Chess

Chess: The 5 Day Theory

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Duty Calls……………………………….. Page 2 Page | 1

Chapter 2: First Impressions……………………….Page 4 Chapter 3: The Route Cause……………………...Page 15 Chapter 4: Life or Death…………………………....Page 22 Chapter 5: The Unveiling…………………………..Page 28 Chapter 6: Prodigal Daughter………………..……Page 32 Chapter 7: I Am………………………………………..Page 38 Chapter 8: Four Winds of Eret……………………Page 48 Chapter 9: Back to Square 1……………………….Page 52 Chapter 10: Nice to Meet You………………… …Page 59 Chapter 11: Unleashed…………………….………..Page 63 Chapter 12: The Knowing………………….……….Page 67

Khonzinkosi Memela

Chess: The 5 Day Theory

Chapter 1: Duty Calls

Page | 2

Stacy Williams, slim brown haired Caucasian female, brushes her teeth with her red toothbrush. It is her 23rd birthday. She hums endlessly, spitting out her Colgate filled saliva, opens the tap and watches as her spittle flows down the rusty drain. She is in her apartment, room 651, Milpark Mews in Oakland Park, Johannesburg. The door opens swiftly. Melanie, her 3rd year UJ student girlfriend enters, dressed in her purple velvet night gown, similar to hers.

“Hey!” Melanie says, walking past Stacy, stumbling around her figure on her way to the shower cubicle.

“Hey!” replies Stacy with haste.

Melanie undresses. She swings open the shower curtain, turns her head back and stares at Stacy mysteriously.

“What?” Stacy asks aggressively.

Melanie shakes her head and walks into the shower cubicle. She turns on both taps and awaits the perfect temperature. She begins humming to herself.

Stacy places the toothbrush in a glass by the bathroom mirror, leans with the back of her waist to the sink. She puts her hands in her gown’s pockets and stares past the shower curtain with a smile on her face.

“Happy birthday honey.” says Melanie, washing her body, face towards the wall.

“Thanks.”

Stacy shakes her head and walks out of the room.

Khonzinkosi Memela

Chess: The 5 Day Theory

15 minutes past 8 o’clock, Melanie walks out of the bathroom naked to see Stacy fully dressed. Stacy stares at her body. Melanie sheds a smile.

“What’s wrong?” says Melanie.

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“Nothing.”

“And then? Are we...”

“Not today. I have a lot of work cut out for me. I’ll see you when I get back, though. Have you seen my recorder?”

“Really?”

“I have to interview this Black guy who murdered a police officer just last night. I want to be the first to break the story. Oh, there it is. Big bag! I’ll see you at the party at 5. Cool.”

“Whatever. I have class anyway. Be safe.”

Melanie, still naked, sits on the edge of Stacy’s double bed softly. She looks into Stacy’s eyes and smiles curiously.

“What?” Stacy says.

“Poor thing!” says Melanie, “You’re petrified. Aren’t you? My brother can drive you there if you want, in case you need security.”

“I’ll be fine dude. Just leave the key by security on your way out.”

“No goodbye kisses?”

“No! Later!”

Hesitantly, Stacy walks out and shuts the door behind her. The rain is pouring amidst blustering winds. She makes her way down the building, Khonzinkosi Memela

Chess: The 5 Day Theory

through security and into the parking lot where her shabby yellow Beatle is parked.

Page | 4

“Nice car?� says an elderly Black woman as Stacy climbs in her worn out machine. Stacy ignores the lady, closes the door shut and starts the engine.

Khonzinkosi Memela

Chess: The 5 Day Theory

Chapter 2: First Impressions

Page | 5

Slowly, Stacy drives inside Brixton police station. She finds a perfect slot between a Cressida and a Corolla in the parking lot, meticulously fitting her vehicle in the middle of both cars. Still in the driver’s seat, she reaches for her Nike backpack situated at the backseat behind the passenger seat, draws it nearer with her left palm and places it on top of her hips, mindful of her fancy black silk skirt. She zips it open, pulls out her Sony sound recorder and switches it on to check the battery.

The battery is full. She dumps the machine back in her bag, zips the bag closed and opens the door.

In the heavy rain, she hurries out of the car, locks it with her remote controller and runs towards the reception. Once inside, she abruptly shakes the water off her clothes.

A female officer receives her kindly.

“Officer Mhlanga right?”

“Mshengu, actually, Miss Williams. Right this way. He is waiting for you, that bastard. Please stick to the facts. We don’t want another Marikana scandal on our hands. We’ve done our bit. Now it’s up to the justice system. OK?” Stacy nods. She follows Officer Mshengu down a long grey narrow hallway. To the front of the two ladies is a cold metal door. Upon reaching the door, Officer Mshengu pulls out a handful of keys held together by a metal ring. She juggles them around until she finds the right one and cracks the door wide open.

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“Don’t worry. You’re safe. OK now. I’ll leave you two to it. Nail this fucker?”

“I just want the truth to come out. That’s all.”

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“Whatever. That man is as guilty as they come. If it were up to me he would already be mopping the floors of Sun City in oranges.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

Stacy walks inside. The door is closed shut behind her. She is nervous and wet. Her hair is a mess. She does her best to pull herself together, approaching the counter.

Behind the white steel bars sits a Black man in a white T-shirt and a black beanie, facing her direction. He is shabby looking, bearded and scruffy with nappy hair sneaking out of his raggedy hat. He looks pissed.

She approaches a steel chair shoulders up, displaying optimal confidence. Gently, she sits.

“Good morning sir.”

“I don’t know about good but it is morning. Look, I didn’t do it. I am being framed.”

Stacy pulls out her sound recorder, dead silent, switches it on and places it on the counter.

“Do you mind repeating that for me sir?”

“My name is Sipho Gambu.”

“The police killer. Yes, I know. Hi, I’m Stacy Williams.”

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Chess: The 5 Day Theory

“You think I did it. Don’t you? Look, if you’re here to waste my time I’m going to my cell right now. Thanks for your time Miss...”

“Stacy Williams, and I don’t think you ‘did it’ as you put it. Hence, I came to hear your side of the story.”

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“A real journalist. Good with words I see. Listen, I didn’t do it.”

“Then why are you behind bars?”

“I’ve been framed.”

“By whom?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? The police took me all the way from Hinton House and dumped me in this hell hole. Ask them.”

“Where were you last night?”

“I slept here. Before that I was in my room at Hinton House.”

“You look familiar. I live across the street from you.”

“Milpark, yeah I know. You’re that lesbian girl on the sixth floor.”

“Lesbian? OK. Who murdered Officer Smith?”

“I don’t know. How many times must I tell you? I’m not guilty.”

“I never said you were.”

Stacy reaches over for her recorder, grabs it and presses the Off-button.

She looks at Sipho and smiles softly. Sipho stares back irritably.

“Off the record...” says Stacy, “Just between you and me, what happened?”

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Chess: The 5 Day Theory

“The cops killed him.”

“What cops?”

“You know, them?”

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“Who is ‘them’? Sipho you’re going to have to be more specific with the details if you want your side of the story to be heard.”

“Off the record you say. Them: the secret police. They are monitoring us. I came across some information by mistake and now I’m marked for death. They already have a guy waiting to kill me in Sun City.”

“And you know this how?”

“Look, I don’t know who you work for. For all I know you’re probably one of them. How do I know I can trust you?”

“I’m just a ‘lesbian’ girl from Milpark, right? I mean, you see me around all the time. I graduated last year as a journalist at Wits University. What would I be doing in the police force?”

“It’s not just the police. It’s everyone. They run businesses, media, schools, churches even.”

“This to me is starting to sound like another illuminati myth from a bad YouTube documentary. Are you serious though?”

“I don’t know about the illuminati. I’m talking about Black Diamond, BD, The Corporation. They’re a society of evil men and women who rob, steal and kill if they must in order to protect their secrets and increase their wealth. I’m talking rich guys, government officials even.”

“Why would they kill Officer Smith?”

“The question is why would they frame me for the death of a cop?”

“To protect the identity of the culprit...”

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“And eliminate the threat. A friend of mine told me all about it just yesterday. Today I’m here.”

“Does he also live at Hinton House? Perhaps I could track him.”

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“Track, I hate that word. He died just before I got arrested. He’d been their agent since age 16. He was born into it. His family is heavily involved in BD affairs.”

“You’re all over the place. Tell me about your family. A brief family history.”

“I’m the second born of 6. 2 are unemployed, 2 are in high school, one is a multimillionaire and the other is me.”

“And you?”

“Engaged with 2 children back home in KwaZulu-Natal.”

“Mr. Smith was survived by a wife and 2...”

“I said I didn’t kill him!” shouts Sipho, furiously. He tightly clutches the steel bars with both of his hands and pulls, “I’m not guilty.”

Stacy, a bit shaken, digs into her Nike backpack once more, pulls out a pair of glasses and wears it. She pulls out a piece of paper and places it in front of her person.

“They suit you. You read a lot don’t you? I do too.”

“Yeah I know I’m pretty. Guys tell me that all the time.”

“Yet you chose to be with a woman. Interesting.”

“What can I say? I was born this way, like the song... It reads here that you have been convicted before. Hell, your rep sheet is the size of my arm. Theft, possession, robbery...”

“We’ve all been young and stupid. It’s part of growth. If I pulled out a list of all the mistakes you have made in life and judged you based on it wouldn’t you feel cheated? I’ve done a lot of good things too but I Khonzinkosi Memela

Chess: The 5 Day Theory

don’t see them on any record? We, as a people, are a negative people.

We worship negativity, turn a blind eye to the good others do because it makes us think little of ourselves.”

Page | 10

“By we do you mean just Black people or us as a rainbow nation in general?”

“There is no rainbow nation, just a Rambo nation. Vets seeking peace in solitude that keep getting fucked with by the great armies of the world. What’s a man to do but end up fighting back?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Because of my history I have become an easy target for the police and society at large. I live a life of being blamed for a thousand things that other people do. Is that fair?”

“No!” “Thank you.”

“Do you deny ever committing these crimes you have been convicted for?”

“Maybe you should switch your recorder back on. Just kidding.

Dealing right? Possession. I was found with marijuana and the police said it was enough an amount for me to be charged with dealing. How did they know I was going to sell it? How can you charge me for something I haven’t done yet? Does that make any sense? I still have it on me. You didn’t see me sell it. How do you know? I did rob and steal. Same as corporations that steal land and minerals. They don’t get arrested, they get rich. If they can sell alcohol, cigarettes and guns why are they arresting me for peddling pure trees, straight from the African soil? That’s God’s creation. It’s because they only own what they have processed hence putting their brand on it, otherwise stating that it is no longer God’s property but rather that of the state. They want to be gods these people.”

“By people are you perhaps referring to BD?” Khonzinkosi Memela

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“Not only them, they are the South African version of what is going on, on a world wide scale.”

“Which is...”

Page | 11

“Colonization of the mind, body and spirit. Their goal is to own the earth and all that exist within it is but a victim of their murderous plots.”

Stacy looks down at the counter in silence. She smiles a little, shaking her head.

“It’s my birthday today, by the way.”

Sipho looks puzzled.

“So,” continues Stacy, “aren’t you going to sing me a tune?”

“I never took you for a Leo. You probably wear the pants in your relationship don’t you?”

“Actually I do but I don’t think it’s because...”

“Of what, the stars? Learn to think beyond what they teach you in high school. Everything exists, aliens, ghosts, astrology, the devil, it’s all real.”

“Pardon me but the devil? I don’t believe in God and frankly I don’t think the devil exists either.”

“Because you’re a lesbian and the bible is against homosexuality?”

“Interesting theory but it has nothing to do with that. My father died of cancer. I prayed everyday. Nothing happened.”

“His death is a part of God also. Infinite reality, the cycle of life. No one lives forever. That’s just how the practical world works. Did he smoke?”

“A lot but that’s not the point.”

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“What is? He killed himself smoking. How is that God’s fault?”

“What about your father?”

Page | 12

“When you meet him, tell him I’m looking for him. Witch craft. He lost his mind and disappeared off the face of the earth about two years ago.”

“Has God helped you find him?”

“No! However I do believe that everything happens for a reason.”

“Like you being here in a cell for murder.”

“That, I think, is just bullshit. It could have been anybody. It just happened to be me. Don’t know why. Tell me about you! In here we tell each other stories for entertainment. Everyone has a story to tell.

There’s not really much for me to do but sleep, wake up, sleep... Have you ever been arrested?”

“Once, drinking and driving, 5 minutes in holding. I am now 23, an atheist, a journalist and a ‘lesbian’ as you put it. I come from a religious family, Catholics, and I listen to gangster rap music, the conscious side of it, Tupac, Ice Cube. Not usual for a white chick huh. I grew up a tom boy and now I’m dressed in this beautiful black silk skirt, a real lady.”

“Always wished you could pull your dick right out and piss with the fellows right?”

“Yep. I have a girlfriend who loves me and besides that I’m still searching.”

“Searching for what?”

“I don’t know. Truth.”

