Fears and Faints

The fear of striking out, fear of eating only white rice with pork consommé once in a day; fear of feeding salivating tongues of black blabber with my unfair treatment held me down in my little cabin. Added with tales of folks who left their home but never came back, folks who jumped to their death while evading these fowlers-I became more frightened.

Just like the unpredictability of death, no one knows their next victim. Friends that once took brave adventure have become preys- beaten like common criminals, handcuffed and clamped down in jail for repatriation, a jail lesser than hell by flames.Like summer snares, they are everywhere, in the bus, metro, taxi, around all nooks and cranny; disguised in casual attire noted for its smokescreen like hungry lion waits in dry grass, desperate for a black skin to exercise their above-board.

There is no safe place, no not a place; no part of this earth could hide me from their scary eyes, if they were one, I would have no fear but like soldier ants, their ways are brutal - a natural habit of brutes, and of the whole realm of organized life below them, they wage war upon any black instinctively. Their readiness for hostilities and ferocity in attack have been witnessed and noted among most sojourners, just like peregrine falcon on its prey.Trust no fly that swoops around you, stay off the crowd and walk like a panting deer. My home is not heaven; my guards are now spies, no iron gate can prevent these men from breaking in. My friend's door was broken down in the early hours of the morning while he was sleeping. The first thing he knew was these fowlers coming into his bedroom. Hitting and kicking, shouting and barking, swirling and twirling everything in his closet. "Where are you, black monkey? Come out here or I'll bundle out" shouted one of them. They are asking for document or money, but if this would be a one time settlement,

I rather sale my limp and have my peace. But their thirst are insatiable, their demand can never be met. They rather have you sale your whole body than seeing you work down their street.

Who shall deliver me from these shackles of fear? What shall I do and where do I run to? My business, my investment, my little stocks is right opposite the regular rendezvous of my predators- will I get there safely?

My heart beats unsteadily, my skin is hot and my stomach is empty. They are here, everywhere with iron-batons, shackles and firearm. All that I hated most was the scrambling footsteps of my native neighbors around my threshold. Doorbell became the vilest thing, it rang every now and then; "shall I disconnect it?" "Who told them I'm at home? How did these fowlers know I'm in here?"

My heart began to beat faster again; my feet shuddering, sweat all over me on that spot. Memories of my previous encounter with them came to me in a flash.

Here comes the bell again and again, this time, more persistently!

"Truly, they are here, right at my threshold". "What shall I do?" "Where shall I hide, under my bed, in my closet? Who do I call?"
Just as I was pondering with my tails tucked in between my legs; the bell came again and again with hard knocks at my door. Oh God, where are you? So I'm their next victim." How I wish I have wings; I'll fly through my window.
Suddenly a thought came into me; "for how long shall I be in this fear, how long shall I remain in my little cabin thinking, praying and wishing? -"once man go die"

Not all that ventured are victims, why should I allow the fear of striking out get in my way; my greatest mistake is to continually being afraid of their unfair treatment and humiliations. It is better to be in their hands than to die starving".

Boldly, I opened my door but thank goodness, he was a "postmaster"