Mpho woke up with the enthusiasm of a hungover drunkard as she wiped the spittle off her table and cheeks. She gave the class a quick glance to check if anybody had seen her pass out and drool all over the table. She had fallen asleep again. Yes, this was history, but let’s not stereotype the subject because it was her favourite and so was its teacher. This always asleep thing was beginning to become an issue and with exams approaching, a problem she could not afford or else she wouldn’t hear the end of it from her mother. There were a few guesses on why she was so tired. It might have been all the extra hours she had put in preparation for Gospel week, but she dozed off, thinking about how much it sucked being the granddaughter of their churches go-to-guy with the man upstairs. She still couldn’t catch a break or in her case, a blessing. Hypocritical as that may be, Mpho’s grandfather’s work never seemed to be on her side. During her early years on earth, she had no choice but to attend church, but as she grew into a kid; it became the most uneventful place to go. It was to her, where her grandfather said people who didn’t come to church would go and for that reason, and that reason alone, she’d go. Once she had outgrown her pyrophobia and puberty started doing an in-depth investigation into the seven deadly sins, Mpho developed an affinity for the land of eternal flame.
The problem wasn’t the double life as such, but more of an issue with all the damn meetings. The stupid, unnecessary meetings. Church on Sunday, Choir meeting Monday and Wednesday, Holy Communion on a Tuesday, prayer meetings on a Thursday, Bible study on a Friday, and God knows what on a Saturday. And you know what the best part of it all was? The cycle began again on Sunday. But Monday to Friday, when she was at school, she was in Eden and as a result, unable to deny the urge to submerge herself in fantasies far beyond what was considered lust.
“Shit! Is he hot or what?” Mpho would say, smiling to herself as she nourished her bottom lip with a coat of spit. Trapped in his eyes, she’d fight for control over her own body in order not to let out a shout of approval at what she saw. Hair cut short like a layer of black varnish, making the skin on his face look like it was inviting you to stare at his features. Ah, that velvet voice. It was unmistakable whom it belongs to as it shouted at her. Hearing those vocals sent chills down her spine, a verbal Taser teasing every cell in her body. Drooling and lost in thought, she couldn’t hear the voice directed at her become louder, heightening the effect it had on her body and sending her to an asylum.
Her ignorance of what was happening around her led to the entire class staring at her, as though they agreed with one another that she belonged in a nuthouse. Mpho shuffled about but not fast enough and the class caught onto what she was staring at with so much concentration. Her eyes strained to remove their gaze from his... area of expertise making things awkward for the both of them. Silence. That uncomfortable silence she used to pray for mercy before it granted her any by the bell signalling the end of the period and saving them both from further humiliation. However, Mr Zulu, the source of all this embarrassment, requested Mpho to stay behind.
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