People say joy comes in the morning and your day turns better from that point. I used to wonder about when it starts with resentment, does it turn worse?
I woke up at 7 o’clock in the morning. It was the earliest I’d ever woken up during the December holidays which was pretty annoying because when I wake up I can’t to go back to sleep. To pass time, I played a videogame and after a few minutes mom woke up and told me dad was calling me to the sitting room.
When I got there I found him murmuring viciously to himself. I stood next to him and kept quiet, waiting for the daily lecture he always gave me.
“Look at that,” he pointed at the television across the room. “Kids everywhere have gone mad, smoking drugs, killing each other, raping innocents. It’s a good thing you are a slacker,”
I was baffled and also confused to see my dad actually admiring the fact that I do nothing all day but eat and watch T.V. He then dug into his pocket and made out with a R20 note.
“Here, go buy some bread,” he said then stood up, still bickering with himself, and went into his bedroom.
I retreated to mine and changed into some daytime clothes, which was stupid because the shop was across the road. As usual Tokolo showed up at my gate.
“What’s up my boy?” he put his hands behind his back, a hustling signature.
“Playing your video games yet?” he asked, peeking through the holes on my gate.
“Not yet, just buying bread then I’ll play when I come back,” I replied.
“Then let’s go boy,” he said, skipping along the way.
When we began our subtle venture, a Mustang broke next to us and dumped a guy out. He was breathing heavily and painfully, then it roared valiantly and made away with rage. I went to the guy’s aid. He pulled me by my hoodie and started screaming senseless words.
He paused and murmured, “Velocity must not get the shipment, you must tell…” then he died on the spot.
Immediately, a different but bigger car stopped next to us and two Russian guys jumped out with guns aimed at us and ordered us to get into their car. We didn’t have a choice so we obeyed.
Tell us: What do you think the Russians want from the boys?