“So you became a journalist. I get it. You expose the entire world in search of your truth. I’m unemployed. I sit in the library reading books all day. My rich sister takes care of me. She even paid lobola on my Khonzinkosi Memela

Chess: The 5 Day Theory

behalf. How embarrassing. I hope you don’t mind me using you as a tool to pass time. I mean, an hour out here with you is freedom for a person in my position.”

“Your English is really good for an ex-convict.”

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“Really? How’s your Zulu? Me and you are one and the same.”

“About the murder case.”

“My friend told me that BD, along with many first world countries, was planning to start a third world war, eliminating the poor and middle class. Ever heard of the phrase ‘population control’?”

“Conspiracy Theory?”

“Real. The banks are run by them and they are tired of taking care of their own victims, so they thought: just get rid of them. Easy, start a war and let them kill one another. He, along with a thousand other people in the organization, rebelled against the decision hence they were forced to hand in their resignation letters to the council of 3. Top initiates.”

“Why would he tell you his secrets?”

“I don’t know, liquor? He was so excited. You should have seen him.

He was truly free for the first time in his life, even if it was only for a short while. A part of me also believes that he knew what was coming and wanted to spill the beans in case something happened to him, someone would know what happened. Catch my drift?”

“I think. Cool. Carry on.”

“The war was to be spearheaded by journalists, like you, beautiful Stacy Williams, fed to people as propaganda and finally, fuelled and financed by the banks, feeding all involved nations weapons and nuclear arms. You know that old theory: give them enough rope to hang themselves. To swear an oath to this responsibility every initiate had to sacrifice one of their own, execution style. Shot through the heart and a stab wound over their left kidney. Everything they do is to Khonzinkosi Memela

Chess: The 5 Day Theory

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the left. Do me a favour, call the forensics and ask them what the body looks like because I have a feeling Mr Smith was a sacrifice. I just know he was shot through the heart but I haven’t seen the body so I’m not sure. Also, the sacrifice had to be made last night between 9 PM and 12 PM. He was shot at 27 minutes passes eleven PM.

“They monitor the highways, malls, even flats and hotels and keep tabs on everyone. Your ID feeds them all the information they need and are aware of everything that happens when one of their own is on duty.

Why pick an innocent man as a suspect? He was shot in Melville. A white area, full of surveillance material. I usually drink at Paul’s tavern but last night I was home, where they found me. And tell that lady that brought you in here to stop harassing me. I still have rights as a South African citizen. She keeps making jokes about me getting raped. I asked her what part of the justice system is that and she hit me with a shambock in my face. She’s definitely part of the elite. She handles everything connected to my case. I refused a lawyer but she forced me to get one. That prick has been trying to convince me into pleading guilty for a lighter sentence since our first encounter a few hours ago.”

“Which makes sense. You’re facing life imprisonment.”

“The aim is to get me to Sun City so they can assassinate me. I told you this already.”

“Are you sure you’re not delusional or something? This is starting to sound like a conspiracy theory.”

“Call it what you want. It is what it is. So your girlfriend, does she know you’re talking to a ‘killer’?”

“She knows. Forget her. I’ll meet up with her later.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“Yeah, I guess. It’s been 2 years.”

“What I mean to ask you is do you love her?”

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“I do love her. I just think she’s a bit too... happy about things. I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

“Would you rather she was depressed or behind bars fighting for her life in a murder case that could possibly lead to her getting life in jail?”

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“Not like that. Like...”

“Like how? Do you know what people without problems do?”

“No!” “They create them out of thin air to help cover the guilt of having it good. That’s why rich teenagers become rebellious. They want to say to themselves one day: we went through stuff like the rest of the world did. I’ve seen it all from jail to losing friends to murder, from witchcraft to the secret police. Believe me, you have it extremely easy but you don’t have to feel guilty because of that. Just be happy you have someone in your life that cares about you.”

“But you also have a fiancé and 2 children.”

“No I don’t. I was just teasing you. I’m unemployed. No woman in her right mind would get married to a broke Black man who peddles marijuana to varsity students for a living. A prostitute is as close as I can get to getting some kind of affection from a woman. I’ll have you know, I’ve been broke since I left high school in grade 9. That’s when I made all those mistakes you see on that piece of paper in front of you. I have money but it’s not really a government job that comes with benefits, if you know what I mean.”

“Excuses, excuses, we all have them. You made a bad choice and now you’re suffering because of it. Don’t blame the rest of the world for what you did to yourself. You put yourself in harms way.”

“But that doesn’t make me guilty of crimes I didn’t commit. People change, perceptions remain. To the world I’ll always be that 15 year old high school drop out that never amounted to anything. The kid that never grew up. I’ve accepted it. It doesn’t make it easier to deal with.

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But then again true lessons begin when you leave school and I’m way ahead of you as far as life is concerned. Remember, I’m not here because I’ve done anything wrong. I’m here because of what I know.”

“How so?”

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“I’m the last person my dead friend was last seen with before he was murdered. You put together the pieces. To them I’m not a human being, just a piece of evidence at the crime scene that needs removing.

Like I said, they monitor society, especially those that belong to them.

Their soldiers don’t move unless they’re told to. I was in his room when he told me everything. Cameras, microphones, telephones bugged, you name it. They know about our conversation. They have officials in all police stations, a secret army. I call them the watchmen.

Their job is to watch society in case someone breaks free from the matrix in which case they either get absorbed or eliminated, brutally, as an example to others in case they decide to snitch on the BD program.”

“Are we being watched as we speak?”

“No! This is where the deals happen so when they say you’re safe they mean nothing spoken in here will see the light of day outside these walls.”

“She told me nail this fucker, her actual words.”

“She is an agent. They like using terms like nail or spear because they aim to overthrow all revolutionary attempts, like they did Jesus with nails and a spear through the heart hence the execution move, a shot to the heart. The gun is the modern day spear. Just know that from now on until the day they are satisfied with you, you will be tailed constantly.

My advice, stay out of trouble from now on. Take it from me. It is not worth your life or that of your sweet girlfriend.”

Khonzinkosi Memela

Chess: The 5 Day Theory

Stacy is shocked. Fear rushes through her body. Her bones rattle. She begins shaking. She looks around the room to see if she is being taped on candid camera. She sees nothing.

“Wait, are you serious. I’m being tailed? That woman is an agent?”

Page | 17

“I’m not sure but I think she is. They own the police department, have special people that attend to their cases when needed and it seems to me that she is definitely one of them. Either she knows or she is being played, either way, trust me when I say that she is involved in a conspiracy against me. You too, you just don’t know it yet. Let me see your recorder.”

Stacy is hesitant. After a few seconds of contemplating she picks it up and hands it over to Sipho who receives it with a serious look on his face.

“When you leave here they will ask you for the tape in order to find out whether or not you are on my side. If they find that indeed you are, you will be in major trouble. I only tell you these things because this thing is off.”

“What do I do?” asks Stacy, worried.

“We’ll worry about that later. Here’s your machine.”

Stacy receives the recorder and places it before her. She stares at it briefly and fixes her eyes back on Sipho Gambu, the police killer. Her mind wanders. Sipho picks up on it.

“So,” starts Sipho, “do I sound like a killer to you?”

“I don’t know. You look like one... No. They clearly have the wrong person.”

“Exactly!”

“I’m sorry for wasting your time Mr. Sipho Gambu but I need to leave.”

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“No! Please sit down. We at least have 40 more minutes to kill. Get it – to kill? Lame jokes. I know. This might be the very last conversation I have with anybody on this earth so please. Let’s talk.”

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Goosebumps crawl up Stacy’s body, riddling her forearms. She is absolutely stunned.

“They know I’m virtually on death row so they allow me cigarettes.

Care for a smoke?”

“My father? Cancer?”

“Just this once. You’ve given me your ear. Allow me to give back.

This packet of Marlboro Beyond is literally all I have to my name. So, how about it?”

“Just one.”

“Just one.” he assures her.

Sipho pulls the pack out of his pants, opens it and waves it in front of Stacy. Stacy selects one and picks it out of the pack. Sipho does the same and dumps the pack back in his pocket. He pulls out a box of Lion and strikes a match, lights her up first and then follows with his own cigarette. Stacy pulls twice, coughs and starts giggling.

“I haven’t done this since high school.”

“Good for you!”

Khonzinkosi Memela

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Chapter 3: The Route Cause

Page | 19

“So what made you decide to become a journalist? I mean, you have so many options.”

“I actually wanted to sing, funny enough. I don’t know really. I was in matric and somebody suggested it to me. I never really knew what I wanted to study after matric so I chose to do a course in journalism.

Afterwards I got a job in the Sunday Star. It paid well, I was good with words and people trusted me with their stories.”

“So what is it like to be on the other side of the propaganda machine?”

“Listen, as much as most of the stories are bullshit some of us actually go out there and dig up facts that are worth sharing with the nation. It’s not all bad. Everyday you go back home with a story to tell.”

“And how do you deal with the weight of the world on your shoulders? It must be stressful to carry the load. I once read this book that said ‘the truth will set you free’. Is that true?”

“The book is called ‘the Bible’ and yes. The aim is to uncover the mysteries of the earth one day at a time. Hopefully one day there will no longer be any mysteries to solve and we can all live in peace and harmony.”

“A true tomboy at heart. It’s rare to find a woman that speaks the way you do. Most women are more concerned about their fingernails, hair, you know, trivial things. What car is that guy driving? What phone does he have? How much money does he earn? What girl is he dating?

You guys are pretty materialistic.”

“Excuse me? You guys?”

“Yes, you pretty ladies. Do you know how many black sisters want to be you? They would kill to be in your shoes.”

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“Really? I don’t think that’s true at all. I think they are just expressing themselves and you need to stop passing judgment on other people.”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

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“Why do I get the feeling that you’re about to tell me?”

“You’re as hard as a rock. To be this calm around a 3 time felon, it takes guts. Anyways, I think it’s a low self esteem thing. Black woman have been made to feel inferior to other races by the system, which is in itself race conscious. Why would a Black woman want to have straight hair on her head? What would make her burn her own hair and put chemicals on it to make it curl like that of a coloured woman? Why would she buy hair taken from Indian girls who cut it as a sacrifice to their God? To tell the truth, all of us Black people grew up wishing we were from other races. Our role models from movies made you wish you were a White American. Kung Fu movies made you wish you were Chinese. The bible made you wish you were Jewish. The Catholic faith made you wish you were Italian. Literature and urban etiquette made you wish you were English. It is only when Hip Hop came out that people started looking up to Black role models and guess what they saw: dealers, hustlers and gangsters from American ghettos and now we wish we were the wrong type of Black person. It is all because we don’t love ourselves enough to stand by our original image as a people.”

“But what’s wrong with identifying with other racial types? Aren’t you being a bit too narrow minded here? Take Eminem for instance. He still dresses like a black person to this day. He sags his pants, raps, walks with that bounce you guys do. He even grabs his balls.”

“Which makes him special because it doesn’t happen that often as it does with us. With my people it’s the norm. For instance, all the cars we drive on this country are either made by Americans, European Whites, the Chinese or the Japs. How many Black engineers do we have in this country? How many car designers do we have in this country yet we still import virtually every technological idea that keeps this country running. Our efficiency depends on other racial types and Khonzinkosi Memela

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it is not because we are incapable of stepping up to the plate. It is because we are weak. We have been colonized and for us going to work means finding a slave master relevant to our personal field of work. We are professional slaves to other races, to all other races in fact. You’ll find us in Chinese shops, Indian shops, White markets and Black markets where cheap products that other races reject are circulated amongst my people. You guys don’t have that complex.”

“It not all roses with us neither. We have a high suicide rate, teenagers cutting themselves, etc. No one is perfect. I think you guys focus too much on the negative. In my line of work you realise that Blacks complain a lot about how things should be and that they rarely take the initiative to fix those things themselves. It is as if the theory of personal responsibility as an individual doesn’t apply to the Blacks hence your obsession with government. We also have a government but ask how many of us depend on it for daily bread.”

“Well said. We are a crippled nation, mentally. There is a lack of thought processing, lack of practical application of information in order for one to transform one’s personal existence. We are a socialistic nation and share everything we own as a collective, including misery, pain and all other negative variables in our living equation. Our situation is that of a boy child missing his father who broke out to start a new family with a ‘better’ woman. We are bitter, lost touch with half of our history hence we walk blindly into traps our forefathers battled with centuries ago.”

“You are also superstitious which I don’t quite get. What’s this obsession with witchcraft you guys all have.”

“Blacks bewitch you if they see you achieve what they couldn’t. They believe we must all be equal. The problem is that if we as a nation are poor, who ever makes a decent living stands to be seen as a traitor to his own people. I’ve seen it many times before. I could tell you stories but you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“Try me.”

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“Do you know that some people have the power to take souls from living people and use them to their own benefit? They literally have the ability to extract your soul’s energy and use it on various missions, be it to acquire wealth or to kill a foe. BD has heavy ties with witchcraft circles. I’m talking rural area witches that fly on brooms like you see in cartoons. That’s where their real power lies and they are under the witches’ mercy.”

“Is this what your shaman taught you?”

