An excerpt from work in progess Disorganized Crime

Nelson drove onto a narrow street lined with newly build houses. He stopped in front of one of the houses; it was a brick house with beautiful bay windows, flower pots were on the window sills, baskets of flowers hung along the verandah, African bamboo wind chimes serenaded the early evening, Nelson felt a sudden peacefulness. The big wooden door had a colonial style design to, it just like the mansions he used to walk by in Byumba when he was a child, relics of the once colonial rule. He walked up to the door and rang the bell, a female voice responded telling him to come in.

He entered the house, it was meticulously decorated, and pictures on the walls, soft rusty coloured carpet, and a scent that reminded him of his mother’s rose garden. The hallway leading to the living room was white, he called this her walk of travels, there were pictures of her taken in several different countries Kenya, Zimbabwe, England, China even Tibet.  In every picture, she was always smiling, even when the pictures were of children suffering oppressive conditions. That is why he loved being around her, her constant joy of living was infectious. He walked into the living room, a beige coloured living room suit sat as if untouched, he went into the kitchen, and here too, everything was put in its proper place. In the middle of the room was an island with pots and pans hanging from a rack in the ceiling above it. He went to the fridge, it was the cleanest fridge he had ever seen, he got out a small bottle of orange juice and went back into the living room, she always kept orange juice for whenever he came over. He looked at the chairs and chose to sit in the black lazy boy next to the couch.

                She entered the room and for a second he forgot to breathe.

                “Hi Dianna.” He said smiling, she walked over to him, she moved so gracefully it seemed like she had floated into his arms, she clung to him, her warm body causing chill bumps to cover his body, her hugs always made him feel loved.

                “How have you been? I have not heard from you in a couple of days, why did you not answer your phone?” She said, a look of concern in her eyes, it was not like him not to answer her calls. Nelson did not respond,

                “Is something wrong?” She asked, Nelson looked at her, her golden brown hair moved gently as she spoke, her hazel eyes danced even with that concerned expression,

“Someone tried to kill me the other night,” he said, her expression of concerned deepened, and she reached over and rested her hands on his knees, she knew what he had been through, she had seen it first hand when she was in Rwanda. Nelson tingled all over, she had a way of making him relax, his whole body going limp like he had just came from a massage parlor. He looked at her hands; they were perfect,  like one you may see in a magazine advertising nail polish, or hand lotion, only hers were naturally beautiful, her teal coloured nail polish matched with her purple blouse that swayed gently when she moved

                “You have that look in your eyes; I have not seen that look in twelve years. You did not…….” She said,

                “No I did not kill him, he is very much alive.” Nelson interupted

                “So he escaped?” She asked, Nelson did not answer.

                “I don’t think I should tell you, the less you know the better.” He said looking into her eyes.

                “You should go to the police,” she said Nelson leaned forward.

                “No police, I have to find out who sent him myself, I don’t trust authority you know that.” He said, she took his hand and raised it to her chin,

                “You are not in Rwanda anymore Nelson you can start trusting people now,” she said gentle pressing his hand against her chin,

                “I know I should, but if the rebels sent him, there is nothing the cops here can do, there will be another one and another one, they will not stop until am dead.” He said, she got up and sat in his lap, she would always do that when he was down and it always managed to calm him down. She smelled of roses, her lips curled into a smile, her skin was evenly tanned.  He took a deep breath,          

“I know it’s been a long time, but revenge can be a master motivator, a lot of his supporters are committing atrocities today, I don’t see anyone doing anything to stop them.” He said, she kissed him on the forehead, by the way they are together, many people thought they were a couple, but all that was between them is this intense romantic tension that never seems to pan out.  She got up and walked into the kitchen he watched her walk away, it was not like he did not want to be with her, but he thought it would be unfair to put her through the nightmares and the depression he fought every day. She had come to the refugee camp with her parents to volunteer and they hit it off immediately, they spent countless hours talking and walking around the camp helping as many people as they could. Her parents had helped him escape to London just before the rebels attacked the camp, he had gotten his grammar schooling  finished and attended Oxford university, later she encouraged him to move to America and here he was, sitting in her living room, listening to her shuffle around in the kitchen.

By Bombastic Nation

Me name is Anderson A Charles. I am a writer story teller and Podcaster, the original Steve urkel, yes I did that. Also played basketball in college ( that's because I am seven feet tall.

1 reply on “An excerpt from work in progess Disorganized Crime”

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