Yellow

Okay, so I recently decided to post all my pre-farafina stories week-after-week (until they’re all gone), in hopes that the 10 days I spent with literary giants will help me write better stories (I haven’t written shit since then). The Last Time (which I posted last week) was the story I submitted as my application, this is something else I wrote a day after that (both unedited). Enjoy?

Fiyin, her sassy former best friend, used to insist she wasn’t one for casual sex. She knew Fiyin was right, but couldn’t see what all the fuss was about; it wasn’t the sex that mattered, it was the intimacy. Intimacy couldn’t be achieved with a stranger. She had attempted with short and pudgy Lekan back in April. He had repeatedly tried to get her to call him daddy and suck on his sweaty, hairy balls while hitting her ass. The consequences of porn on an easily impressionable mind.

Yellow used to be her favorite color. She saw yellow anytime she thought of love. People always said red was the color of love, but she couldn’t see how. Red was so common, with so many shades and was so easy to ignore. Yellow. Yellow, like love, was so fucking elitist. Just one shade of it. It was never light yellow or dark yellow, it was either yellow or not-yellow.

She smoked to calm her nerves. She wasn’t a fan of alcohol as her sorrows could swim and red wine tasted like matches. Her nerves never seemed to calm themselves lately, not since him. Her thoughts always strayed to him; what had he done to her? She remembered the first time they met. “Good girls shouldn’t smoke.” The voice was impressive. Masculine, without the accompanying aggression. “Lucky I’m not so good then,” she replied. Full features in view, he wasn’t as impressive as his voice. Yes, he was light-skinned -yellow. But he was average heighted; long for short. He introduced himself. Gbolahan. The name just as formidable as the voice. She didn’t believe in love at first sight but she just knew he was the one. He had contours on his face that looked somewhat like those on the moon. She loved to look at the moon. They spoke lengthily about nothing. He intrigued her and she was totally fascinated.

Weeks later, his passion for life continued to sweep her off her feet and his success impressed her. It wasn’t long before they became official. Her life being the movie that it is, he had to cheat in the most trite way possible, with her best friend, he gave up everything they had just for sexual gratification. Ironic, him being too yellow to be a man. She suddenly knew what it meant to be inadequate. Not enough.

She used to think love would bring her happiness, she was wrong, everything has pain waiting at its inevitable end. Happiness is the occasional flash of light in the tunnel. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. Happiness is the enemy.

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