“On the charge of attempted murder, Ms Nombuso Langa, you are found guilty, and you are therefore sentenced to 13 years in prison, with a chance of parole when you have served half of your imprisonment,” The judge, who was a middle aged woman, said.

To Nombuso, the judge looked to be about 45years old. She had a skewed wig on, and she had put on too much make up. But, while Nombuso was looking at her, something in her mind snapped. She knew that making rude remarks about the judge was not going to make her escape prison. So, she turned to look at Zanele, who was looking back at her. When their eyes locked, Nombuso smiled sadly, but Zanele did not move a muscle.

Was that hate that Nombuso saw on Zanele’s face? Of course it was. She had shot her in front of her daughter and wife, so how could she possibly still love her? Did she even love her?

“Oh, Nombuso, my child!” Nombuso’s mother said, rushing over to her before the police could take her away.

“Ma, I’m sorry, ma,” Nombuso cried.

“What have you done?” Nombuso’s mother wailed.

“I’m sorry ma, please!” Nombuso cried as the police dragged her away.


After court, Nombuso was taken to her cell, where she sat dressed in an orange overall. She had never pictured herself in these overalls before. She sighed, then lay in bed, thinking about how good the things that used to happen between her and Zanele.

“I love you,” Zanele once said, as Nombuso woke up to breakfast in bed.

As Nombuso opened her eyes, Zanele was right there. She yawned, then smiled at her. “What?” she asked, laughing.

“I love you,” Zanele had repeated, ever so genuinely. But how did she fall for that!

“I love you too, Zanele,” Nombuso responded, but, unlike Zanele, she was being honest.

After thinking about her past, Nombuso woke up. She was still adjusting to her new reality, so she looked around the cramped room filled with different types of women. The women there were both feminine and masculine, so she stayed in her corner.

“Take the car! It was a gift. It’s the least I could do for you,” Nombuso remembered Zanele saying to her when she tried giving her back the car.

“I don’t want it, Zanele,” Nombuso had protested.

“I don’t care! Burn it, throw it away, but don’t give it back to me. And this better be the last time you demand seeing me,” Zanele said, then she spit at her and walked away.

“Hey! Aren’t you a cop?” one of the women asked, pulling Nombuso out of her thoughts while sitting next to her. She was tall and slim, and she had a rough, deep voice and numerous tattoos. “I’m Ty,” she continued, introducing herself.

“Nombuso,” Nombuso responded.

“Jy will be my meddie,” Ty said, roughly pulling Nombuso towards herself.

“I’m not interested,” Nombuso responded, gently moving away.

“I don’t care!” Ty said, then she slapped Nombuso across the face. “What Ty wants, Ty gets. What are you in here for?” she asked.

“Attempted murder,” Nombuso responded.

“Why didn’t you just kill the person? Why attempt to kill a person, and not just do it?” Ty asked.

“I’m not done with her yet. I’ll get out of here. Revenge is a dish best served cold,” Nombuso said with a smile, then she pulled Ty towards herself and gave her a passionate kiss.


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