Nick Prinsloo by Nick Prinsloo

1 failed narcissist â&#x20AC;&#x153;The price of being the best is having to be the bestâ&#x20AC;? Terry Pratchett

I finished school, sighed with relief, grew my hair, thought I was awesome, looked at the photos, realised I wasn't, went to the army, they cut the hair. Left the army, grew my hair again, still looked bad. Eventually shaved it. Much better. Had a ludicrous picture of a spider inked into the skin on my back. At least I can hide

“Discovered that the grass isn't always greener.”

it. Bought a guitar. Studied computers, taught computers, worked on a bank's computer. Fell in love with my best friend, she said ‘no’ and she said ‘yes’. Felt a call to be a minister; I said ‘no’. Discovered that the call to be persistent; said ‘yes’. Became a minister. Lived in a township. Argued with a Bishop. Fell in love with a 2.49kg baby boy. Started going grey. Started growing hair in my ears. Lived in Port Elizabeth. Discovered that the grass isn't always greener. Fell in love with a 2.0kg premature baby, adopted her. Was kept awake for 3 months by a screaming bundle of colic. Do you know what three 2

months of sleep deprivation feels like? Best not to ask; I may get violent. Was rescued—God bless the man— by a chiropractor with massive hands. Moved to Cape Town. Lived on the wrong side of the railway tracks in a house with a bullet hole in the wall.

“Helped many people get married. Helped many people get buried. Needed help burying a friend.”

Helped many people bury their loved ones. Got my Post Graduate Degree in Theological Ethics; big words that mean, ‘You know nothing, Nick’. Moved to the south of Johannesburg. Helped many people get married. Helped many people get buried. Needed help burying a friend. Bought another guitar. Didn't have enough money for a Ferrari; studied psychology instead. Diagnosed myself with ADHD. Was correct. Wouldn't have it any other way. Got another Post Graduate Degree, this time in Psychology. Didn't go to the graduation. Grew a beard to look older. It worked. Moved to the north of Johannesburg. Taught Marketing Research to third year students; they did not get it. Taught Marketing Research to post-grads; they did get it. 3

Bought a ukulele, and 2 more guitars. Was given a 99year-old banjo. Was invited to my twenty-year school reunion. Tattooed my wife and children's names on my leg. They

“Was given a 99-year-old banjo.”

spelt ‘Alison’ ‘Aligon’. Still need to get it fixed. Got contact lenses. I needed the glasses to make me look intelligent. Threw the lenses away. Bought a scooter. Go 85 downhill. Woohoo. The scooter was stolen. Sad face. Asked the church to stop driving people away and they tried to crucify me. I am soooo not ready to be crucified; i convened my own disciplinary hearing knowing myself to be innocent. I was exonerated. I am still bitter. Then one day, I saw Jesus—followed closely by the Holy Spirit—leave through the back door. I followed them. That was the day the words sought me out. That was the day the words came to my rescue. The words are teaching me to love again; everything has changed. I failed at being a narcissist, maybe I can thrive as a servant. For that is what I am—a servant. A servant to the words.

2 making words sing â&#x20AC;&#x153;When you write, you talk on paper. When it's good, you sing.â&#x20AC;? Mark Tredinnick

STOP By Nick Prinsloo As an addict, I am always looking for positive addictions.

“I fell in love with that schismatic comma, forcing sentences to separate and readers to pause and breathe.”

My newest barbiturate, the art of story-telling. While feeding that gnawing hunger to narrate, I fell in love. Yup. That's what I said. I fell in love. I fell in love with, well this is a little embarrassing..., I fell in love with punctuation marks. Huh? Really? Punctuation marks? Yup. Please don't judge me—I'm not some dirty grammar-douche—but, yes I fell in love with punctuation marks. And I fell hard; real hard. I fell in love with that schismatic comma, forcing sentences to separate and readers to pause and breathe.

I fell in love with that authoritative and eye leading emdash—ever encouraging readers onward. And, of course, I fell in love with that lithe and sexy semi-colon; with her constant celebration and encouragement of both diversity and homogeneity.

“I have learnt that life itself is made of many full-stops and many new starts and that joy and hope, and sadness and fear, are merely different perspectives of the same sorry.”