“I was bewitched as a kid, before birth actually. They can see you before you’re born if you have the gift. Apparently I had a twin sister taken from me and since I was born I’ve kind of been in contact with her without knowing. In the spirit world she gets lonely and flies around seeking my person and when she finds me I have what you call a near death experience. I’ve been through it all: accidents, assassination plots, criminals and cops wanting me dead and in the midst of it all, a spirit world as open to me as a novel one could read off bare air molecules. I have what you call ‘a calling’. I was meant to be a traditional healer but I found out too late, after all the damage was done. Bad luck was my first name. All my gifts and luck was taken from me to benefit the elder who took my twin sister from me.”

“Do you know the person responsible?”

“I’m not sure I want to. The healer just told me what happened and how I could stop it. I had to steam with some herbs and use traditional medicine to throw the evil spirits off track.”

“By evil spirit, do you mean your sister?”

“No I was assigned a demon that tracked me wherever I went, messed up all my possible chances of becoming a father, businessman or even just a respectable member of society.”

“It must be hard to find out something that awful but I still don’t believe in that juju stuff. Call me judgmental.”

Sipho pulls back a little. He lets out a sigh of relief.

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“Yeah I’m coming to terms with it. At first I just drank a lot of booze trying to forget it all. All that did was help me bewitch myself even further. I began acting out the things I was told would happen. It’s that power of attraction stuff.”

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“The secret.”

“Yeah. Whatever you fear you attract. Whatever you love you attract.

The only way for one’s thoughts to manifest is through the physical realm where most of earth’s creatures exist. We can create them subconsciously. For example: a kid is asked what they will study, she says journalism. 4 years later she is in a room with a man about to be convicted of murder for a crime he didn’t commit. It took one thought, via choice and discipline, for an entire matrix of decisions to guide you to this very moment. Everything happens for a reason. When man meditates on this notion there arises a belief that the reason will manifest itself through the collective outcome of options selected at the time of contemplation and action. They forget the fact that a reason for something to take place could be as simple as one thinking about it and putting himself in the picture. Imagination is a superpower only understood by a selected few, many of them being initiated witches. If you can imagine something that has never happened to you before, aligning it with what is real to you, I’m talking faces, places, so and so, that thought has been created and will soon seek life as a self serving experience in the universe with or without your knowing. That’s why we are taught since young to guard our thoughts, words and actions because they always come true.” “’The cop killer’, more like ‘the philosopher’.”

“I don’t know what philosophy is. However, reality is my stepping stone to a greater understanding of the cosmos. Say I die today, after this conversation, no one knows where I’ll go but I have created a heavenly place for myself and that is where my energy will reside.

Flying free like my dead sister, probably spending time with her.”

“Would you say that you’re depressed?”

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“Yes, majorly. I am depressed. Depressed that the system failed me in every way it possibly could. Now I just live to breathe and see another day, that’s all. Do you blame me? Sometime we get caught up in worlds emanated by the thoughts of others. It is called being a victim. I have been a victim all my life and finally I will meet the maker and rest. I have made peace with the fact that this is possibly my last conversation with a person in this life but maybe I’ll move on to something greater.

Who knows?”

“And the devil? You said he exists. Aren’t you afraid of going to hell with all the sins you have committed?”

“Hell is for evil women and men, an eternity they project for themselves by betraying mankind in spite of his creator self. I made mistakes, they committed sins. The two must be separated for they couldn’t possibly be one and the same thing. I’m going to heaven.

That’s where I come from, perhaps my only home on this God forsaken universe.”

Stacy shakes her head and grins. Curiously, Sipho stares at her.

“You know, if I wasn’t a lesbian I could have found a man with your mental calibre attractive. Let’s say there were a heaven and a hell, theoretically speaking. I don’t think God would let you in. Too shabby.

Shave or something. Take care of yourself. When you get out, which you will, Google me. I can clean you up and help you get a pretty fine lady. It’s all in how well you treat yourself. Your personality doesn’t match your look. You are like a diamond that’s covered in rubble. All you need is a little bit of cleaning. Just be positive.”

“They will kill me today. It’s a miracle I’m even alive this very minute.

Remember what I told you about the war. Nice knowing you. I think I’ll go back to my cell now.”

“Thanks for your time Mr. Sipho Gambu, the police killer.”

“Hey, I’ll whip you.”

“I’m sure of it. I’ll do what I can.”

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Sipho stretches his open right hand passed the white steel bars.

Without hesitating, Stacy shakes his hand. She packs her sound recorder and documents, stands up, heads for the door and knocks.

The door opens. She walks out. Once in the passage way Officer Mshengu grabs her by her left arm.

“What did he say to you?”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential.”

“Even if it might help us solve the case?”

“You are one of them aren’t you?”

“Black Diamond? I’m afraid he played you for a fool Miss Williams.”

Officer Mshengu breaks out in loud menacing laughter.

Stacy is embarrassed. Her face turns red. Furiously she turns back and rushes towards the unlocked door. Officer Mshengu remains outside of the visiting room, watching as Stacy busts through into it. Hands over her waist, Officer Mshengu shakes her head and walks back to the reception. “These children. My Lord!”

“I have been waiting for you.” Sipho greets, still stuck to his steel chair, not having moved an inch.

“Are you making a fool of me? You did it, didn’t you?”

“You have a problem listening. Let me start afresh. Take out your recorder this time. I want this to come out no later than tomorrow morning. Publish every single thing I tell you, word for word.”

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Stacy grabs her Nike bag, unzips it, pulls out her sound recording device, bones rattling, anxious. She raises her eyes. Sipho is no where to be found.

“What the hell…”

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“I’m over here!” a voice whispers from behind her right ear. Terrified, she jumps upwards, the bag slips, accidentally smashing the sound recorder into pieces. She freezes in fear. Rapidly, Sipho grabs her body from behind, forces his left palm over her mouth. Stacy screams. The wardens hear her cry for help. Lights fade, briefly, switch off for a few seconds, on again. Wardens rush in, closing the door behind them, in case Sipho plans to escape. Stacy is pleased. Wardens look around the room. They see nothing.

“What the hell? Where are they?” Officer Mshengu screams in desperation.

A warden busts in from Sipho’s side. All he sees is Officer Mshengu on the opposite side of the steel bars.

“Where are they?” asks the guard.

Sipho lets go of Stacy’s mouth and body .

“Here! I’m over here.” says Stacy. She runs towards Officer Mshengu, reaches for her person only to run right through her. She opens the door, runs out only to find herself in the same room, standing next to Sipho, without the two authority figures.

“You can scream all you want to. They can’t hear you now. You said you wanted to know the truth. Welcome to my world!”

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Chapter 4: Life or Death

Lights switch off. They flick back on. Stacy finds herself in a different room, bare amongst 2 identical naked 3 metres tall ogres to either side of her. The room is cosmic, no beginning or ending. Dark with hints of grey mist, she is oblivious to the nature of her physical situation. She is terrified, visibly shaken, apparently submissive. From a far appears a Black man in all-white garments, a white beanie, white long robe and white sandals. His clothes shine so bright they are blinding to the human eye. In the grip of his palm rests a set of red beads. The mysterious figure moves closer and closer, each step slow and calculated. Suddenly, Stacy suffers an abrupt anxiety attack and physically collapses in the moment, briefly vomiting blood.

The figure throws the set of beads in front of her face. The beads transform slowly into a mirror in a form of an illuminated photo frame.

“Look at it?” says Sipho.

Stacy does as she is told. In the mirror is the image of Melanie in the hands of another woman, in bed under a red duvet, cuddling.

“Wait a minute?” says Stacy, “That’s S’phesihle. I know this girl. I mean, Melanie invited her over to my birthday party just last year.”

“What are you going to do, now that you know she’s been two-timing you throughout the entire period of your dealings?”

“I’m going to kill her.”

“Really?”

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Sipho throws a steel spear beside the mirror. “Pick it up!” he says.

“No!” “Pick it up.” Sipho says, annoyed.

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“No. I don’t want to. I’m not a killer like you.”

“How many times must I tell you? I didn’t kill Officer Smith. Now, pick up the bloody spear and stab her through the heart with it, the same heart that cares so much for you. Have you ever heard of corrective rape? My two naked affiliates peaking over your flesh are pure immortals. Do you know when last they tasted the sweet fruit of a pretty woman in her early twenties? Never. Pick it up!”

Indeed, Stacy picks up the spear by the blade. She sits up right and stares at the image reflected in the mirror.

“How the fuck can she do this to me? Hell...”

She adjusts her body frame with intent to stab through the image. Not a second later she springs to her feet and swings her spear at one of the giants. The spear passes through the giant’s heart as if he was but a cloud of smoke. Frustrated she lets out a loud cry. She sits back down, hips together, both hands covering her private parts.

“Wise choice! Can I tell you a secret?”

“What?”

“None of this exists, not even me, nor you for that matter but in this world we have the power to affect what happens in the world out there.”

“What, like the Matrix?” asks Stacy, furious.

“Not quite. Matrix is a feature film. However, this is your life. I can see you really love your partner. You passed the test.”

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Sipho throws a white robe, white sandals and a white beanie over the mirror. “Here, put these on!”

“And my panties?”

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“Do I look like a pervert? Miss Williams, you are trying my patience.

Dress up. Let’s go?”

“Go where?” she asks, standing up right, robe in hand as she delicately throws it over her naked body, following up with the bright beanie and sandals “In case you haven’t noticed, you have just been recruited to my secret society. We go by the name ‘The Invisible Masters’, TIM for short.”

“Your secret society? What are you?”

“Miss Williams, I am but a man at your divine service. That set of beads in your hand...”

Stacy looks at her right palm, in it is a set of white beads.

“Protects you from the world out there. It keeps you invisible. For the next few hours I am your best friends, your confidant, you worst enemy. What I say is law. No questions. Are we clear?”

“How come my beads are white? I want red ones.”

“Men, your freedom is past due. Your virginity precedes you. Your services are deeply appreciated. Off you go!”

The two giants walk off into the infinite mist. Sipho and Stacy are left behind.

“Were you really going to let those monsters rape me? Their penises are about the size of my arm. I would have died.”

“Of course, but only if you had chosen the path of the wicked. Had you stabbed the mirror the only victim would have been you. It’s one Khonzinkosi Memela

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of the 11 principles of energy. Do to others as you would have them do unto you. Some book...”

“The bible?”

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“Yes, I think, speaks of a man that came from the other side of conscious reality. His attempts to initiate his entire tribe to this etheric paradigm, where only a few of us exists, were futile, carrying with them the seed of destruction and death, his greatness therefore, shunned and snuffed out by the political arm of human dictatorships.”

“It was actually the Pharisees.”

“Brotherhoods run the world. They come in many organisations, shapes, forms and sizes. The Pharisees were but a small part of the whole.”

“And BD? Are they real?”

“Everything exists, Miss Williams. Everything! However we do have an individual choice to make, that which determines the rest of our existence on earth, at least until the life cycle breaks, and that decision is...”

“What parts of reality do we carry with us on our journey...”

“To the grand realisation of ourselves and the universe around us.

Yes! We are infinite experience. There is one true reality. Individually, we are but reflections of the grand sphere of objective truth, each standing on different ground hence interpretations vary in general.”

“Why me?”

“Why not you? If not you then who? That’s the question most fail to answer when enveloped in misery and regret over self-initiated energy cycles.”

“Are you God?”

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“Blasphemy!” The room trembles as if an earthquake. “There is only one God and I’m not him. What I am, is balance. There is pure evil.

I’m pure good, unadulterated, emphasis on the term ‘adult’” “An angel?”

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“An agent of the Highest, the creator.”

“What do you want from me? It’s obviously not sex. You would have raped me by now already.”

“Nothing really. We get bored too. Company perhaps. See it as a date with someone who is neither a woman nor a man.”

“Then what are you?”

“Energy. I can wear whatever face or gender I please. To me, sex doesn’t exist.”

“So I take it you don’t have a romantic partner.”

“For every righteous cause there are sacrifices.”

“I guess no good deed goes unpunished.”

“Right my darling. By the way I can read your thoughts. You will soon learn to convey your intellectual messages without moving your lips, but that’s only if you wish to.”

“Dude, telepathy, ESP, that’s a bit too witch-crafty for me, hey. My lips are doing just fine. So, what are the 11 principles of energy?” Stacy says, trying to buy herself some time whilst contemplating an escape.

“1. It can not be destroyed. 2. It bends through will. 3. Cause overrules will. 4. Mass and volume are governed by laws of temperature. 5. It is eternal, but goes through many different phases in search of its true self, that which it was in the beginning hence it is capable of changing forms, density, colour, being, etc. 6. Nothing is Khonzinkosi Memela

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incorruptible. 7. Imagination is but an interpretation of what is. 8. It seeks balance hence opposites attract only to repel after a short period of time, the natural cause for change. 9. It expresses itself via many mediums, many an entity. 10. It is programmed through intension, that intention, in the end, shall seek its origin, a little concept widely addressed as karmic justice. And finally, 11. Energy is man’s greatest illusion. Its fabric is that of elusive magic, slips right through his fingers if his will is misunderstood even by a single increment of a percentage.

Simple, straight to the point wouldn’t you say.”

“I was expecting equations on a chalk board but that will do. Are you sure you’re not going to ask me to sleep with you after this ‘date’? I am kind of a ‘lesbian’” “If I did, what would your answer be? Tell me. I’m curious.”

