Sign In

You are seeing this because you have not yet updated your iBlog. Click on settings to edit...

Sign InSign Up

And she went cold..... A short story by Josiah Taundi

10 years ago | 11570 Views

A Short Story by Josiah Bob Taundi

He staggered into the apartment, drunk again but feeling different and generous. For once he wanted to tell his wife, of more than a decade, that he loved and cared for her. That he was changed for real, for good.

You owe it to yourself to redeem yourself, his father had said on the phone only this week. He had trashed his wife of two so bad she really needed hospitalization. She never went to the hospital, she never reported him to anyone. That’s one thing he couldn't understand or value. Why has she never reported him? Not even once! She made him believe he was an okay guy, just the alcohol.


Time was moving, the family was growing, she would always say. Stop the drink, that's all she wanted of him.  He seldom had anl answer except uttering threats of more violence. Sometimes he would feel sorry, guilty in the morning when the drink clears. But he would quickly brush it aside, blaming her for his actions.


She needed so many things done in the house but didn't walk out of the door to go earn the money herself, he always thought. That stressed him lots.

Gosh, that’s all history. We all sinners before the Lord but the important thing is to realize the wrong and right it, he vowed to himself. It’s never too late.  Let me not be judged by history, but by my present.

From whence, I swear to you good Lord, I won’t be violent to my wife ever again.

His wife was as quiet as a mule and everyone who knew her always remarked that he was blessed to have such a good wife, in this day, in these foreign lands.

This very night I will show her all the love, appreciation and support I neglected for years. I will be good to my kids. Come next pay, I swear, I will buy them the Halloween customes they always pestered me for. I promise this, he insisted to himself.

He wasn’t sure from where this catalytic remorse emanated from but it felt good, self-generated. Like a new beginning, a fresh direction, an entire rebirth. Some catharsis, alchemy.  

Look, nations use guns to gain peace. Cities use coercive power to maintain social order, he reasoned. In the end there is always peace, negotiation, new vision, change. I’m a nationality, part of a community that jails murderers to redeem them.

Where there is a will there’s a way.

I’m different now, oh yeah I am, he muttered triumphantly making up the last step into his third floor apartment.

He burst into the house. Usually his wife would be terrified, because that’s when the beatings would start if she said something he didn’t like. He hated it when she sat there watching television into the night without serving him his late dinner.

I’m the father of this house who work himself to death everyday lifting tonnes of Oxford dictionaries shipping to Africa, Asia and South America, to keep the family fed.  So why is it a big deal just warming and bringing the food to this tired man trying to make a living? He didn’t get it.

Anyways, that’s all history, he reassured himself.  

The television was still on. His daughter’s red balloon flustered on the floor as he made towards the bathroom.

Today I will warm the food myself and serve it to myself. She would like this. I won’t bother her anymore.

Gosh, it feels so good to willfully change oneself. He laughed again. My wife, kids, parents or even the intrusive pastor who sometimes showed up at the home without notice would all chorus in praise of this new man.

Bubbling and inspired, he warmed and ate his dinner. It was odd she didn’t come out, not that he wanted her to serve him anymore. He washed the dishes, cleaned the place, for the first time since she moved in with him from Africa.

She will sure be pleasantly surprised to notice the sudden changes, already. This will ultimately wash away all his past false promises.

He slothfully entered the bedroom. It was still.

“Rudo” he called gently. No response. He repeated, getting nearer.  He shook her gruffly, calling her name again and again. Nothing.  He looked closer. Her eyes were half open, but frozen. Her mouth, still swollen from the last harrowing beating, was arched as if forcing a smile.

“Rudo!” he shouted shaking her frantically. She was stiff, cold and breathless.

8 bettymakoni


Comment as Anonymous Submit
Anonymous user 10 years
ah very sad indeed!
Anonymous user 10 years
well talented man, u are truly an arts man
Anonymous user 10 years
surprising, but familiar tragedy
Anonymous user 8 years
sad and touching story
Anonymous user 8 years
EISH madhodha
Anonymous user 4 years
mmm quite touching hey but i like the creativity
Anonymous user 2 years
powerful story!!!!
Anonymous user 6 months
Gripping story.
What iBlog
iNdabaNdaba | Follow | 179 Blogs
CHANGESAREWRONG | Follow | 0 Blogs