EVERYONE HAS A SCRIPT

EVERYONE HAS A SCRIPT – By Richard Henry

The past is always in the past. The future is the light that you see, luminescent at the end of the tunnel. Everything is planned, so in a way, life is just acting.

Actors have scripts. We also do, we just can’t see them.

I have never seen an angel fly with broken wings.

There was a party yesterday. I didn’t know much about it beforehand, but I decided to help this particular girl who said she wanted to cater. She wanted to make pitza rolls and, waffles with creamy chocolate (she had made the chocolate herself). I was interested in seeing how far the entire thing would go, so I helped.

No charcoal.

I offered to show her where we could get some, and that’s how the two of us and the ticketer girl started looking for charcoal around the GRA, until I explained that we may have to leave the estate and enter into the streets of Ogudu to find some coal.

She didn’t know anywhere, she was not from around here. So I had to take the lead.

A stove would have been something cool, but no one seemed to be using a stove anymore and she kept rambling on about how different utensils bring out different tastes. All those cooking ‘terminologies’ that I didn’t care to understand.

 

Storried Everyone has a script

We did get the coal. We did make the food. Everything was going to plan. Or was it?

Waffle girl was one of those people that believed too much in the humanity in people. She was probably one of those buttered-up children that don’t really understand the darkness that life has to offer. You can hear it in her accent; you can smell it in her breath.

Her phone got stolen in the end. The thief was nice enough to leave her phone charger in the bag for her, or maybe he was too engrossed in stealing the phone that he didn’t see the charger.

Waffle girl went crazy, asking why anyone would want to steal from her. Asking me, asking the party organizers, asking the party, asking the world, asking the knife she kept repeatedly stabbing on the kitchen top we borrowed to make the waffles. Fucking berserk and neurotic.

I was having all of that though. I was stoned, and possibly also drunk (it’s hard to tell when you’re actively engrossed in the intake of two hard substances). There was marijuana. There was fucking Ethanol. As in Ethanol. Real Ethanol. And I kept wondering how crazy my friends must have been to think of getting Ethanol (stuff I remember using for chemistry practicals in secondary school) for a house party. Crazy fuckers!

I had to stay sober because I had to run some things for the party, but towards the end, I had my drink of Ethanol and I was almost knocked back. It was stronger than vodka. Way much stronger. It was like drinking methylated spirit. It took all of my experience in the Wobe industry to not cough the shit out. I kept it in, swallowed it, felt it burn my insides on its way down, and asked for more. Oliver Twist like me.

So I was stoned talking to her, trying to calm her down, telling her that her life was not as ruined as she said it was.
It was only a phone, it was only cash.

Why are people so heartless when it comes to other people’s stuff? So many other people misplaced their stuff during the party. IPhones, Tablets and so many other gadgets. The irony is that security was very tight (there were armed army personnel at the gate).

Broken wings…

I ended up feeling bad for enjoying the party as much as I did because of the hurt people that were all around me. I was hurt too, but I didn’t care about my hurt. I was too much stoned yesterday to remember that I’m a depressed person.

But what about today?

Waffle girl was an angel. Full of life and energy and genuine change. She was a force that I hadn’t realized existed outside the confines of my mind. Her thoughts were sky-high…until her wings got broken.

Just one party.

So when they ask me how the house party went, I would tell them that Relapse was a flop full of fuck boys and underage slay queens. There were still the cool guys and girls though, but not enough to have prevented the flop from occurring.

We are actors. We all have scripts. Some scripts will change. Some won’t. But I hope one thing.

Only one.

I hope Waffle girl gets her wings fixed

Tags:  

Storried is Now on DreamAfrica

Discover DreamAfrica - Voices, animations and films from Africa and around the world.


Advertisement

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

EVERYONE HAS A SCRIPT

By Richard Henry

The past is always in the past. The future is the light that you see, luminescent at the end of the tunnel. Everything is planned, so in a way, life is just acting.

Actors have scripts. We also do, we just can’t see them.

I have never seen an angel fly with broken wings.

Newsletter

Subscribe to our emailing list and get notified of the top stories on the web.

Scroll to top