“No, if my life be spared but if it’s what it takes for me to return back to the world I know and my loved ones then...”

“Then nothing. Miss Williams, you are an attractive woman, I’m sure, but you and I are two different species. Cats don’t mate with dogs.

Catch my drift?”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“What I mean to say is I am a spirit and you’re not. The bedrock of your programming is genetic coding. Naturally, your genes follow the principles of energy. They seek to remain immortal hence the development of what you call a ‘reproductive organ’, one that seeks nothing but to find the right antibody to bond with and perish to a new state of being. What you humans call a soul mate is an answer to your primary genetic question which is: what shape or form will I take next, a question soon answered by your progeny. I do not have genes Miss Williams. My sex drive is zero, zilch. I am immortal, I don’t have the same quest for immortality that you do.”

“Do you even have emotions?”

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“For exactly what specific purpose? It is good to be aware of the energy you evoke at all times. Emotions are a way humans translate feelings about broken links, a trap of the ever-living memory cell that tracks your life times to the very first. I exist but only once. I do not have emotions. I do not need them like say, you for instance. For a while you contemplated the murder of your own fiancé in front of mere strangers. Quite an emotional experience I must add. Catch my drift? If my memory serves me well, in your past life, your husband left you for an older woman and totally broke your heart. You felt inadequate and gullible, perhaps. Seeing your fiancé in bed with another sex partner triggered old feelings. However, this body, which you inhabit in this very moment, is foreign to such experiences so the only way your soul could express these feelings physically, through the body, was through communicating those feelings as sensory induced behaviour patterns, otherwise known as emotions.”

“So emotions are evil?”

“Do you really want to know why I picked you? I picked you because you’re a journalist. You’re forever asking questions in search for illumination, that of you and the many other citizens of your land.

Bravo, pat yourself on the back, you deserve it. It is impossible for you to get an overview of your past lives and therefore impossible to control your emotions. This means that the more you develop, the more they evolve and in the end they will consume your energy totally. The key is to identify your triggers and lay them to rest. Your past lives failed you in one aspect or another, whatever it may be hence you returned in a different body to create new experiences for yourself. You body is a vehicle your soul drives. Vehicles change but the driver evolves. There is a difference. Why be reactive when you can be proactive. Close you eyes. Hold your beads tightly, almost squeezing them.”

Stacy does as she is told.

“Now imagine a situation, a peaceful place with no possible human contact, safe from your stress response units.”

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Stacy takes a moment to think, nothing comes to mind. An entire minute passes.

“I can’t think of anything.”

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“Think clearly. Come on. It shouldn’t be that difficult a task.”

Stacy focuses harder. Nothing comes to mind.

“Then I guess this room will do, for now. A word of advice, if you do not learn to conjure will-power you could find yourself stuck in here with me, for a long time. In the outside world you might go missing, find yourself murdered somewhere. People often ask questions we are not quite ready to answer, Miss Williams. Think about it.”

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Chapter 5: The Unveiling

“You’re obviously not who say you are. Sipho Gambu, who’s he?”

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“The story of the international Black man personified. Black vs.

White, that’s the nature of war on all realms, however there is a grey area where most things exist. He is a real person in a real situation.

What he told you is all real. I just made an appearance for God’s sake.

The law states that we shouldn’t intervene past a certain point as far as current human affairs are concerned. We need your help, as much as you need ours. It’s a fair trade.”

“So, what’s your real name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Grey. I’ve been alive for so long they named a colour after me. Grey El in my name. I’m sure you can guess the meaning of my family name.”

“Grey El. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah, I guess, but you can call me Sipho for the duration of this crash course of ours. Let’s try this once more. Close your eyes and listen carefully to the sound of my voice. I want you to visualise everything I say to its finest detail, I’m talking visuals, audio, smell, taste, the whole 9.”

Stacy bows her head, closes her eyes and waits for the first command.

She clutches on her set of white beads with her right palm and opens up her imagination channels. She is encompassed in overwhelming stillness. Colourful visions fill her mind, that of fish in the sea. She can smell salt in the ocean. She feels violent winds crash against her sensitive skin. Chills crawl up her spinal chord.

“This is great.” she says, excited.

“Open them.”

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Stacy opens her eyes. She and Sipho are standing on top of an enormous wave. Like the room they were in previously, there is no beginning or ending to their physical situation.

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Stacy quickly suffers from short breath. She gets weak in the knees as she realises they are situated in the middle of one of Earth’s seven oceans.

“Ever heard of the Indian ocean?” says Sipho, smirk on his face.

Stacy screams so hard she burns out her voice. At her first peak of what is going on beneath their feet, she collapses. Immediately, she drowns.

Gasping for air, she makes an attempt to swim to the top of the water but each effort leads to her drowning even further into the pits of the ocean. Her tears and sweat are consumed in the water around her person.

She cries with her mouth open wide, simultaneously swallowing gallons of unclean water into her body, making her even heavier against the water’s light particles. Death is knocking on her front door. For about a minute she descends into the ocean, mindful of the danger that lurks within the vast waters. Through her peripheral, a shark approaches at a high speed. Her mind wanders, contemplates on her limited options.

She soon comes to the conclusion that death is certain. She wishes for just one more chance to start this whole experience over, of course with a little more experience to guide her through. Literally seconds from being torn from limb to limb by the infamous Great White, Stacy clutches her beads and closes her eyes. Lights go out.

Feeling clean air travelling deep inside her lungs without interruption, Stacy takes a deep breath. Her expression is a vibrant smile, face full of colour and grace. She is alive and well. She opens her eyes to see Sipho standing right next to her, holding her left hand with his right.

“You learn quickly!”

“You don’t say!” says an excited Stacy Williams.

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They stand overlooking the howling waters in the middle of the ocean.

A humungous wave approaches slowly, from the front, heading their direction.

“Not again. What now.” Stacy says with a deflated face.

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“Faith. Command the waves to fall back and they will have no choice either than to do just that. They are but simulations in our program.

We encode the texts that form the script on which we interface with reality. Don’t close your eyes this time.”

Stacy stares at the terrifying wave approaching, getting nearer every second. She takes a deep breath, positions her feet gently, stretches her right hand in front her, perpendicular to her torso.

“I command you to fall back,” she shouts.

The script gets rewritten. The wave is simply deleted off the program, as if it never posed a threat to the odd pair.

“Walk with me.” Sipho suggests calmly, still holding her left hand with his right. Stacy looks into his eyes and nods. Slowly they stroll in what seems to be a directionless walk. Stacy looks down. Her feet dip inside the water by two inches.

“Don’t look down. We don’t want a repeat of what happened earlier on, very embarrassing I must say. Had you drowned like that on a real date I wonder what your date would make of you. Another thing, you didn’t have to breathe underwater at all. The water isn’t real. All these challenges carry within them 1 simple truth. Our will on a never ending quest for survival has but one enemy, fear, the feeling overwhelms all neuron related activity in the mind, paralysing the brain and ultimately causing poor reaction, compromising the ability of the organ. It has one friend, an active imagination and means to see that imagination through and into the material world, through focus and activation of will over circumstance via clear intention and the sacred art of formulating vivid mental pictures. This ability, coupled with instinct is what separates the boys from the men. Life is a sea of imagination. Some drown, some float, others live within it and others see it for what it is; life as imagined Khonzinkosi Memela

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by its creator, created, of course, with the capability of imagination we inherited at creation. This power to alter reality through training the mind on matters relating to focus allows you the strength to access freedom of expression, your right as a daughter of the Highest. You now belong to the latter” “So God is real.”

“Is the shark real? Is the wave real?”

“Yes they were, until I imagined them away.”

“That’s what happened to Him also. Through freewill his own sons and daughters wished Him away, changed Him around and reintroduced him as a puppet of man’s subconscious behavioural patterns. Stacy, God is a living entity, has senses beyond any man can conceive, is omnipresent, infinite energy that can not be bottled into shape or form but can take any shape or form it needs while remaining omnipotent and omnipresent throughout the entire universe, his domain of expression. Extraterrestrial life forms are way ahead of you, as far as the grand cosmic awakening is concerned, however man is Gods personal project, one that must be seen through to completion with time. The reason why the devil uses man as a weapon against God is because of the amount of hurt generated by man’s art of deception to his maker.”

“All this time I thought God was either non-existent man or a superpower drunk of his own corruption. So, he loves me?”

“More than anything in the world, the reason why it hurts so much when you deny him in front of the enemy.”

“Oh my God! You’re really are an angel.”

“Now that you know we exist, how about we send you back to Earth to live your life with the knowledge of ‘Us’ in mind. Miracles could happen, who knows.”

Stacy nods. She grabs her set of beads, shuts her eyes, lights go out.

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Upon her return to Earth she feels sunlight generating from deep in the left side of her chest. The feeling is warm and comfortable, incredibly pleasant, orgasmic even. The sensation is pure, as if she was being delivered at birth with a burst of life just waiting for her the minute she gets to the other side. On her way there she falls asleep.

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Chapter 6: Prodigal Daughter

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Stacy opens her eyes. She wakes up in the middle of Spar, pushing a trolley, in it a basket of fruits and some biscuits. She is overwhelmed by the number of colours surrounding her person. Realising she is back to reality she cracks an ear-to-ear smile, pushing her trolley towards the till. She joins the line, still looking around with her eyes wide open. She wonders if she could control her reality the same way she could in Grey’s world.

Beside the till, a stack of newspapers lay suspended on a white metallic stand. ‘Officer Shot through the Heart: Found Dead with a Knife Wound Over his Left Kidney’ reads as headlines to one of her rival newspapers. She is suddenly made aware of the reality of Sipho Gambu’s situation.

“I wish I could...”

She stares down at her body to see a set of white beads flow neatly down her cleavage.

Having paid for the groceries and walked into her building she enters the elevator, throws her heavy groceries on the floor, presses number four and waits. The elevator’s electric doors shut, the cart begins to levitate. After about 2 minutes of stopping and moving, the elevator reaches the fourth floor. She walks out of the elevator, hurries over to room 437 and knocks on the door. No one answers. She can hear the bed moving. She listens quietly, turning red in the face.

She feels sick in the gut. After knocking for a minute or so, Stacy grabs her set of white beads by hand and closes her eyes. She opens them and finds herself on the apartment’s balcony, as she had imagined.

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Slowly she cracks the door open. Having taken off her shoes, she slowly steps inside bachelor flat, conscious of the sound made by her socks hitting the shiny tiles.

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Finally she stands right next to the bed. As expected, on the bed lays her girlfriend Melanie, along with S’phesihle. They are engaged in the act of passionate sexual intercourse. Softly, she sits on the corner of the bed. Frightened, the couple jumps off the bed, covering their bodies with what ever they can put their hands on.

“What the fuck?” S’phesihle screams. “How did you get inside my house?”

Melanie is shocked. She can hardly put a sentence together.

“Guess what,” says Stacy, “today, she’s moving in with you. Is that OK with you?” she continues. She then looks over to Melanie’s frightened frame and smiles harshly. “Oh, don’t let me stop you. Fuck your brains away. You,” she says looking at Melanie, “come get your clothes ASAP. I want you gone as in, like, yesterday.”

“Get out!” S’phesihle says, covering her breasts with a red bathroom towel.

“You can have her! You two deserve one another! Hell...”

Stacy paces towards door, twists the knob open and walks out, slamming the door behind her. Carrying her heavy load by herself, she diligently climbs up the stair case, all the way to the 6th floor and into her flat having taken the keys from one of the security guards on the way into the building.

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Inside her apartment, there is a large chocolate cake written ‘Happy Birthday with Love: Melanie’. Stacy pauses, wonders if she hasn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life. Ultimately, she breaks down and cries. Her whole body is shaking. She is emotionally unstable and weak. Without unpacking her groceries, she walks across the bachelor flat and throws herself on her made bed, almost submissively, hugging the clean white pillow as her teary eyed face digs into it, desperately.

Silently, she weeps, too proud to let the world in on her brutal distress.

For a minute she contemplates whether or not the decision she made to come back to reality was at all a good idea or just failure to accept what is. ‘The whole time I’ve been living a lie’ she thinks to herself.

Her mind begins to question all the events that took place earlier on in the day but her faith is assured by the beads and the fact that she was able to teleport into S’phesihle’s apartment. Having cried for a brief period of 12 minutes she falls asleep, suddenly.

Knock, knock. The door shouts ‘Open me. Now!’ Stacy wakes up and shakes her head, still in bed.

“Go away.” Stacy says to herself.

The knocking persists. Irritably, Stacy springs off her bed with intention to kill whatever lurks on the other side of the door handle.

“I’ll kill her. I swear!” she continues.

Forcefully, she opens the door, fist clenched and ready to fly.

“Oh, Hi honey!” says Casey Williams, Stacy’s mom.

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“Oh, it’s you!” Stacy replies, still furious.

“Who did you think it was? Did I come at the wrong time?”

“No. I’m sorry. Come in!”

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“Happy birthday honey!”

“Not you too! Just come in, please mom. Thank you.”

Casey walks in, sees the chocolate cake and smiles. “Hand me a knife darling. Love Melanie, so, where is that hyperactive girlfriend of yours anyway? She never misses your birthday. She’s a party animal that one.”

