I’m currently on the rooftop where I’ve come to hung my laundry. There’s a night breeze caressing every pore of my skin lucidly. A slight chill runs through my entire body. It’s 2311hrs. There’s nothing more comforting than being on the rooftop at 2311hrs. Such nights are usually peaceful, especially when the breeze serenades your ears in a whispering manner. There are lights around me. Lights from the various cars passing down below the road, lights from two night clubs just right across the road from where I live. I wont drop my location so that you guys would know where I live.
The music blaring from both night houses are maddening. I could see crowds gathering at the clubs entrances. Some people were abit rowdy, while others were composed. All I see is life happening around. There are few stars in the sky tonight. The gibbous moon emitting her silver light seemed soothing enough. Well, this building is six storeys high. But high enough not to be dumb to take a leap of faith. At times I think it’s very hard for people to stand on the edge of a building and think. Well the first thought one would have in mind is that the person standing at the edge is suicidal. But hey, if you want to jump, jump. Overpopulation is a problem in this part of town. Wait, hold up. I’m not telling people to jump over the roof if you think life is shitting you up. Life is much more precious. I don’t want to die. Nobody wants to die and forsake these earthly pleasures.
I’m not a fan of standing on edges, though I clearly like to sit on the edge with my back to the side out on the open. Or at times sit at the very edge of the rooftop then swing one leg to the edge, and the other to the side. And I look down and think, “weeeh, i might fall down below, this is not a good idea.” Then I’d stop looking down and put my focus onto something else. I can flirt and court death at such fleeting moments but I can’t stand dogs. Why do people have to pet dogs? They’ve always given me a scare since junior school. The ugly things would howl and growl showing their bare teeth, and I would run for my life as fast as my little legs would carry me back then.
I’ve had a phobia of dogs. Maaaaan, I hate those bloody animals. Several encounters with them would always leave me with a sour taste on my mouth. There used to be a pack of stray dogs that used to live next to a certain garage a few blocks away from where I live. They would always terrorize me every time I used that road. My hate towards them manifested in hundredfold. All what I’m trying to say is; I can comfortably sit at the edge of the rooftop but I can’t stand dogs. Let alone visit someone who has them. You can go figure that for yourself.
I sit at the short wall that prevents such risky souls like mine from falling to death. I can hear drunks singing loudly as they climb the stairs towards the rooftop. Seems they’re moving the party up here? Their decibels are horrible. I had come up for a peaceful meditation as my clothes dry up. Guess I’ll have to bare with them for a while. I remove a packet of cigarettes and fish one out. I fumble for a few seconds before I find my lighter and light it up. I take a long drag and puff it out in the open sky. The drunkards have reached the rooftop. There are girls, nice girls who shouldn’t be hanging out with such douches. The douches who have made them girls drunk on cheap whiskey and vodka, and they will definitely slide inside them before dawn arrives. Some guys are staggering abit. Their speeches are abit mumbling, one could hardly decipher what they’re trying to say.
I envy them right now. I’m in no mood of drinking. I just want to stare at the clear night sky. I take another long drag and puff my lungs out. The drunken crowd has spaced out in small gatherings of two’s and three’s in the semi vast rooftop. Some of the drunks have already lied to the pretty girls and have hidden them behind the water tanks doing what God told us to do best. Go forth, multiply and fill the world. They are not interested in feeling the world. They are just interested in the transition deed. Few moans and giggles could be heard here and there. Couple of muffled sounds and groans.
I’m glad I’m at the furthest end of the corner. I take another long puff, I get lost in my mind. I usually get lost whenever I light up. My mind drives itself away from reality. Within that bubble of utopia I’d have created, I’d create kingdoms, kings, queens, servants, traitors and servants. Well there’s alot more to that list. I’d kill characters, some would be reincarnated, others would burn outright in hell, others would be made saints, once in a while the hope of the world would be born and save the planet. Well i hate puppy eyed stories. As I get lost in my own fantasies, I didn’t notice someone approach me, and take a sit besides me.
A slight tap on my shoulder jostles me back to reality. “Hello”, her voice is silky and her accent seems eloquent. I turn and see her sitted next to me. I notice that she has the barber type of hair. I mean to say she dons a bobcat. It looked edgy and abit of rebellious to her. She has medium opal round eyes. Her cheeks are fluffy and both of them spot dimples. Her eyes seems to be windows to the soul. Mine? They’re not anywhere close to good. But full of mischief and cheekiness. She kindah is of medium height. I can’t judge that because she’s sitting next to me. She has those nice pouty lips that seem to scream, “a smoochie please”. Her lips give her an appearance of innocence mixed with naivety.
“Your opal eyes don’t seem to be staring at my soul.”