My favourite of these tiny scratches on the page, however, is the full-stop. The full-stop; ending one journey and beginning another. The full-stop. So sudden and surprising. Again and again I fall in love with that tiny dot, for she brings me relief and oﬀers me hope. She—ever so tenderly—takes my hand in hers, and with confidence, declares for all who will listen that even though one part of life may be complete another was about to begin. And so, with the tiniest of lovers, I learnt to celebrate the past with joy while contemplating the future with hope; to remember the past with sadness while fearing the unknown of the future and I have learnt that life itself is made of many full-stops and many new starts and that joy and hope, and sadness and fear, are merely diﬀerent perspectives of the same sorry. And..., I am hooked.

3 copywriter â&#x20AC;&#x153;Do not bunt. Aim out of the ball park. Aim for the company of immortals.â&#x20AC;? David Ogilvy

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4 story-teller â&#x20AC;&#x153;A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for others.â&#x20AC;? Thomas Manne

the ghosts in his head

He heard a cracking sound, like the

The places, the characters and the

sound of a breaking bone.

storiesâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;they haunted him.

Something shifted.

***

Everything changed.

The ghosts took up residence in his

mind. They breathed in and out, their tiny little hearts beating with new life.

It started with one word. Then an-

other. And another and another and tenthousand more. Words became sentences, sentences paragraphs, paragraphs scenes, scenes plots and plots stories.

excerpts

The People's Law in Blood was all that

“Hey mister, wrong place.” Cyrus

was available for reading these days, cour-

was about to make mention of one or two

tesy of the New People's President him-

of the new slop shops where the man

self. Cyrus had already been forced to

could indulge his addiction, but the man

read it once and really did not want to

stopped him with a raised grimy finger.

read it again, but what choice did he have? He was, after all, sitting in the wait-

“Hank bloody Cyrus, you son of a

ing room of that very President's oﬃce.

steaming horse pile! I gonna soil me britches for the sight o’ ya standing

Then the front door burst open.

there.”

“Where's that there new king of this

dust bowl at?”

Cyrus tried to place the man, but his

face was smeared with grime and he couldn't. The man recognised Cyrus’ con-

A misinformed, dirty and considera-

fusion, even through the poppy haze, and

bly drunk tanner stood in the doorway. He

spread his hands wide. “Eb, Eb Jackson.

stank of death and poppy juice. This was

Don't ya ’member me?”

not going to make the President happy, and an unhappy President was not what

Still nothing. The man started toward

Cyrus needed right now.

him. Cyrus clenched his fists, both of them, the good one and the brass. His

brass fist squealed as it opened, closed,

years of the sames old sames old, I still

opened closed. Damnation it needs oil,

believes you. Maybe, I’m the fobbin’ fool.

Cyrus thought.

I still expects you to be diﬀerent. I still expects you to become a bettered man. I

“Cum’on man,” Eb said. “We done work

still believes that one day I’ll be a free

together on that Lipschicht dirigible way

from your curse. What a fobbin’ fool I am.

back when. I were the one workin' them

What a flamin’ fobbin’ fool?"

guns, ’member?”

Huh? “I’m guessing that you think I

Then, like a lead ball, it struck Cyrus

did something wrong, and that at some

between the eyes. He needed this man in

point in the not too distant future—which I

his life like he needed his good hand

have the rest of eternity to appreciate be-

hacked oﬀ. Oh pile of oily cattle manure.

cause of you—you’re going to tell me.

This was not good.

Yes?”

***

“You is a idiot. You is a slime on a

frog’s tongue idiot—” “Ga’el, you’re as useless as maggots on a three day carcass in warm weather.”

Ga’el smiled. That was a new one.

She must have been waiting all day to use

Dear dead gods, what have I done

now? There’s no pleasing that woman.

it. “Brilliant. I thought you were beginning to lose your touch.”

“What now, Witch?”

“Maggots,” said the dry voice, “at

least have the courtesy to clean up after

“You means it? You not just saying

that to shuts me up are you? You really likes it?”

themselves. But no, not you? You’re a god‘s damned slob. ‘I’ll catch some fish

“How long have we been stuck to-

for lunch,’ you says. ‘I’ll clean the fish,’

gether?”

you says. And after almost five hundred 29

“Four hundred and eighty-six years

bah my reckonin’.”

Enjoying the quiet, Ga’el went out-

side to clean up his fish mess. He was not really a slob; the witch just loved to

Ga’el pursed his lips. “Let me see,”

harangue him. After he had cleaned up

he said. “That means that I’ve been appre-

the blood and gore, he buried the re-

ciating your insults for, well..., at least, the

mains deep in the woods. There were all

last four hundred and eighty-one of

sorts of unfriendly creatures that called

those.”

the Shadow Woods home and he did not want to encourage them.