“That, she is mom. Sit down please, I’ll dish for you.”

Casey unpacks her groceries, frozen foods in the fridge, the rest in their respective cupboards and drawers. Stacy pulls a sharp knife from the drawer, cuts two pieces of cake and throws the knife in the sink.

Casey sits on the couch, grabs the remote controller and switches on the TV. “That’s my little girl.” affirms Casey. “So, why aren’t you out and about with your friends? You know, now that I think about it, you’ve always been a bit of an introvert.”

Stacy hands Casey her saucer, sits next to her and places hers on her lap. They begin digging into their slices of cake.

“I don’t know, I just prefer being by myself. That’s just how I am.”

“Who broke your heart now darling? It’s that girl isn’t it? I never like her.”

“How did you know?”

“Come on now darling. We’ve all been through it. Your father was no saint either. It’s part of life. Don’t let a few disappointments determine Khonzinkosi Memela

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the rest of your life, baby. Besides, depression is no good for anyone of us, especially in this family.”

“By family you mean you and I, right?” Stacy comments with a smile on her face.

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“Yes, us! When last did you speak to Dr. Dlamini?”

“Just last night.”

“OK. How are things at work?”

“Fine! I had an interview with Sipho the ‘cop killer’.”

“I don’t know where you get the guts to talk to these people honey, definitely not from me. So, do you think he did it?”

“No! In fact, I know he didn’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I just know. There is no way that guy murdered a police officer. He’s totally innocent. It’s all a cover up.”

“Are you sure?”

“As a matter of fact, yes I am sure.”

“Whatever.”

“Wait a minute. Grey told me Sipho is just a figment of his imagination. If that’s the case then, who killed Officer Smith?”

“Well why don’t you talk to him? And who is this grey person?”

“Actually, I think I will.”

“Great honey! Listen, I have a few things I need to pick up at the Laundromat. I will see you next week Thursday, that’s if you’re still interested in an old boring birthday party.”

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“Count me in.”

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Casey stands on her feet, grabs her bag and walks out of the door. Stacy is left smiling. Her Nokia 5110 rings. Her first instinct is to ignore it completely. After a short while she grabs her Nike bag and pulls out her cellular phone. Click!

“Stacy Williams, hello!” she says.

There is dead silence on the other end of the phone. “Hello, speak louder, please. I can’t hear you.” After a few seconds Stacy terminates the call, places the phone on the couch, next to her person. After a few seconds the phone starts ringing again. She picks it up and reads the number. The first three numbers are unfamiliar. It is not a local network. She takes a second to breathe and accepts the call, puts the phone to her ear.

“Hi, this is Stacy Williams. You are?” There is silence once more.

“Sipho is that you?”

“We are warning you.” a fuzzy voice says, “Stay away from things you don’t understand.”

“Are you a member of BD?” “BD is a myth, one you know absolutely nothing about. Mind your own business.”

“Who are you?” asks Stacy anxiously.

“We are watching you.” says the voice briefly before dropping the phone.

Stacy is in a state of shock. “What the hell just happened?” she says to herself. She thinks nothing of it, watches her television until she falls asleep.

21: 44. There is a knock on her door. Without thinking, she wakes up, heads for the door and twists the knob. It is Melanie.

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“What do you want?” asks Stacy.

“She kicked me out. I’m sorry?” replies Melanie.

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Stacy is out of words, pissed. She opens the door wide open and invites Melanie in.

“Thank you, babe. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.

Things just went haywire.”

“How long have you been seeing her?”

“I’m so sorry!”

“How long Melanie?”

“2 years. But I promise it wasn’t anything serious. It’s just that with you studying and working all time, I kind of get lonely sometimes, you know? We had this party at her place. 1 thing led to another and before I knew it-” “Melanie, it’s fine?”

“What?”

“It’s fine, I forgive you.”

Melanie’s jaw drops. She is stunned. Stacy walks over to the bed, grabs her blanket and throws it on the couch.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” says Stacy.

Melanie is silent.

“Melanie, is that fine with you?” continues Stacy.

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“Dude whatever. Just switch off the lights when you’re done changing.

OK?”

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Melanie switches off the lights, slides in the bed in her turquoise Hugo Boss jeans and white Adidas hooded sweater. Stacy grabs the remote controller, switches off the television set, lies on the couch and wraps a blanket around her body. The silence is deafening.

“You really love me!” says Melanie, embarrassed, heartbroken and abandoned.

“Just go to sleep dude.”

“I can make it up to you if you want.”

“Go to sleep, please. Thank you!”

“You know, this is part of the reason all of this happened. You can be very cold at times. Why won’t you touch me?”

Stacy is tired and irate. She barely has energy to talk.

“Listen, if I take you back will you stop talking?”

Melanie sheds a smile. She does as she is told and holds her peace.

They both stay wide awake, a minute, an hour, hours, not a single word being spoken between them. Eventually they both fall asleep.

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Chapter 7: I Am

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Stacy wakes up, yawns and stretches her limbs, wipes the cold from her eyes. She looks around and sees nothing for kilometres on end. From the bottom of the ground a grey mist surfaces. The place becomes enveloped in thick smog, choking her as she coughs for release.

Struggling to associate with her surroundings she suffers another anxiety attack. Immediately, she runs out of breath, gasps miserably in desperation. Finally she vomits out the cake she had had the previous night, instantly catching her breath afterwards.

“We meet again Miss Williams.” Sipho says.

“You again.” she replies.

“How is your girlfriend? Melanie right?”

“Dude, don’t ask.”

“I must say. I’m impressed by the way you handled yourself amidst all that emotional turmoil your situation kindly introduced to you.”

“I love her.”

“I know that. Tell me, how was it?”

“We didn’t make love if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No I mean being back to reality after our first encounter.”

Stacy smiles out her embarrassment, blushes and sits up. She clears her throat. “Eventful.”

“Nice to know.”

“What would you have done if you were me?”

“I’ve never been you, I’m not you and I definitely will never be you.

This makes it very difficult for me to relate to your situation, but given Khonzinkosi Memela

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the chance to offer some advice, I’d tell you never to lose faith in happiness.”

“That’s what my mom said.”

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“Yes Casey, a very brilliant lady who loves herself. I’d take her advice if I were you. Parents have an innate ability to council their children on our behalf. Mothers get initiated into shamanism the day their first born is conceived.”

“Are you my guardian angel?”

“Could be. I’m an archangel. My job is to oversee guardian angels and make sure they don’t skip a day on their jobs.”

“So, who’s my angel?”

“Alu-Rahel. It means ‘all belongs to God’. He or She sees your intentions through, one at a time.”

“He or She, is that why I’m gay?”

“Angels are neither male nor female. They are pure energy. I say ‘he or she’ because you humans can’t imagine a life outside sex. She saved you from that car accident you were involved in at age 5. Remember that? Remember what happened to your second boyfriend the day he laid a hand on you?”

“He got a taste of his own medicine?”

“Robbed, beaten, stabbed and stripped naked in front of girls. His angels got tired of defending him and handed him over to Alu-Rahel who doesn’t mind punishing the unjust.”

“What are you guys, the angels I mean?”

“We are an organization, one that sees to it that nature’s laws are neither broken nor corrupted. Our guide is a tablet with 11 principles of energy. Our job is to, under these principles, educate, protect, avenge if need be, and initiate humans into their higher selves whom Khonzinkosi Memela

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we stay in contact with for centuries on end. Upon reaching this state of awareness they gain access to larger truths about existence hence they stop surviving and start living.”

“What are the laws of nature?”

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“They are the gravity that holds it all together. If you follow the Ten Commandments handed to Moses you pretty much got it covered.”

“Is Moses real?”

“Yes, in fact he was an angel incarnate, an emissary of God’s love personified.”

“But I hear he broke all Ten Commandments, physically. This Rass Kass song has this punch line that says ‘like Moses on Mount Sinai I broke all ten’. It’s funny right?”

“Yes, it is I am afraid. Very intelligent man, well read, highly informative. He also has this song titled ‘Interview with a Vampire’ featuring God and Lucifer. That was tight.”

“Excuse me! That was tight? Are you even allowed to speak like that?”

“You guys do it all the time. It’s like watching Americans on TV. You can’t help but end up inheriting some of their traits and mannerisms.

We oversee everything from children to gangsters in prison to rappers, believe it or not. We monitor each and every single living organism on earth, be it trees, animals or humans.”

“And people like BD?” “They’re imitators, a trait they inherited from their Godhead. The one you said doesn’t exist.”

“Lucifer?”

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“Samael, during the times of his divine service. He got his new alias after having converted into Ego, a godless way of perceiving reality from the point of view of unapologetic entitlement.”

“So, he does exist?”

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“Like the rest of us do, yes.”

“And Michael?”

“I am Michael.”

“But aren’t you Grey?”

“Yes I am?”

“I’m confused?”

“You aught to be. I’d be worried if you were not confused.”

“That’s your answer?”

“Yes! Moving on to better things, what do you want out of life, besides, of course, solving the case of the ‘cop killer’?”

“Let me think. I don’t know really. Like, a normal life maybe?”

“What does normal mean to you?”

“It means nothing out of the ordinary. I would like to be like everyone else, you know, love, wealth, health and such.”

“Yes but what exactly is your purpose on earth? In other words, every person has this one thing that they feel they should achieve before meeting certain death. They feel as though if that mission were not completed during the course of that particular life time, they would never be able to forgive themselves, even in the afterlife. What is yours?”

“Mine is justice. I want to expose corruption in high places and free society from propaganda. I feel as though society, at large, is being Khonzinkosi Memela

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manipulated every second. I want to be one of the guiding lights amongst the darkness, helping transform the globe into a new world of truth, justice and equality.”

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“This is planet Earth Miss Williams. There are forces beyond your control. There is a world wide army of evil mercenaries who seek nothing but to kill for elevated status in this global gang. Mysteries exist for a reason, wouldn’t you say Miss Williams? Blood ties are what connect them and they’re sworn into the fraternity through murder, rape and secrets beyond your wildest imagination.”

“Who, BD?” “You have a problem listening. How many times must I tell you that BD is but a fraction of the whole? There is a conspiracy against humankind in its entirety. It originated in the heavenly realms and spread all the way through to planet Earth where Samael was built a holding cell and told to await trial. A day to God is a thousand years.

To you people that’s a millennium. I have been alive for an infinite number of these and will tell you that this conspiracy is no longer than 6 days of age. Only on the 7th day shall judgment be passed on by the righteous ruler of all realms.”

“It’s funny how you stand here, lecturing me on all the matters and mysteries of the planet. Seriously though, why would God just sit back and let all these things happen? It’s not like he doesn’t have the power to turn things around.”

“I don’t speak for God and do clearly state that I do not have a clue as to why these things are allowed to happen. It is not my place to create reasons on his behalf. What I understand from years of watching you is this however: that every man alive knows right from wrong. This is a fact that needs no further verification. For every good act there is a reward, for every evil act there is a consequence. We tell you to choose your words wisely, instead you gossip, curse one another and swear oaths in exchange for money, power and respect. We tell you to guard your actions yet at the very first sign of desperation violence becomes a tool of expression. We tell you to watch your thoughts, instead you act Khonzinkosi Memela

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without thinking. These things have nothing to do with God. However, having failed yourselves time after time, you turn your attention to God, blaming him for every single decision you have ever made in this life time. Would you rather God lived your life for you?”

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Stacy is silenced. She stands up and dusts herself with her palms. Sipho disappears into thin air.

“So,” says Stacy, “I feel like a hamburger. Mind if I have one?”

She grabs her set of white beads and imagines a King Steer with extra cheese, alongside a large Coke and chips. She closes her eyes.

Having spent a few seconds strengthening her wish-force, she opens her eyes to see herself sitting across Sipho at a Steers outlet.

“No way!” she says.

“Yes way.” Sipho replies. “You can’t isolate objects from events Miss Williams. The two go hand in hand. With every objective comes experience. Masters are those highly skilled in effectively aligning the two to a perfect science that works.”

“What if these people recognise you as the ‘cop killer’?” whispers Stacy to Sipho, “They have your face on every newspaper, every news channel, billboards even, you name it.”

“Then I guess a slab of meat is just not worth it. Feel free to feast.”

“Aren’t you going to order anything?”

“How many times must I tell you...?”

“Angels don’t get hungry blah blah, try a new line.”

“You know, love is a very interesting thing.”

“Why do you say that?” says Stacy, digging into her grilled burger.

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“I sat that because of what’s about to happen 7 seconds from now.”

5, 4, 3, 2, 1... Melanie and S’phesihle walk into the restaurant holding hands.

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“Wait, is that? This girl, though!” says Stacy, shaking her head.

“The reason we don’t give humans the capability to see people for who they really are is so they can give one another a chance to learn how to love with a complete heart.”

“She’s a total bitch!”

“She’s an insecure brat.”

“She’s cheating on me.”

“She’s in a relationship with herself. You represent a part of her that feels neglected. So does the other girl. The question is do you want to spend the rest of your life as a standard mirror to someone whose selfimage is broken to begin with?”

“I’m going to kill her!”

