Don’t die a virgin, terrorists are waiting for you in heaven.
I am every terrorist’s wet-dream girl. I have big, wide and beautiful/lovely/lustrous eyes, like pearls, just the way the Quran says in Surat Al-Wāqi`ah 56:22 – 23. I am tall, baby-faced (what the Hadith calls eternally young), complexion like that of Samantha Lewthwaite the terroristess, voluptuous and full-breasted. My boobs are large, round and not inclined to hang.
My wife and I grew apart long before we were married, around the same time I gave up trying to make it work for us. Over the years, the Valley has become Rift. Though, we share the bed, the matrimonial one. I don’t know her as much as I know the beautiful one I always dream of being with who is not yet born.
For you to know how much I love you, I realize, the love I have for you has to die. Not that love for another will grow, or grows, in me. No. I said forever. Forever is how long I will love you.
According to the Nairobi urban dictionary, I am a socialite: a young beautiful woman with tantalizing titties (anterior), big ass (posterior) and no brains.
My sister tried to kill me when she was six. In the end my sister will not kill me. I will kill her.
At least this is what I tell myself.
A bottle of Tusker lay on its side, dripping into a puddle that ran to where he sat. He held a second bottle by the neck.
I have a hole in my heart, a condition that has consigned me to love on the sidelines.
He put a hand to his forehead and felt it slip on something slick – his own blood. I was mugged, he said to himself. His heart started to palpitate, actually began to attack him.
“Look at the streets. They are full of them, kids with nowhere to go, for ever suffering. Apprehension is what
Most Sundays, for forty years, I would wake in the arms of the woman I love, the mother of our
I look at my sister on the couch opposite me. I walk over to where she is and hug her.
“You have a beautiful face and nice eyes,” I told her. By this I meant her bust and boobs. “Are