“Hey, what about the first five?”

“Oh those where, quite possibly, the

worst five years of my life.”

Ga’el, the witch, and her menagerie

all lived in a tiny wooden shack that Ga’el had built about eighty years ago. He had become tired of living in cities. He had

“Pﬀt.”

seen them all and he would rather face the wild creatures of the Shadow Woods

“Never mind. It’s just that I thought

you had exhausted every insult possible. I

than have to be with his own kind. He had grown to dislike humans.

was starting to get bored. I like the frog one. I hope it heralds the beginning of a

Ga’el longed for silence. The abso-

new age of crisp new word slaps.”

lute silence of death would be best, but death escaped him, thanks to the hag. So

“I’ll slaps you with my fist; you is

fleas on a goat’s beard.”

he found quiet wherever he could. Of course, the Shadow Woods were never really silent—it was a noisy silence, but at

“Nope. Heard it. Keep working.”

least it was not man’s noise.

That shut her up for a while.

Ga’el had moved in to the shack to

escape the city, and for the last eight decades it had served his need, but ‘civilisation’ was beginning to impinge on his ha30

ven. A road had recently been built right

please, say something? Anything? If we

through the Shadow Woods. With it came

have to be stuck together we might as

man and his bloody noise.

well keep each other company. Did I say something wrong?”

“Rights you are,” said the hag, mak-

ing Ga’el jump. "Hows ’bout this: You

Silence.

over Poor Town in Winter.”

What now?

Ga’el went to the water room where

smells worse than the smog that hovers

“Heard it before.”

he kept a shard of reflective glass. He

“Oh possum’s poo. You sure?”

struck a match and lit the lantern on the wall, making the flame as bright as possi-

“Yup. You used it in the freeze of

ble. He held the shard of reflective glass

twelve hundred. Although, I think I actu-

so he could look over his shoulder. The

ally did smell that bad, so technically it

tattoo was still there. He tried not to look

wasn’t an insult. All right, I’ll give it to you

at the hag too much; it made him remem-

this time. But no more leeway; you gotta

ber what he had done all those centuries

bring your best game.”

ago. But now he was worried. Living with one’s curse for as long as he had—it inevi-

Silence.

tably became an addiction.

The peace lasted all afternoon and

He could not remember what it had

right through supper. She must really be

been like before the curse. The hag and

struggling to find something new.

her strange creatures were now his only family.

It was nearly time to hit his sleeping

mat when Ga’el could not handle the

What in the lost names of the seven-

quiet anymore. “Where’d you go, Hag?

teen was she up to?

You trying to punish me? It worked. Now, 31

“Mistress Fern? Witch? Where did

you go?”

“What?” asked the large black wolf

that had materialised in front of him. “Are

Something must be wrong.

we under attack?”

He checked the mirror again. Fern

“Oh, thank the gods,” breathed

was still there, tattooed on his back

Ga’el. “Listen Bear, Mistress Fern has

where she always was. And she looked

stopped speaking to me. Can you find

as she always did, hunched over, a shriv-

out what’s happened?”

elled crone who was perpetually smiling as if she was laughing at him. Her silver

Bear’s lips peeled back, showing his

hair was tied into the same severe bun

teeth. He growled. It was a deep, rum-

that always pulled at her eyebrows, giving

bling sound that made Ga’el shiver. The

the impression that she was constantly

wolf would not hurt him as long as Mis-

surprised by his behaviour.

tress Fern lived on his skin. At least, he hoped it would not. The massive beast

Why was she so quiet? She never

shuts up, not even when I’m asleep.

really knew how to scare him.

“Mistress Fern is in a trance right

now. She used to do this all the time be

But now: silence.

fore you came along. Be patient human.”

He pulled up his pants leg and

With that the beast became ink on

slapped the growling wolf that lived on

skin and nothing Ga’el tried made any dif-

his thigh. “Bear. Wake up, Bear, I need

ference. Now Bear was ignoring him, too.

help.”

In response, the ink on his skin

He decided to take the wolf’s advice.