Sipho shakes his head and smiles. He grabs a knife and throws it in front of her person. “Then stab her. Go ahead?”

“So you can have your goons rape me? Nope!”

“You’re a leader, she is a follower. The problem is that followers generally follow pretty much anyone in front of them. They thrive on being led by an authority figure, hence your relationship. Look at her.

She’s totally lost. It’s as if she’s just waiting for someone to come and save her.”

“Doesn’t she have a guardian angel?”

“Prima Donna. She coined the term. Lazy as hell. Melanie pretty much lives off other people’s guardian angels, for instance, yours. Ever wonder why she feels so protected when she’s around you? How many Khonzinkosi Memela

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times has she run to you after having had an altercation with a particular person? You’re her rock and strength, part of the reason why you can’t possibly find it in you to leave her, no matter how promiscuous she gets. You feel as though you would be betraying her or selling her out to a world full of predators.”

“Is that normal?”

“Look at it this way. You’re here, she’s over there. Do me a favour.

Don’t act upon the things I show to you when you get to the other side.

What you see here stays here. If you want to act on it, wait for something to happen naturally. I prefer to keep my whereabouts secret.”

“She’s so weak, though. Like, I should hold her hand 24/7. It’s like having a child your age.”

“How unfortunate for you? You’re also a protector so chances are you need her in your life as much as she needs you. You value the protection of those around you more than that of your own person, which could sometimes lead a person into having what they call a ‘Christ Complex’. You guys are a perfect match. You rely on one another to the point where if one were removed from the equation the emotional scale would topple on one side and fly through the roof on the other.”

“That explains everything. Wow, I’ve never looked at it like that before. It really makes sense.”

“Relationships are a way of balancing the scales, a way of cancelling out the negatives within one’s character through picking a practical teacher of your choice. A man might go through a number of pretty girls only to be taught that looks are but a surface that covers what lies within, that being character and personality, in other words a template of cognitive, psychosocial and emotional reactions. Enough with the folly. Come with me.”

“Where? Is there something you want to show me?”

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“There is more to life than Melanie and friends Miss Williams. Come on. Close your eyes.”

Stacy does as she is told. She bows her head, closes her eyes and waits.

Lights flick in and out.

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“Now open them.” says Sipho.

Stacy opens her eyes. She looks around and sees a dungeon with a group of people seated around a round table, dressed in grey suits. The conversation is vividly heated. All she can make of it is a few isolated words but the rest of the conversation sound like white noise. They speak in a foreign language, using only a few English words here and there.

“What are they saying?”

“Listen clearly. All languages are similar; rather focus on the energy they give off to try and understand the logic behind their words.”

“Should I use my beads?”

“If you think it’ll help, be my guest.”

Stacy grabs on to her beads and concentrates. She begins stepping in the direction of the conversation, getting closer and closer. “Are you sure they can’t see me?”

“They would have already killed you by now. Microchips prevent them from dying from all the gasses that are released in this room.”

“Where are we?”

“We are 150 floors beneath the Earth’s crust, United States of America. When they say ‘In too deep’ they mean a situation like this.”

Upon reaching the table, Stacy peaks over it and listens. Around the table are 13 masked men and women amongst what looks like 2 very grey short wide eyed human beings.

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“We are at the peak of our mission. All seven continents have been prepared for the next movement.”

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“We are wasting time on these idiots. Why not just blow them up once and for all. We already have nuclear arms planted in every country, just waiting for the red button to get pressed.”

“And be what, an army without soldiers? We need them alive as our flesh and blood computers. Computers don’t have emotions.

Humans, on the other hand, are easy to manipulate. They hang on to our every word. Why would you fuck that up?”

“They’re unpredictable. There’s no telling what they’ll do next.

And we’re wasting too much of our damn money on endless campaigns that guarantee no fruits of labour. Sooner or later they’ll wake up to the great scheme of things. What’ll happen then?”

“You’re talking about our grandmothers, friends, children and spouses here. Remember you’re still 1 of them. I say we just carry on manipulating the shit out these fuckers. We got them right where we want them, in the palm of our hand. No one knows we even exist.”

“And these Christians? This Holy Ghost of theirs keeps eves dropping on our plans. The golden snitch of the times...”

“Who are these people? And what the hell are they talking about?”

“7 are presidents of the 7 continents, 3 are the grand witches of the Black Order, 3 are generals of all the world’s armies and the 2 short men you see here are Grey Aliens, every once in a while they listen in on human affairs and ingeniously obstruct their plans from materialising.”

“So the 13 can’t see the short men?”

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“Not even the grand witches can, which makes you very special from this point on. We call them the council of 13. They are planetary death personified, the greatest threat to humankind since the devil himself.

There are always 13 of them. It has been that way since before Christ.”

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“What do they do?”

“They run the world. We can’t intervene with their plans because everything manlike operates on freewill. If you corrupt a man’s free will it is still free will none the less and that’s what they do. They use Trillion Rand campaigns to bend man’s will to their end and reap the benefits of his labour. They have mapped out the existence of civilized man since the stone ages. What you are seeing tonight is a cabal of generals laying their cards on the table. What you do not see, however, is their influence on Earth. There is so many of them that if they were removed from the face of the globe, the Earth would literally collapse.”

“So continents have presidents too?”

“Yes, everyone is being monitored on a continental scale. What you are, Miss Williams, is a dignified slave. Your entire day is planned in the underground where all decisions are made. You are given a set of options, all of which lead you towards endless worship and service to a dictatorial state god that serves those up top.”

“Now I know where Black Diamond fits in to all this. They represent the Blacks in this agenda.”

“No, they represent the agenda to the Blacks. They control all commercial commodities, property, media, the military, police, government; you name it, everything that is owned by Black states around the world. At first they joined hands with other racial groups on a mission to eliminate ancient tribes through abolishing all traditions, teachings and spirituality that was not promised by those pushing the agenda. Clans were toppled, kingdoms beheaded in front of their followers. Today you have states ruled by military Godheads that work constantly to push the agenda to their own people or those they have adopted from the many tribes they tricked out of land, culture, rights and resources. 13 is their great number of death. Thirteen tribes were Khonzinkosi Memela

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picked in every country. These clans later became families sharing a surname, values and traditions. These families oversee the state, initiating their chosen members at birth with a mark to the left of their right eye.”

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“Hectic.”

“Yes, hectic. The Grey aliens always disturb their missions hence the military is ordered to kill them on sight if ever they are spotted by their physical appearance.”

“But why the Greys?”

“We chose the Greys because they’re not angels, Miss Williams. To them freewill is nonsensical, a concept lacking mathematical sense in that its outcome is unpredictable. The Greys believe in the 11 principles of energy, that’s it. Therefore they can manipulate human will the same as the council of 13.”

“Are they the reason why you are called ‘Grey’?”

“I created them. They were named after me.”

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Chapter 8: Four Winds of the Eret

“What is wrong with these people?”

“Nothing. They choose to be what they are. We have given you everything you need to survive the earth. Apparently, it’s not good enough for you. You always want more. You are never satisfied with what you have. The same way you want to save the world story by story, they want to take over the world vote by vote. The world belongs to politicians and everyone can be one. All you have to do is sell your soul to the 13. Money and influence are guaranteed to follow.”

“How do you sell your soul?”

“I’m not allowed to give a detailed account of this act, God forbid one day you wake up desperate. Listen, there is a way that seems right to a man that ultimately leads him to his own destruction. Some book...”

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“Yes, the bible.”

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“I keep forgetting, pardon me. There are four gates to the tree of knowledge. The brotherhood of the snake uses these gates to initiate their apprentices. The first gate is murder. One is assigned a victim, is told to execute him/her and keep it a secret from the outsiders until his dying day. The second one is rape. One is told to molest the youngest of their progeny or to find a random victim in which case this also has the possibility of ending up turning into a murder. The third gate is suffering and subjecting yourself to extremely uncomfortable conditions under the guidance of an initiate, and the fourth gate is self mutilation, in some cases with witchcraft circles one is expected to remove a vital organ from their body and use a concoction to repair its function without living with the organ still attached to their person.”

“I’m listening...”

“Each gate has a network of gate keepers. These are those sworn into the brotherhood through all four gates. They are allowed on all four corners of the Earth to conduct service to the snake as they please and are the leaders of a New World, the one you confessed to wanting to create a bit earlier. Miss Williams, the world is more evil than you could ever imagine. I promise you this; that were it not for the Greys your tribe would have gone extinct 6 millenniums ago. As for us, we have tried time and time again to intervene with human affairs but obviously, freewill often gets in the way.”

“It seems like freewill is our worst enemy? Why create it?”

“No one person could have anticipated Samael’s fall, along with a third of the angels in heaven. He positioned himself as the great snake of the Earth that covers all grounds and, about 6 thousand years ago, initiated all human societies to his knowledge, making them half man half God. He used his knowledge of freewill to his unfortunate Khonzinkosi Memela

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advantage. Before that we had never had a problem regarding corruption of will.”

“What can I do to stop this?”

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“That’s like stopping the world from spinning. There is nothing you can do that hasn’t been tried already. We have sent the earthling so many prophets, all of which met a very brutal end. It is appalling how one simple message could baffle even the brightest of the lot. Now ask yourself: what makes you think they’ll listen to you? We have sent them healers, writers, magicians, scientists, you name it, and still they refused to receive our message. Let them have their misery, after all, it’s what keeps them alive. I have seen the future, Miss Williams. It is as if a man shoved a spear through the planets heart. Robots will soon take your place as promised. Yes, Miss Williams, they will replace you. Ever heard the term ‘nuclear holocaust’?”

“Nuclear arms and stuff.”

“Every country has one, all under the command of one red button located in Eastern Europe. Buttons are made to be pressed. The same way humans rebelled against nature, becoming its murderous guardians so shall the cycle continue through 6th man’s uprising.”

“So there have been 4 versions of human before us?”

“You are the fifth. Every beginning has an ending to it. It is inevitable.

However, it is up to the individual how that ending is to be met. We die the day we are born. Some choose to die from lung cancer hence they smoke excessively, regardless of warnings with regards to their health.”

“Like my father?”

“Yes. Others choose liver poisoning, diabetes, aids, you name it. Your lifestyle determines how you are most likely to leave this earth. The first man had only but one way into the other world. They lived a life so simple that to them a day was made known in the soul and projected to them seven days before death. They would say their goodbyes to Khonzinkosi Memela

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their loved ones; lie down and never wake up. You reality is different.

You like it ‘complicated’. In fact, you do not understand the transition between the now and the after. You are fearful of change which ironically ushers you into a paradigm of suicidal tendencies. You, Miss Williams, will kill yourself like the rest of them.”

“But I watch my diet. And, I don’t do drugs. I don’t even drink alcohol.”

“Yet you subject yourself to danger through your career choices. BD wants you dead. You now have a mark on your forehead. They can tell if you have been to the other side.”

“I’m not scared of them.”

“You shouldn’t be. They all exist in your world. In that world you are lord and master. Hence when you realise your abilities they become very afraid. That fear is what they are trying to project inside you.”

“Are their witches dangerous?”

“They are deceptive, silent and deadly. They always cover their tracks.

This means that you must be very careful from now on. They will be on your tail for the next six months or so, until they are sure that you are no longer a perceived threat.”

“What if I want to take them to war? Is that possible?”

“The Greys are doing a pretty good job of it. You on the other hand have it very easy. All you have to do is focus on the opposite.”

“White magic?”

“God! Just admit to having God as your savoir and pillar of strength, the rest is a breeze.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy. I told you before, I don’t believe in God. Why would he let all these things happen?”

“How many times must I tell you?”

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“Here we go again.”

“God is not responsible for your decisions. He can not intervene without your permission. The freewill principle is active throughout your entire lifetime.”

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“Then why am I held here against my will. I didn’t ask for this. Those tall guys nearly fucking raped me, thanks to you.”

“Remember what you said when I asked you what your purpose is?

You told me it is uncover mysteries of the earth one day at a time. You made the decision to be a truth seeker. Well, this is the truth you placed an order for, now stop yelling and eat it.”

Lights go out.

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Chapter 9: Back to Square 1

Page | 65

Stacy opens her eyes. She is back in her apartment, lying on her couch with a blanket over her person. She looks over the couch and towards her bed. Melanie lies on it, eyes wide open.

“What day is it?” says Stacy, breaking the silence.

“Friday!”

“Where was I yesterday?”

“You went back to Brixton to see that ‘cop killer’ guy. What’s his name?”

“And then?”

“You walked into me and S’phesihle at Steers. What is it with you?

You didn’t say a word. You just watched.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Doing what? Did you take your meds? We talked about it last night.”

“What did I say?”

“You said nothing, except that I must choose between you and her.”

“And, who did you choose?”

“Should I be worried? We talked about it just last night. Remember?”

“Who do you choose Melanie?”

“I don’t know. I mean, she’s fun. At least with her I don’t have to worry about what the next day is going to be like. You have a Bipolar Mood Disorder. Sometimes you’re hot, the next, I can’t even touch you.”

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“Don’t play that card with me. Is it me or is it her?”

“I don’t know dude? I really don’t. I like you both. Really. do I have to choose?”

