Hands


Chapter 1
I watched an episode of breaking bad where a man was dissolved in hydrofloric acid. I watched as his existence was wiped from history. No evidence of him existed except in the faulty memory of men. It was beautiful.
If I am ever killed it will be by my own hands.
Death grip with hands around my neck squeezing till the lights turn dim and dim turned darkness into forever. Fingers pulling trigger as words escape guns and bullets are left speechless. Wrists slashed and blood pouring out like ink into the bathtub, writing love stories that end with that girl falling in love with that guy who has just months to live. Or that guy falling in love with that guy,knowing very well that this is Ghana and their love will cost them their lifes. What is Love if not death played out in slow motion, no end in sight and no plot to discern. 
A rope strung around the ceiling fan. Will that work. Am I strong enough to lift this 110kg of flesh plus the extra weight of the world on my shoulders unto this stool. Is the fan support strong enough to carry me to the darkness, and possibly the light after that. 
Poison? Never that! I know enough chemistry to know that what I share with destiny is a bond stronger than any cynide or arsenic can break.  My best bet is to pass out in a bath of hydrofloric acid. Let the only part of me that remain be in the faulty memory of men.

Chapter 2
Her name was fields of flowers, red, white and yellow. Her eyes dark as the dimly lit sky right after the sunset on a moonless night. She was beautiful. 
I gave her parts of me that I never knew were detacheable. She has my heart and now my hands. If I were to ever be killed, remember who has my hands.

Chapter 3

Remember who has my hands.

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