“Ngisizeni,” she cried for help.
“Angizingeni,” I sighed, shook my head and buried myself under the blanket. Yes. I said it. “I don’t want to be involved.”
“You can talk until you are blue in the face,” I’d said, a week earlier. “But these chicks will always come back to these guys. How, if they are being abused?” I’d shrugged.

“Ngisizeni.” I heard her sobs over and over. Like a record on repeat.
I heard her till after the earth swallowed her coffin full.
“Angizingeni,” I heard myself in clear, high definition.
Tears streamed down my cheeks.
“I wish I’d known, my sister. I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was a random chick. But maybe that’s the problem. We always think it’s someone random. That’s how we know to say, “Agizingeni.”

1 Comment

  1. Geoff
    14 December 2020


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