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Stacy turns red in the face.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Gladly. My brother is on his way anyway. By the way, I’m moving in with S’phesihle later on today.”

“You fucking Prima Donna.”

“What did you say?”

Melanie’s eyes change. They water. Tears flow down her cheeks.

“What did I say?” asks Stacy, worried.

Melanie is out of words. Her body vibrates. “Aren’t you even going to fight for us?”

“I’m not the one cheating now am I. Get out!”

“Where will I go?”

“Dude, just go home and find yourself. Stop living off other people.

Find what makes you happy because I’m not it.”

“I love you.”

“Are you nuts? Leave please.”

Melanie tosses the blanket aside, gets up and walks to the drawer. She takes out all of her clothes and throws them on top of the messy bed.

She reaches beneath the bed and pulls out her green Adidas bag, picks it up and furiously dumps it on top of the bed.

“Here,” says Melanie, “are you happy now.”

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“Yes, I am.”

“I hate you!”

“Me too, now, leave and don’t come back.”

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“I’m not going anywhere. This is my house also.”

“Do you pay rent? Melanie, come here.”

Melanie stops packing her clothes and walks over to the couch.

“Sit down!” Stacy continues.

Melanie follows the instruction without question.

“Dude, this is so embarrassing.” says Melanie. “I feel so exposed though. I’m sorry. Maybe I do need some time alone to figure things out.”

“Why did you cry when I called you Prima Donna?” says Stacy.

Melanie looks down and smiles through her tears. She shakes her head a bit, turns and looks away from Stacy. “My father used to call me that.

He used to spoil me rotten and every time I didn’t get what I wanted he would call me a Prima Donna.”

“And you cried every time he called you that, right? Listen, Prima Donna is your guardian angel. She is lazy and basically you feed of other people’s guardian angels, for instance, me and S’phesihle. You are draining us both babe. I think you need to make contact with her and ask her to strengthen your connection.”

“I thought you were an atheist and now you’re giving me a lecture about angels.” Melanie says, scouting out Stacy’s energy field.

“Something has changed about you. You seem... stronger. What happened to you?”

“I met this guy. Know what...? It doesn’t matter. Believe me when I tell you this. I can not be your protector anymore. It was never my Khonzinkosi Memela

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intention. Every time you have issues you come running to me. I have my own issues but you don’t see me running to anyone, do you? Go get yourself a white candle, write Prima Donna on it and communicate all your wants to the flame.”

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“Whatever. Just tell me if you want me to leave.”

“Do you want me to prove it to you?”

“Prove it. And what the hell are those beads? Did you join a cult or something?”

Stacy grabs onto her beads and closes her eyes.

“Alu-Rhael, could you please lift this blanket for me?” says Stacy. She opens her eyes and unhands her beads.

Melanie cracks up laughing. Stacy smiles at her. After a few seconds the blanket begins to life up. At first Melanie is oblivious to the response.

She laughs until she notices a change in the room’s temperature.

“Is it cold in here or is it just me? What’s that smell? Smells like sulphur.” says Melanie.

She looks down to see the blanket elevating slowly from Stacy’s body.

She is in a state of shock. Together, they watch as the blanket levitates.

The silence is deafening. Melanie witnesses a slight paralysis, is numb from head to toe, eyes fixated on the blanket. Eventually the blanket reaches the ceiling. It stops and, suddenly, drops on top of them both.

Holding her head, Melanie jumps up from her seat, virtually springing on to her feet. She freezes for a few seconds, jaw on the floor in awe of what she has just witnessed.

“Do you believe me now?” says Stacy.

“What in the devil was that?”

“Remember when I walked in on you and S’phesihle? How do you think I knew what you guys were up to?”

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“I don’t know. Didn’t we leave the door open or something?”

“I flew in.”

“What the hell are you?”

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“The same person I was last night when you went to sleep.”

“Are you a devil worshipper? Am I, like, being recruited to some cult I don’t know of? Tell me the truth.”

“No, actually, I’m quite the opposite. I met an angel and he is taking me under his wing.”

“Tell me more.”

“He said I can’t leave you because I need you and you need me. I don’t know if that any makes sense.”

“How does he even know me?”

“Dude, he’s an angel. He knows everything there is to know about the world and people.”

“And what is it with these beads of yours? I thought they were just some cheap voodoo wear you got from the flee market.”

“I actually got them from him for free. They sharpen my will so to speak.”

“Can he get me a new pair of shoes? Adidas sneakers...”

“Melanie!”

“Fine. Just make sure other people don’t find out about this. My brother told me he was in a bar with some members of this occult church. They kill people for powers. Apparently they target people showing strong psychic abilities, most of them children.”

“I’m not a psychic, this is real. You can see it, taste it, smell it, feel it, and touch it.”

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“Those guys will kill you, hey.”

“Dude. I’m tired of living a lie. That’s why I need to know.”

“Do you mind if we start over.”

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“Actually no. Friends?”

“Cool. I can introduce you to my brother. He knows a lot about these things.”

Stacy closes her eyes, fingers clutching the blanket. She envisions a white male in his late 20s for about 5 seconds before opening them up again.

There is a knock at the door. Melanie sprints to the door. She opens it.

Stacy sits up and looks towards the entrance.

“Mels!” says Mlamuli, Melanie’s brother.

“He’s Black?” says Stacy, embarrassed.

“Adopted actually.” Mlamuli replies. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Good things I hope.”

“Nothing embarrassing. Melanie, I take it you’re all packed and ready to bounce. I have a morning shift, the drinks won’t exactly serve themselves, know what I mean?”

“So these guys of yours,” says Stacy, “What do they do really?”

“According Johannes they have orgies, drink blood, sacrifice virgins and worship the devil. He says they have spiritual powers and are part of the ruling elite and that even presidents have to negotiate their ruling terms with them. That’s how much power they have, apparently.”

Yesterday he was bragging about how he was graded into the next level after having successfully carried out the assassination of a high ranking police official that was on the verge of exposing their existence.”

“What is the officer’s name?”

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“Code name: Will Smith. They always conceal their victims’ identities through either anagrams or code names.”

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Stacy is shocked. Her jaw drops to the floor. The journalist inside her is resurrected. “Can I come to the bar with you guys?”

“Don’t you have Bipolar or something?” says Mlamuli. “Mels told me you are not allowed to drink alcohol. Listen, I understand you’re a journalist but if these guys turn out to be what they say they are then...”

“I can handle them. Let’s go.”

“I rather not Sweety.” says Melanie. This could be dangerous for you.”

“Fine!” says Stacy, frustrated and desperate.

The colourful siblings make their way out of the building and Stacy is left alone. She is lonely and bored. She paces up and down the apartment, wandering about like a maniac. After a few minutes of boredom she decides to follow Melanie and Mlamuli to the bar.

“Just one drink. My sponsor will kill me if he finds out.”

She walks in the bathroom, stares in the mirror but fails to identify with her reflection. She can clearly see the door behind her. She leans her head over, opens the tap and waters her face. Getting back up she stares once more to see her reflection missing from the overall image reflected by her bathroom mirror.

“This is odd!”

She undresses, walks into the cubicle and takes her usual shower, going through the motions as quickly as humanly possible. She grabs a white towel, hanging over the curtain, and wipes her body dry. She then wraps it around her body so that it covers up her breasts and her Khonzinkosi Memela

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private parts. Once out of the cubicle she walks over to a metal bar parallel to the wall, snatches her red underwear and wears it, still covered by her white towel.

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She stands in front of the mirror once more, curious. Surprisingly enough, the towel is reflected as if it is suspected in mid-air, remotely controlled by her body movements.

Stacy shakes her head in disbelief, busts out of the bathroom and gets dressed in a long white silk dress. She looks through her wardrobe dramatically until she identifies a white straw hat. On her feet she puts on white flops, similar the sandals Grey had given her in the etheric realm.

Last but not least, she puts her set of white beads around her neck, gets on her knees, closes her eyes and prays out loud.

“Dear God, if you’re out there, please help me solve this mystery.

Grey! I know you’re listening. What’s happening to me?”

“You are beginning to see things for what they truly are, Miss Williams.” whispers a deep voice from behind her right ear.

She freaks out and springs to her feet. “Don’t do that again please!

You’re scaring me.”

She looks around the apartment to find that she is alone in the room.

“Grey! Grey! Where are you? Why are you so cryptic though, hell.

Listen, I might need your protection.” There is silence.

“Anyway I’m off to work. You can stay here and get bored if you want to.”

She packs her Nike backpack and heads out.

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Chapter 10: Nice to Meet You

Page | 73

Melanie and Mlamuli are behind the counter, fixing cocktails and serving drinks. It is a chilled Saturday morning, slight breeze brushing gently against the vulnerable skin of the pub.

Stacy walks inside the pub all the way to the bar. She sees Melanie from a far and waves, desperately seeking out her attention. Melanie sees her and smiles kindly.

“Come here!” shouts Melanie, waving Stacy over to the counter. Stacy follows the instruction. Once at the counter, Stacy high fives Melanie and Mlamuli, who seems worried that Stacy is in a bar, having a mental condition.

“Wait,” says Mlamuli, “what is she doing here?”

“It’s a flipping Saturday dude, chill.” replies Melanie on behalf of Stacy.

“Your problem. Not mine!” says a curious Mlamuli, fixing a cocktail for a waiting customer.

Melanie spots Stacy’s Nike bag, immediately catching on to the mission. She winks at Stacy, who in turn is embarrassed.

“They’re outside by the benches.” says Mlamuli.

Stacy is even more embarrassed. How obvious could she be?

“They’re seated by the entrance, dressed in all black gear with a ‘skull and bones’ design on their tops. Sit next to them and find out what you can. Just don’t come running to me when they catch you out as a spy.”

“Spy?” says Stacy, “Who says I’m a spy?”

“That hideous outfit!” says Melanie. “Who dresses like that?”

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“Dude, I’m a free soul. I’ll be out by the benches. Bring me a glass of Coke, on the rocks.” says Stacy before turning around and walking out.

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Once out, Stacy sees a group of white youngsters congregated around a bench. She makes her way through the busy crowd and sits on the bench to the left of them. She unzips her Nike bag, pulls out her spare sound recording device, slides in an empty tape, presses the On-button and places the Sony recorder on top of the table. She also reaches for her note pad and puts it next to the sound recording device. She unzips a side pocket and pulls out a pencil and begins listening, bag still open.

On the table are 6 Caucasian twenty-years-old young men, dressed in all black. Johannes, the group leader does all the talking.

“Those Black idiots think they can beat us to the prize. They’re in deep shit.” says Johannes. “If Hitler were alive he’d be turning in his grave. BD are a bunch of bitches trying to be us. It’s a pity we had to sacrifice one of our own to send them a message. Will Smith is a casualty of war. He let those Black guys control him. A connection of mine told me he was on their pay roll and was ready to expose the whole movement to the South African government.”

“But what if they catch on?” says Trevor, a skinny White boy with freckles. “Last night I saw a bunch of policemen raiding the graveyard with torches and guns.”

“Then we kill them too, just like we did Will Smith. Execution style.

Nail these fuckers. There’s no room for Blacks in the leadership of the brotherhood. We set them up. One of their cakes wanted out. We invited him over, told him to sell out his organisation to this poor guy that lives next door to his apartment. After that we killed him and Will Smith and made it look like a BD killing and framed his neighbour who only knows about BD. This war must never leak out into the open. Remember the oath. I’m telling you this now because comes 3AM tomorrow morning you will all be initiated into the brotherhood.”

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“But we killed a White guy. That’s against the code, isn’t it?” say Trevor.

“He was one of them. He made his grave, now he must lay in it.”

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“Calvin says the 3 girls are ready.” Says Meth, a crystal meth addict and convicted rapist.

“Not yet. We’ll have fun with them a few more times and then at exactly 2 AM we will sacrifice them. Lucifer will be pleased with us.

The witches say we’re ready to get initiated. Just this one task and we’re in. When we slit their throats the blood must flow into a black bucket with a white ‘skull and bones’ sign printed on it. We give the bucket to the witches who will drink it and give us a cup of blood each for our initiation rite. Are you guys ready?”

“I don’t trust those witches.” says Trevor. “What if they’re just using us as their walking, talking blood banks? Surely they have the power to do these things themselves.”

“They paid their dues. It’s the way of the society. We must pay ours.

Give those girls some food and take them to the toilet one by one. We need them in perfect condition for the ritual. Finish up your drinks and lets go.”

“Hey.” says Stacy to Johannes.

Johannes is charmed. “Hey to you too. What are you writing over there?”

“I’m actually a journalist here to investigate you guys.”

“Cute. So does the journalist have a number?”

“The journalist is a lesbian.”

“So, you’ve never slept with a guy before. Want to accompany us on a mission? Maybe you could take some useful notes.”

“What mission is that?”

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“It’s a surprise. Come on.”

“No thank you!”

“Virgin?”

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“Sex addict!”

“What a crying shame. Guys let’s go. See you around.”

The youngsters quickly down what’s left of their Castle draughts. They stand up from their seats and head for the exit.

Stacy watches them as they climb inside their Maroon Camry and drive off. She quickly presses the Off-button on her Sony sound recording device, packs everything back in her bag and walks inside, leaving the bag behind. She dashes throughout the building, moving past the bar at the speed of light.

