It seemed I
had lost my sense of reasoning at that point of inflection. My dependable eye
lenses viewed every ghastly figure with a chromatic aberration, as i could not
discriminate between black and white. There I stood on that threshold, with a
variety of thoughts undulating along in my mind. Well, that was mentally
intriguing: but my eyes were actually doing their best. It was neither an
elusive mirage in my mind nor a visual aberration; it was the black I had known
that had capriciously turned white. Hmmmnn! the most revered areal swollen part
of my mother’s daughter was shabbily covered with a transparent linen in a
disguised fashion. For her frontal view, I refused to catch a second glimpse at
it. Her swollen chest was barely covered too and that revealed some two
pendulums that I supposed were willingly adjusted to swing and dangle like
prodded jelly fishes. The purpose of this, I presumed was to advertise a GOD
given personal property. I was spellbound by the half nude figure that stood in
front of me. In fact, the figure spoke less of my mother.
With gross
shamelessness, my mother’s daughter seemed to be content and happy with her
garments, as she intermittently danced to some rhythmic sounds produced by a
small Whitman device (mobile phone) which was connected to her ears by some
thin thread called “ear phones”. Indeed, her costume together with her rhythmic
movements really caught for her some mass attention. Of course, I was a part of
the masses too. Most interestingly, my mother’s daughter seemed to have
accomplished her mission; as her viewers were all left with no other choice
than to steal several glances at her exposed admirable figure. Then I realized
she was happy for an act well played.
I also
reminisced my mother’s costume twenty years ago, back in antiquity. How nice
and decent they were but grotesque in modern fashion. I compared and contrasted
both my mother’s costume and that of her daughter’s garments, and my mother’s
costume were not only good looking but were also Godly acceptable. “Obviously,
my mother’s daughter must be sinning against her viewers and her creator,
rather so obliviously”. I pondered.
Just
then, a metal horse pulled up by the other side of the road and my mother’s
daughter advanced towards it in response to some open gestures. The rider of
the metal horse was a thick-tall Black-man, dressed in some western black suit
that was accompanied by a similarly black neck tie. It was apparent that the
rider of the metal horse could have been about twenty years older than my
mother’s daughter. My mother's daughter was ushered into the metal horse, where she ensconced herself on the seat next to the metal horse rider. He meticulously canoodled and hugged her, but her reaction was however
sardonic. At first, I thought his advances were unrequited, until the man
handed over an envelope to her, just after a mutually agreed kiss this time round, and
that suggested that he could not have been my father. Well, everything that followed
was strictly behind scenes. My mother’s daughter carelessly slammed the gate to
the metal horse and the duo sped away with some ostentatious display of riding
momentum. Ooh Shit!! I would not see
those exposed bootylicious parts or get to watch that interesting movie that
was premiered inside the metal horse again.
It was actually a Sunday morning, and I
guessed the two were speeding to the church down the “school bus” road.
………………………………………..dE-nCheyebiSUo!!!
