Mess book by Dudu Busani-Dube

One of the few guys with no tattoos has been staring at my sneakers for too long and I know he’s trying to figure me out. I have four tattoos, and they are all on my arms. Maybe that will work in my at least they show I can stand pain.
I will stand here, in this corner, for the whole night if I have to. I have slept under bridges, I have killed men with their eyes looking into mine. I am Nomafu’s son. A cold hand over my mouth and a tight grip pulling my arms back are nothing compared to the knife going repeatedly into my thighs.

They aren’t trying to kill me, that I know for sure, because otherwise he would have gouged that knife into my heart by now. The stabs in my thighs are continuous but not deep. I can feel them. It’s my blood they want to see, not my dead body lying on the floor.

I’m still trying to kick and free myself, though. Screaming for help is not an option. Men don’t scream for help. They fight to the death with their teeth clenched and voice held in their throat. I fight until I can’t move my legs anymore and I know that this is it, I’m dying tonight.

I’ve always wanted to take my own life, die on my own terms, in my own time. But it’s clear now that I’ll never get what I want in this life. I never have been able to.

I feel my mind separating from my body and I know it’s over.
I stop. For the first time in my life, I stop fighting before I win.
I’m dead. It’s happening for real this time and I don’t have my brothers to stop me.