He lay down on his cot, closed his eyes

started swirling. Ga’el clenched his teeth.

and tried to sleep. But, sleep was eva-

It felt like the skin was being peeled oﬀ

sive. He felt like something big was about

his body.

to happen. Something big and bad. 32

animals she spoke with. A witch, who

He began to feel a new sensation:

had come home one afternoon to find a

the tattoo on his back was swirling. Mis-

foreign soldier standing over the dead

tress Fern had never left his skin before.

body of a large black wolf. There had been blood on the man’s sword. She had

This can’t be good.

arrived in time to watch him spit on the dead beast. He could still hear her an-

He closed his eyes and rode the

pain.

guish as she had cried out: “Bear. Oh my beautiful Bear.”

When the pain stopped, he could

feel Mistress Fern standing in front of

She had looked up from the broken

him.

animal and had fixed her gaze on the broken man. The memory made him feel nau-

“Open your eyes, fool,” she said.

seous.

He shook his head. He could not.

“What dids you do?” she had asked

Would not.

Ga’el.

“Open. Your. Eyes. Fool.”

“I did what I was told.”

Ga’el opened his damned eyes.

He had been all bluster and arro-

There she was—looking exactly as she

gance—a soldier of the Ang’Qorian Em-

had when they had first met. He, how-

pire—doing his job.

ever, had changed since then. His greatest transformation had been a mental

After that, his next memory was of

one; he had come to love her. He had

waking to find that he had been cursed.

also learnt to respect and fear her, for Mis-

His body had become a canvas. There

tress Fern was a magic user. She was a

were living tattoos everywhere.

witch who communicated with animals. A

witch, whose friends and family were the

him.

Two of the tattoos really frightened

thing cold and wet. Flies are buzzing. ***

They sound angry. Too loud. I cover my ears; smear something on my face. The

And there, in front of him for the first time

last tiny shred of sanity I possess is dis-

in four hundred and eighty-six years

gusted by the animal I have become.

stood the one who had cursed him. He wanted to hate her. But could not. She

I curl into a ball and rock myself into

had also become his family. She would

an exhausted sleep.

always be the ‘hag,’ but she was his hag.

My dreams taunt me.

him. She looked dazed, as if she had just

Mother watches me. She's wearing

had some of that new poppy-juice that

that look of disappointment reserved only

was all the craze in Byenland. She was

for me. “You disgust me,” she says, pale

looking directly at him, but she did not

lips peeling back in a grimace. “You’re

see him.

stumpy and grotesque and your head is

At that moment she was scaring

too big. You’re not normal.” She turns her

“Fern, I mean, uh, Mistress, please,

back to me. “You’re a curse to this fam-

stop this? You’re scaring me.”

ily.”

When she finally spoke, Ga’el

wished she had not.

The words echo in my head: “a

curse, a curse, a curse.” I wake with a sob. My heart slams against my chest as

***

if it too wants to escape. I try to stay awake; can't.

I stare down at the deck where I’ve puked. I can’t see but look anyway. The

Next, my father visits my dream. Rot-

warm liquid rubs against my toes making

ting flesh peels away from grey bones;

me cringe. Trying to back away into a cor-

even his decaying body can't bear the

ner I trip. My hand squashes into some-

sight of me. His cloudy eyes fix on me. 34

“It’s your fault you know,” he says, a

can’t. Still I scream. Somebody shouts at

black storm of flies exploding from his

me. I can’t make out what he is saying.

mouth. They fly straight at me. I sense

They hogtie me to the mast. The ropes

their terrible hunger. I wake screaming.

are so tight my hands go numb.

Again, as hard as I try to stay awake,

I hear the whistle of a whip and the

my body betrays me. This time I see

wet thud as it cuts my back. For a heart-

mother sitting cross-legged on the

beat I feel nothing, then—as if someone

swampy ground of our farmstead. Cra-

has taken a fiery torch to my skin—the

dled in her lap is the lifeless body of my

pain bursts into a roaring flame that de-

baby brother. His neck is bent at an im-

vours my sanity. Again and again the

possible angle and one of his eyes hangs

whip strips my flesh; until a blackness,

by a red noose at his cheek. He was two

free of dreams, rescues me.

years old when stampeding sheep trampled him to death. I was too slow to res-

When I wake, I smell something new,

cue him.

clean freshly washed decks mingled with roasting fish and spirit alcohol. Where am

Mother hunches over little Buikhu

I? The underworld?

and her whole body shakes with grief. She rocks and rocks and chants: “Be-

Another dream?

comes shrill and mad, a crescendo of ha-

I try to move and the pain in my back

tred. Spittle rains down on Buikhu, and to

flares.

gone wretched curse.” Her chanting be-

my horror, he awakens. His broken head turns until his good eye sees me. “Why

Blackness.

