gozzilla:

A beautiful and touching story of passion by my friend MacDonald. You will love it, you will feel it. It in no way expresses my view as regard such matter, but it is a great piece. Enjoy it,

Prologue

In his homily, Fr. Ikemefuna, substituting for the Parish priest, continued to preach on the need for almsgiving. He thanked all those who donated generously for the upkeep of the church and the poor, and ended with a prayer and sprinkling holy water on our face. Unlike the Parish priest, Fr. Ikemefuna was a young handsome man. Many of the village girls considered his answering the priestly call a waste of resources. He was adored by all. His gentle dimpled smile could awaken a host of emotions in any woman. He was an emblem of concern for many youths in the church. There was this air of mystery around him that made him special. During confessions he was the preferred priest, as people mobbed his corner in order to catch a light penance for their grievous sins. He had this smile, after your confession that reassured one that God was indeed merciful.

It was to him I made my first confession to that same day. I had expected him to be shocked at my pronouncement, but he puzzled me with his calm response. He’d looked at me with intense bright eyes and smiled.
‘How long have you felt like this’, he asked, spreading a charming smile on his lips to console me.
‘I don’t know father, I’ve always felt like this since I was a child’, I replied, burying my head in shame. He held my hands gently and asked,
‘How old are you?’
‘Sixteen’, I mumbled. He shook his head and muffled something like a prayer and crossed me with the sign of the cross.
‘Act of contrition’, he said. I quickly rushed the prayer and waited as he read my penance.
‘Father’, I called before he could usher me out.
‘Yes?’ he answered, head bent in prayer.
‘Do you think I am abnormal?’ I asked .Hiding my face on the floor. I could sense a certain degree of uncertainty in his response.
‘My child’, he said.’ Judgments should be left for God, not man’.
‘His ways are not our ways’, he added, ‘and only God knows why we are blessed with such characters’, he said and winked at me. There was something in that wink. I looked into his face, but there was no clue. I stood up and walked home, my mind less preoccupied by the drama.


On my way home, I was about to take the shortcut home when I saw her: the crucifix, on which my salvation was crucified. Nkechi was a total upset! To all the boys of our village, she was a neck breaker. An angel in human form, With a set of teeth that outshone the sun. Her physique was tall and fully blossomed at sixteen. She had a magnetic effect on me, always taunting me to mortal sin I could not resist her, and she knew. I had vowed to avoid her after my first confession, but as her smile caught my eyes, I melted and allowed my emotion to be held hostage.
‘Wat’s up’, she said, in a funny accent. I felt a million missiles explode inside me.
‘You’ve been avoiding me?’ she added.
‘Says who?’ I whispered, avoiding her look.
‘So, why haven’t you visited me?’ she asked again. ‘Or did you not know I was back for the holidays?’
I’ve been very busy with preparations for my ‘first holy communion’, I lied.
‘Hmmm’, she managed to reply. ’that’s nice’, she smiled. ‘I was beginning to think you had a new bush-girlfriend’, she said, laughing. I wriggled with laughter as she held my hand. Hers was soft and tender, while mine was rough as sandpaper. We were both from different worlds, united by our passion.
‘What are you doing tomorrow night?’ she asked, breaking my thoughts. I wanted to tell a lie, but somehow the truth fell out. ‘Nothing’, I replied.
‘Very nice’, she clapped. ‘Can we meet then?’ she asked, staring at my eyes.
‘um! um!’ I muttered trying hard to avoid her gaze.
‘Common just this once before I go back to school?’ she begged.
‘When are you leaving?’ I asked. Hurt that she had to leave again.
‘Next week’, she replied, holding my hands.
‘Ok?’ I answered, looking closely into her bright eyes.
‘Lets meet at 8pm.the sun should be sleeping by then’, she added trying to be poetic.
‘Hope you won’t be late again?’ I told her, as we hugged goodbye.
‘Nopes!’ she said again, in her foreign accent. She smiled and ran off, her buttocks dancing wickedly behind her. I watched as she disappeared behind the trees and walked back home. Tired, I went to sleep.
‘
The tale

Read the rest on this blog  ,  http://gozific..com/2009/04/petals-of-lust-savanna-tragedy-of.html