Cynthia Ng'ang'a

Cyn the Kenyan Wordsmith

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February 2019
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Drama mama

By on February 9, 2019
Photo credits to whoever i stole this from

The clouds hang low and grey, lightening flashed followed by the loud rumble of thunder. It was a gloomy evening and the sky seemed weary of the day’s burden and looked as if it would unleash its torrent of tears at any minute. But still she walked unperturbed by such little travesties as an incoming storm. Who had the time to be burdened by the mood controlled actions of the gods while already troubled by those of mortals? No, the weather was an non-issue and she seemed oblivious to the howling wind and the quickly darkening sky. She wore slightly worn out black sneakers, faded blue jeans and a scanty top that seemed to mock the weather. Applied on her lips was blood red matte lipstick which stood out against her beat up face and unkempt (it could almost be termed as shaggy) hair. However,the most outstanding aspect of this lady, was her eyes. They seemed to be brimming with tears and at the same time burned with determination and a hint of defiance tugging at the ends of her lids. She wore the look that men both mighty and frail have been known to fall victim to, the look that has made strong men since the times of yore in places near and yonder fall to their knees with fear; the look of a woman scorned. Surely such wrath hath never been found!

She was determined to see him not to punch him or stab him but rather to ask why? The worst thing about it all was that she still loved him. He was to be the one or so she had thought. Such naïve thoughts she thought now and for the millionth time she realisedrealized the folly of her childish, no, psychotic plan which consisted of seeing him then rushing to kiss him. Not just any kiss but a long deep passionate kiss. A kiss to show him what he would be missing. It was a crazy plan but she knew she was a crazy woman; too bad he hadn’t figured it out before doing what he had done.

People kept stealing curious glances at her. She was fully aware of the fact that she look liked an escaped mental patient with her shabby clothes, exaggeratedly painted lips walking in the rain one second looking like she would break down and the other looking like she was just about to murder someone.

‘Where are meeting?’


‘Really? You do know you had promised we would meet today right?”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I..really just need to see you

” Why?”

“I can’t tell you on phone please?”


“So where?”

I’m at(mumbles mumbles) but I’m not staying long I’m leaving “

With a cracking voice,” should I come?”

And at that moment she could picture him shrugging his shoulders and rolling his eyes in what could be disgust or irritation or both, “Do whatever you want.”

Am I the only one who hates guys who don’t know how to argue? Oh and yes the story is over. Let’s just say she hit her head on an electric post and came back to her senses in the nick of time before turning into ‘that crazy ex’ and is probably out in the world writing a blog and poems about heart break. Who knows? Anyway back to guys who don’t know how to argue. Sometime back, lazing on my bed in school, a friend of mine read me a last weeks edition article titled ‘Guys who turn ladies into drama queens’ And as she read, we each ticked of traits of guys we were or had been dating. They were so many traits but the one that really got to me is the ‘Okay we’ll talk about it kind of guy and the they don’t. ” If something’s wrong or not working we have to talk about it and figure things out. Arguing doesn’t necessarily mean shouting at the top our voices and throwing forks at each other. And I know guys think its cool sitting mum as she ‘bites your ear off’ but sorry to burst your bubble its actually irri…no annoying!  That’s why we start shouting and clapping in order to get a reaction from this self made mannequins we for some reason decided to call boyfriends. I just think if there’s a problem both parties should sit and talk about it else she’ll be walking in the rain coming to give you the kiss of death.

Oh and I forgot to mention the lady in the story, she had a knife strapped to her waist and no, she does not work in a butchery.

What annoys you the most about men or women? Comment comment


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