Her: What makes you think so?
Me: Unlike mine are full of cheekiness and mischief that I can’t tell or fathom why you had to leave all other crowds and sit next to me.
Her: You’re not good with people skills, huh?
Me: Maybe, maybe not.
Her: (Raises an eye brow) What kind of eyes stare into the soul?
Me: Huge round hazel eyes, emerald eyes perhaps? I don’t know but it was the first thing I noticed.
Her: Wow, so you noticed that my eyes couldn’t read through your soul?
Me: I don’t know if I even have one.
Her: So your saying my eyes can’t see through your soul?
Me: The rest of your facial features are those of a goddess or a cerulean mermaid. With cheeks so soft and fluffy that I’d want to cup them all day in my palms. Lips that would call and drown me in mad passion of kisses. But whenever I look at your eyes, I stop and they read caution. So I stop.
Her: So my eyes would make you stop leaning in for a kiss?
Me: They caution me. It’s tactical.
Her: So if I close my eyes, would you lean in and kiss me? Or would the kiss be more tactical?
Me: Why don’t we introduce ourselves like normal people who live in the same town together. (She smiles revealing two sets of white milky teeth as I stretch my hand towards her) Hi, I’m Lupin.
Her: Hi Lupin, (she shakes my hand with a firm compact grip) Ao.
Me: Ao. Such a unique name that resembles an anime character straight from manga.
Her: I’ve heard that alot. Your name seems to resemble one of the old gods. So what was it that you were saying about my eyes being cautious?
Me: It seems I’m not going to be let scot free on this one.
The clothes on the hanging line are swayed from side to side by the breeze. I feel a burning sensation close to my fingers. What a waste. The breeze decided to smoke my cigarette when I wasn’t paying attention to it.
Her: You say that as if you’d see me the following day. Regarding that we are few minutes shy from midnight.
Me: I don’t share my name with people who I won’t see the following day.
Her: Why? Is it special? You’re a cocky one.
Me: My time is special, that’s why.
Her: You don’t waste time on nonsensical matters
Me: Perhaps so. You an artist or something?
Me: Everything that oozes out of you sounds rebellious.
Her: Why not have a try and see where the rebellious acts come from?
I lean my back on the cold short wall and light up another cigarette. I do it cautiously simply because I make a mental reminder to myself that not everyone in the world is a smoker.
Me: Would you mind if I killed us both?
Her: Don’t you usually ask before you light up?
Me: Do I look “usual” to you?
Her: Regarding that you made a fuss about my eyes, you’d bait me into having a smoke with you.
I get up and lean on the short wall and look down upon the streets. I see many bodaboda guys just waiting for the next client. They live a life on the roadz thrilling, dangerous and edgy. But they have all the time. She gets up and takes the cigarette from my fingers and inhales a long deep puff. Then she exhales the smoke through her nostrils. “A pro this one”, I think to myself.
Her: Happy now Mr. Lupin?
Me: Ao, no need to have the niceties.
Her: So if someone is nice and being honest, that would be nonsensical perhaps?
Me: They said most artists sketch their frustrations in whatever medium of platform they are given. Which gives me the impression you are a paint artist. Something that goes along the lines of Picasso?
Her: I do paint for a living. How did you know that?
Me: I dated a painter sometimes back.
Her: How did it go?
Me: It ended, she got bedded by some other guys.
I fish out another cigarette and light it up. I look at the clear sky and the avert my gaze at the distant lights emitting their glow many miles across the hills.
Her: Smoking is bad for your health.
Me: We will all die, whether we live healthy or not. You might follow all the doctor’s rules and still get hit by a bus. Just like that, life is cut short.
Her: You have a weird sense of dark humor. Hold up. Did you say she jumped to bed with some other guys?
Me: Literally jumping dicks.
Her: You sure she was only attached to you?
Me: She was engaged to someone else that time when we were both having our stints. The escapades were good but I got attracted to the wrong type.
Her: I can tell that you’re attracted to the chaotic characters. I paint peoples wretched lives just like yours.
Me: Okay the great Ao.
Her: Is it why that you come up here most nights just to smoke your cigarettes? Staring towards the abyss and giving in to the dark void?
Me: You’ve been checking me all that time Ao?
Her: It’s not hard noticing you. Here, most of the nights all alone smoking way past midnight. I’m keen and interested in knowing of what you think in that head of yours.
Me: What do you think, I’m thinking?
Her: I don’t know, most times you’re with your cigarettes.
P.s: This baby is 9 months old and we have an editor. Guys meet Audrey Nashpei. Audrey meet the guys. I hope now some grammatical errors and typos would be omitted. Thanks once more.