“Honey?” shouts Melanie, with haste.

Stacy ignores her and rushes past the counter.

“She’s weird.” says Mlamuli.

“Yeah I guess.”

Stacy busts through the ladies’ door. It is empty. She locks the door behind her and stands in front of the mirror. No reflection can be seen.

“Grey! I need you right now.”

Slowly the frame of the mirror illuminates until finally the whole room in encompassed in a great white light. The mirror begins reflecting an image of 3 girls, all tied to a single bed by brown ropes, one next to the other, like sardines in a can. They are all gagged and struggle breathing, teary eyed and desperate.

Stacy grabs on her set of beads. The beads begin illuminating. They go from white to yellow, to orange, to grey and then finally a glowing red.

She closes her eyes and is swallowed by the white light in the bathroom.

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Chapter 11: Unleashed

Page | 77

Stacy opens her eyes to find herself in a tiny room with a kitchen and bathroom in it. It is a filthy dungeon. The odour is horrible, comprising of the unpleasant smell of urine and faeces. Three Black toddlers lie side by side on a threadbare bed, tied to one another. Stacy is temporarily paralyzed. She runs out of breath and in the heat of the moment collapses. From where she lays she can hear footsteps from outside the dungeon, menacingly climbing down a wooden staircase.

The wood crackles with every step.

With her last breath, she stumbles back to her feet and runs towards the girls. Tears burst through her eyes as she approaches the bed.

Overwhelmed by the girls’ miserable living conditions she begins crying out loud. She can’t contain herself. The steps draw nearer. Chatter can be heard through the walls of the room.

With the little strength she has left in her body, she throws herself on the bed and struggles to untie the ropes but fails dismally. It is more difficult than she had anticipated. The knots used are difficult to undo.

She gets back on her feet and sprints to the kitchen sink where a set of bloody knives rest. She grabs the sharpest one, apparently smaller in size in comparison to the rest. She runs back to the bed.

The girls are dead silent, scared to death, thinking she is the slayer.

Stacy senses it. She tells them to shoosh by putting her right hand index finger over her lips.

“Don’t worry.” she whispers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The girls nod in excitement.

Stacy then digs into the ropes with the bloody knife and cuts through them one by one. She then cuts the gags off their mouths. The girls are covered in urine and faeces. She grabs them by their arms, throws them in the shower cubicle and opens the tap to its full potential. The Khonzinkosi Memela

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girls stand still. They remain fully clothed and look to her for her next instruction.

“Go ahead, wash yourselves. Hurry!”

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The girls are afraid that they might once again get molested as is the norm after they take a shower.

Stacy catches on to this notion. She quickly undresses herself and tosses her clothes far from her person, leaving only her beads on her.

“See!” Without hesitating the girls undress and begin cleansing themselves in a hurry.

The footsteps get closer and closer and finally the door knob twists slightly.

“Wakey, wakey!” says Johannes from outside the door. “Wake up girls, let’s have some fun.”

As the door opens Stacy jumps in the shower with the clean girls and grabs them all at once, circling their little necks with her forearms. She closes her eyes and the lights go out.

After a few seconds, Stacy opens her eyes to see all three girls standing in front of her in the ladies’, staring at her curiously with their big eyes.

She breaks down crying. Her attention is drawn to the many ladies that are knocking outside the door. Quickly she grabs a hand full of white towels, 3 for the girls and one for herself.

“Here, get dressed. Gqokani.”

The girls cover their bodies with their towels. Stacy looks in the mirror.

All she sees are the three girls. Her reflection is still missing. She grabs them by their hands, unlocks the door and walks out of the ladies. The Khonzinkosi Memela

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crowd is speechless, confused and amazed to see a woman walk out of a pub bathroom with 3 little girls, all dressed in white bathroom toilets.

Once again Stacy flies past the counter. Melanie and Mlamuli are left scratching their heads.

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“What the hell?” says Melanie.

“I give up.” replies Mlamuli.

Once outside, she walks by the bench and picks up her Nike bag. All that can be heard is a group of tipsy guys whistling as the four make their way into the yellow Beatle. The four climb inside the car.

Stacy digs through her music collection and pulls out an Ice Cube classic, Death Certificate. She slots it in the stereo and puts it on blast, still wondering how she has just spoken fluent Zulu to the 3 young girls.

They drive off.

After 31 minutes of bobbing and weaving through Johannesburg traffic, Stacy makes it to Brixton police station once more. She parks the car and grabs her Nike backpack.

“Follow me. Ng’landeleni siy’emaphoyiseni.”

She opens her door, the girls do the same. Together they walk out of the Beatle and into the police station. Having reached the reception they pause in front of the counter.

In attendance is Officer Mshengu, the ice queen.

“And then?” says Officer Mshengu.

“Sipho didn’t kill Officer Smith.” replies Stacy.

Stacy pulls out her Nike backpack, still unzipped, pulls out her Sony sound recording device, rewinds it to the beginning and plays the tape.

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“It’s all here. The killers are at a grave site in downtown Jozi, St. Mary’s. You’ll find them there.”

“And the girls.”

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“They know the whole story. Please find their families. I don’t know who they belong to.”

“And how exactly did you find them and for god’s sake why are you all dressed in bathroom towels?”

“They’ll tell you everything you need to know. Won’t you girls?”

The girls nod.

“They’re all yours. Keep the recorder. I would like to see Sipho as soon as possible please.”

“Are you Sne, Dudu and Slindile?” says Officer Mshengu to the girls.

The girls nod.

“I don’t know who you are or how you did it Miss Williams, but thank you. You know, we could use someone like you in the force.”

“Thanks but no thanks. About Sipho...”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Why is that?”

“Actually, he escaped just this morning. Disappeared, vanished into thin air. If you find him, please let us know. I told you he is a criminal.”

“What?”

“We’ve been looking for these girls since Tuesday night, round about the same time Officer Smith was murdered.”

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“Miss Williams, if we knew...”

Officer Mshengu extends her open right hand over the counter. Stacy looks at her and smiles. She shakes her head and cracks a wide smile.

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“Grey?”

“Excuse me?”

Stacy shakes Officer Smith’s hand and walks away.

The girls run after Stacy, pulling her by her white towel.

“Don’t leave us!” says Slindile.

“Don’t worry, you’re safe with her. Just don’t tell her about how I got you out of there. You hear me. Tell her you passed out and woke up in a pub downtown. OK?” The girls nod.

“Come on now, you’ll pull off my towel. There’s guys in here.”

The girls let go, sadness in their eyes.

Stacy looks at Officer Mshengu from a distance, nods and walks away.

She strides slowly to her car, on the way there, passing handcuffed criminals in the company of armed policemen. She hops in her car, zips her bag closed and throws it in the backseat. She drives off.

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Chapter 12: The Knowing

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It is the day after, Sunday, 11:15 AM. Church is in session. Stacy sits outside ST. John, a Lutheran church, lying with her back to the staircase to the building, located a few inches from the gate. She is minding her own business, car parked on Ngwekazi Street. Along comes Mrs. Dlamini, a Black lady in her late 60s, dressed in all white, just like Stacy. She is also wearing a set of red beads identical to those worn by Stacy. Stacy thinks nothing of it.

Upon reaching the gate, Mrs. Dlamini pauses briefly, looks to Stacy and waves.

“Hi!” says Stacy.

“Do you know where I can find Pastor Kennedy?”

“I’m sorry, who? Ask security. This is not even my church. I’m just sitting here.”

“Mind if I join you?”

Stacy thinks about it for a minute. “Actually, no, not at all.”

Mrs. Dlamini, walks over and sits on the steps just like Stacy is seated.

She faces directly ahead of her as if Stacy doesn’t exist.

“My child, tell me, do you think God exists?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out myself. I can’t say I’m sure but...”

“But you’ve had an experience.”

“Something to that effect. Let’s just say I met an interesting being who taught me a lot about the world. I’m no where even close to uncovering the great mysteries of the planet let alone the universe at large.”

“What would it take to convince you that he is in fact out there doing his job?”

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“I don’t know? A sign maybe, anything really. My dad for once. I still don’t understand why God would let such a good man die at such an early age. He was in his early 40s.”

“My child, not everything that happens is God’s fault.”

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“You’re starting to sound like him.”

“Like who?”

“Grey.”

“Oh goodie, that’s my favourite colour. Grey.”

“Then why are you dressed in all white?”

“Why are you?”

“Because. My whole life was a lie. There is so much going on out there. I can’t believe I was even living until Wednesday morning. How can people have it so wrong? This week I saw a good cop get murdered for no reason at all. I saw girls raped constantly by idiots who thought killing people brings about spiritual awareness, I mean, just imagine. I saw men conspire to destroy what little is left of our rights as a people. I saw aliens defend man from his own self destructive ego. I saw lazy angels...and good ones of course. I saw corruption is high places...and low places. I saw dungeons where Black children are being sacrificed by racist White men. I’m ashamed of my race. Why do we do these things? I mean, are we even aware of it or is it just in us to hate people like you?”

“What do you make of all of this?”

“That we can’t do this alone. There has to be a higher power somewhere out there in the universe.”

“The higher power seeks those that seek it first.”

“Why me? I don’t deserve any of this. I’m just a journalist, a girl. How the hell am I supposed to take on the whole world by my self.”

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“I don’t think you’re alone in this.”

Mrs. Dlamini lifts her left hand in front of her. A stone elevates at the same pace as her hand’s movement. She then flicks it away, striking a stationary motor vehicle.

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She turns her face and looks Stacy right in the eye. “With great power comes great responsibility. We don’t choose it, it chooses us.”

“You’re one of them?”

“Since childhood. Nobody knows except a group of witches that want me dead. I come to this place because it vitalises my spirit. It helps rejuvenate my belief in the greater good. To see people gathered at one place to worship the creator. That’s where I draw my strength.”

“But that’s all they do. No one really cares. I’m talking about real compassion.”

“Oh but they do, they just don’t know how to. You and I were cut from the same cloth. I wanted to be a detective so I became one.

You’re a journalist. We are truth seekers who believe in divine justice whether we know it or not.”

“With all these powers I still can’t talk to my father. I’m beginning to wonder if heaven and hell really exist.”

“Your father is with you this very minute. You’re just not ready to see what he has become. His new form is alien to even the most aware of human beings on this earth. The day you truly let go of him, I mean really set him free, he will automatically open himself up to you.”

“So he is safe?”

“All good people are. Hell is for those that purposely chose evil over good. Mistakes don’t count.”

“Sipho said the same thing.”

“Who?” Khonzinkosi Memela

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“Never mind. Do you believe in God?” “He believes in me. For me that matters more than any scientific form of evidence or proof.”

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“Do you think we’ll ever be normal, like every body else.”

“I’m married with 4 beautiful children. You’ll learn to live with it.

One day.”

“What they did to those girls...How can people be so cruel?”

“Because they choose to be. No one forces anyone to turn out a certain way. Some are bewitched and if that’s the case then God will deliver them but as for the rest, personal choices have a ripple effect.

That’s just how it is.”

“Do you think this world will ever be perfect?”

“Honestly, I don’t think it was meant to be. It is what it is. All you can do is pick a side, good or evil. You chose to be good without knowing it, or rather greatness chose you.”

“You know, if I turn out to be like you I’ll be very happy with myself.”

“Be careful what you wish for. I’ve had people want me dead since I was in primary school. Don’t worry, you’ll learn to live with it. Just keep believing.”

“Grey, is that you?”

A grey mist surfaces; accompanied by the odour of sulphur and smoke.

The atmosphere changes gradually into that of the vast etheric room in Grey’s sacred world.

Stacy looks to the side with a smile on her face. She finds Sipho sitting right where the elderly woman was seated, in exactly the very same position.

“How did you know?” says Sipho Khonzinkosi Memela

Chess: The 5 Day Theory

“And Sipho, the murderer awaiting trial?”

“That was me. I wanted those girls free. They have a fate similar to yours. After having been through what they have been through it’s only right.”

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“Will I see them again?”

“Yes.” “What about Officer Smith and the BD?” “He decided to play spy, got caught in the web of his own deception.

My main concern was the girls.’

“And all those stories about peddling marijuana to varsity students.

You’re such a liar though.”

“People don’t listen to the truth. They are like children who have to be lied to constantly in order to learn right from wrong and take responsibility. They have to be tricked into doing what’s right. I’m sorry I lied to you but had I asked you to go and get those girls would you have done it, seeing I was a 3 time felon awaiting trail for a murdering a police officer?”

“A stranger in jail, are you kidding me?”

“My point exactly.”

“So, are you God?” “There are 15 of us, 1 for every continent and 1 for every ocean.”

“And the 15th one is you?”

“Correct. I am the overseer. Miss Williams, I am not God. What I am is your humble servant.” Sipho stands up slowly, ashes the dust off his silk white robe with the back of his hands, turns his head and looks over his shoulder. “At your service, my lady!”

Khonzinkosi Memela

Chess: The 5 Day Theory

He walks away. Stacy watches as he steps ever so gently until finally he is swallowed by the grey mist in the far ends of the room. He disappears. Checkmate!

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Khonzinkosi Memela