Fred got frustrated

Some times my heart pounds really hard, I can’t help but get paranoid and find some respite in that familiar state. Every day, I am tortured by thoughts of being captured, locked and looking out in between prison bars waiting to be home. My anxiety heightened.

My wife wants to kill me.

But I always remind myself that I can forget this pain. It only exists mentally. And then one morning I woke up, still in my pajama; it was the start to a mysterious plan. I have to right all my wrongs, and make only calculated mistakes. So, I map things out.

I think of where to go, how long will I stay in town, when shall I move to the next one and at what stage do I completely change my address. I think I can do it. Day after, day, I think the same way. I think I can do it.

Last night she came after me with a cleaver in one hand, screaming, “Liar!” and almost slashed my neck. Luckily, I grabbed her by the waist, behind her back in the nick of time and I ducked myself before pinning her down. She finally calmed down, and we hugged for a while.

One day, when I have a full notebook of plans. I will have my map! After such long time of working on this escape, I am now able to make a move. Usually on the day I’d have decided a significant turning point in my life, I wish not to think at all. That’s how lovely our wedding was, actually. I wouldn’t afford such time. Love and pride, filled my lungs. I just do things one by one, one after another.

I don’t care about her anymore. Already, I don’t love her. She can just, rot and die in this house or get what she wants, like how she always demands. I don’t want this house, not my money, not my property, not even the off spring, for it kills me from this inside, my agony. It hurts when I keep thinking of this, justifying to myself about the defeat I have prepared for myself.

I promised myself I will work on my freedom. Only once, or twice this week, I allowed myself to think of how pretty she was walking down the aisle 3 years ago. I loved her so much, I should stay.

But I am letting go. I am convinced that I am more important. I also convince myself that this was not meant to be. Something has gone awfully unwell, although this is something I can never be sure about.

I load the things in my car. And I look forward to a new day. I can forget the tyranny, the constant nagging, negativity, big family uncle ideologies, and best of all, I can forget waking up in this place that feels like hell. I rather one that is out there.

I drive away, and as I am driving away, the smell of bread from the baker near Doustraat street from my childhood…comes slowly, hugging my mind.