I wake to the sensation of tugging on

were you born?” he asks.

I wake screaming. My captors fetch

me and drag me topside. The light

my back. It feels like someone is pulling my skin oﬀ.

scorches my eyes. I try to shut it out; 35

Blackness.

“Let him sleep Moshe,” the woman

protests.

Voices. I can’t make out what they’re

saying. A man? A woman?

I try to lift my head. Too much.

Blackness.

A flood of memory tries to drown

Two men arguing.

The first voice I recognise as the one

me. I scream. “Shhh,” a woman’s voice. “Shhh little one, you are safe now.”

called Moshe. He says, “Ah, come now

Blackness.

Tuthmose, I didn’t know the slavers were yours.”

A man’s voice; “Will he survive?”

The other voice, Tuthmose I assume,

“His body will recover. The infection

sounds angry. “I was going to give that

has passed and his fever is broken.

dwarf to little Tuthmose as a toy. He so

But,—”

enjoys playing with them. Those stupid slavers made such a mess of the crea-

“Yes?” The man interrupts.

ture, he'll just give Tutty nightmares.”

“He has been through a trauma you

“Well.” Moshe sounds like he's trying

and I will never understand. Only the

not to laugh. “Those stupid slavers won't

strongest hearts recover...”

do anything like that again.”

Blackness.

“Are you making fun of me Moshe?

You'll do well to remember who is Phar

“Ah, he’s coming back,” says the

aoh.”

man.

“My humblest apologies, Beloved

“I’ve been here the whole time,” a

Horus; Lord of the Two Kingdoms; Ra's

middle-aged woman says. She has dark

chosen. I did not mean to be disrespect-

scars on her face. They enhance her

ful. I only make jest of the slavers who fell

beauty. With alarm, I notice that she is

so quickly to my sword, which—of

smiling at me. I shut my eyes.

course—is ever at your service.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I'm a friend.”

For a while she says nothing. I can

Tuthmose wheezes in response, and

I hear footsteps fade. I hope they're his.

hear her breathing. And then, when she

Then I hear footsteps approaching. I

does speak, it comes so unexpectedly

want to look, but am afraid.

that, to my shame, I squeak again.

“Ah, Master Dwarf,” Moshe sighs. “It

seems you’ve become my property.” I

“My but you are a fortuitous one,”

she says, ignoring my outburst.

keep my eyes shut. Finally his footsteps move away and I breathe a heavy sigh.

“Osiris would be weighing your heart

right now, if Moshe hadn’t come across

“You heard all of that didn’t you?”

the woman asks me.

you when he had. Those slavers, vile creatures,” she spits on the floor, “were whipping you directly into the underworld.”

I squeak. Oh gods, what have I

She takes a deep breath. I open my eyes.

done? I start trembling.

She sees me watching and smiles.

“Don’t be afraid, Little One,” she

Could she be a friend? I’ve never

says. “You're among friends now.”

had a friend.

I risk opening my eyes.

She licks her lips. “Moshe has an im-

placable anger, and when he saw them beating you, it burst forth into a flame so 37

hot and bright only their blood would quench it. He commanded his crew to

“I must know your name.” I feel the

pull the Wings of Horus alongside the

blackness threatening, but I must know.

slavers barge and demanded your release. They paid no heed, of course,

The last thing I hear, as I fall into dream-

which only served to fuel his anger. You

less sleep, is, “My name is Hatshepsut,

should have seen him. He grabbed the

little one. My name is Hatshepsut.”

sword from his hip, jumped across crocodile infested waters and slashed and cut

It is the first real sleep I've had in a very

until their blood and filth washed over the

long time.

deck, flowed into the Nile and fed Sobek’s minions. Moshe then ordered his

***

crew to lay a boardwalk and told them to search for survivors. You were the only one still alive. I wished to cross and help, but he forbade it. I believe he wanted to save me the distress of seeing how they’d treated you; I confess I was grateful. When he untied your body and carried it across, I feared you already dead. He laid you on his own bed and I saw you were still breathing. He begged me to save you and I desired nothing else. I have been at your bedside since.”

I push myself up and fight back the

urge to vomit as the wounds on my back crack. “What is your name?” I breathe.

“You must sleep little friend." 38

5 call me “we both know you want to...” Nick Prinsloo 0716770291 revnickp@gmail.com