Part 4-The Making of the Blackwidow

The scenes in the story are all fictional. I owe this story to my grandmother whom I have always loved so dearly..


I was standing in front of a box-like figure that would never speak in a million years. In my head, she still is. Her laugh is malignant. It never loses power. All she ever talked about was how I’d find him. I miss you lola. I heard myself whisper. The once cold eyes started pouring warm showers. Imagining that old warmth gave me more chills. The air was colder this time of the year..heavy as my soul who left with her passing.


She was the only parent I’ve known. Stories were, from strangers haunting childhood fantasies, my mother left me when father left her. It is a human illness known to men—to pass on own pain to another soul. Lola never hinted a bit of human capacity. Although the reality struck me at the age of 7, she weaved life stories as magical..candies growing among gardens, ready to be picked up. She thinks that every man’s pursuit is love and that my parents fought hard to find it. Skamp as she is to me, her ways undoubtedly could justify the most evil deed. I wasn’t successful at pretense because extreme emotions could only hold off for a short period.


Every year, families swag their giant-sized bodies against my skinny helpless built, while lola watched me wrathed by jealousy. The only time I become visible is when I take the microphone to perform an obligatory speech—a task for not normal kids. I felt power as the oldies steer to listen. The smaller ones squint from time to time to find their friends. Lola said I have to focus on getting a scholarship in hope to make it to med school. I wanted to do it for more than that reason. Instead of med, the black girl deputized my orientation to writing. The first few stories were hidden as my doleful desire.

She sent me to the best university after passing the ass-sweating-riddles test. I left the house not knowing she was already struggling from heart disease.


The first few years was like blending in and resurfacing from a sack. Being around the luckiest teens could damn kill confidence. I have to blame it from being a late bloomer. But just when the bud was about to exude the purest scent, a bee scavenged to suck the life of it. I was excited to be invited for the first time by a dude. Time such as this is supposed to be a highlight of my earnest “pursuit”.A duo-study he says (which I have no idea was a consensus reenactment to rape). I went home despicable of weighed chances. Raged by ideas that came into being, my first documentation started. This is not the right moment to ploy a plot for a scene.


So I missed school for days. For some reason, the situation was rather wafting in essence as humiliation than fear. Exasperated from overworked mind, phone starts ringing,. A familiar voice from the other line, “Lola’s gone..” the next few seconds were howling of wolves in despair. I hang up the phone. For a moment, and I guess the best reaction I have gathered the past few days, I was numb.. My head was blank.. I’m in a twilight zone..maybe, if I sleep for more hours, it’ll be gone. Eyes shut. Fuck! I could still hear myself.


It was a 5-hour travel back home. Every compartment of the house is full of cringing bodies, wanting an attention to be consoled. I came to her, sleeping in quiet reverie. You’re not gone. I thought you should meet my friend but you’d be mad.. I was fighting the tears…Anger.. Then nothing at all..



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1 Comment

  1. black widow i would die to meet you in person im your no.1 fan here in australia..


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Abby Mabb

Snarly female. Occasional book reviewer.

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