes wide and clear. She
wrapped her arms around me. I felt warm and safe for the first time after
a long time.

“I'm so sorry Angela. I won’t drink alcohol again. Please forgive me for
everything.”

“You don't need to ask for forgiveness now. Just know you are loved,”
she said, turning back to the door.

An old lady offered her hand to me. “Can we go now, son?”

I looked back at the window; I could no longer see the streets. The lights
were so bright that I was blinded. I suddenly realized that I was dying,
but at the same time I was scared.

-9-


I didn’t want to go. Even though all my pain had gone, I was not yet
ready to go gentle into that good night.

THE POEM IN YOUR HEART

I wish to be the sunshine that brightens your day;
I wish to be the moonlight in your sweet dreams;
I wish to be joy and keep you away from frowns;
I wish to be the smile that saves your beauty.

I wish to be the fulfillment to lift you up to destiny;
I wish to be your goals so you can achieve all;
I wish to be your mind so you can think no problems;
I wish to be your world and let you own me.

I wish to be your blood that strengthens your muscles;
I wish to be the beacon that safeguards your way;
I wish to be the heartbeat that keeps you alive;
I wish to be the nourishment you need to survive.

I wish to be the voice that talks on your behalf;
I wish to be your arms to hand everything you need;
I wish to be your hero to protect you day and night;
I wish to be your dreams come true.

I wish to be the tissue that dries your tears;
I wish to be the lips that caress your skin;
I wish to be the veins singing in streams on your body;
I wish to be the wonder that shines within.

I wish to be the pillow that cushions your head;
I wish to be the mattress that softens your bed;
I wish to be the touch that strokes your desire;
I wish to be the flame that ignites your fire.

I wish to be the passion that melts you dear;
I wish to be the loyalty that sets you apart.
I wish to be darling and keep you happier forever;
I wish to be the love that will always remain.

I wish to be the treasure that makes you fly;
I wish to be everything you need, want and desire;
I wish to be the portion that makes you whole;
I wish to be the poem in your heart.

Have you enjoyed this FREE sample
chapter?

If so, don’t miss the opportunity to get
NOW your full copy of the eBook Life is
not the dance floor for only:

R 49.99
Order it at:
http://www.skeelo.8m.com/order

Sample Stories

Recommended

Recommended

More Related Content

Recently uploaded

Recently uploaded (20)

Featured

Featured (20)

Sample Stories