Sello
By Ofentse Tladi.
On the 13th of August, when everything seemed normal, my sister placed a pregnancy test in front of me. We were going back and forth, the truth refusing to ever leave my mouth and when it finally happened - when it was finally revealed, my world changed forever.
We hurriedly walked, hands intertwined, to the nearest clinic. She wasnāt angry, she wasnāt shouting. We just walked, arrived and got rid of it. I never apologised to her. I never should have lied to her. I never thanked her. We never spoke about it again.
She smiled and laughed with mama, and I felt awkward knowing what had happened. How was she so calm? So relaxed, so her. I couldnāt bring it up, she never let me. I had to smile, laugh and hope that there wasnāt a void that was once filled inside me.
On the 13th of August, when everything changed, I noticed my sister crying in the middle of the night. We had gotten rid of it. It was somehow finally over but she wept with her eyes tightly closed like the same void that was within me was in her.
I didnāt fall back into sleep, I couldnāt fall back into sleep. I laid there and wept silently with her. We didnāt look at each other, we never held each other. Our backs and feet were all there ever was to contact as they faced each other.
She eventually fell asleep and I wanted to but I couldnāt. It was then that I felt that it wasnāt ever over.
On the 18th of August, when everything felt like it was back to normal, mama walked into my room and slapped me across the face.
She had tears, uncontrollably running down her face and my sister followed behind her with no sign of any emotion on her face.
āO setlatla!ā the words rang in my face. I blocked all the other words that came after and stormed out, feeling the walls sucking me in.
She promised! It wasnāt verbal but she acted like it never happened. She laughed! She smiled! We never spoke about it!
How was she so evil? So vile, so her.
On the 20th of August, when everything was completely shattered, I watched my sister pour water into the bathtub.
She was humming softly and without thought, I smashed her head. I placed the brick back on the floor, immediately stopping the door from shutting.
The blood came quick. Everywhere, all at once.
I walked out the bathroom and stood still. Watching, watching and watching until I just couldnāt.
āBoitumelo!ā My motherās voice was loud. I ran into the bathroom, pushed the brick further in and shut the door.
What had I just done? So stupid, so unlike me.
On the 25th of August, when everything was no more, I screamed as loud as I could, hoping that someone would save me.
I kept seeing the blood everywhere, all at once in the jail cell and I couldnāt stop it. It wouldnāt stop.
It felt like she was there. Screaming, begging like I was. Wondering what she had done to deserve such a cruel death.
āO setlatla!ā the words kept ringing as if mama was close by.
She promised! It wasnāt verbal but she did! And she had broken it! She hummed! She showed no emotion! She lied!
On the 30th of August, when I was barely hanging on, I dreamt of my sister and a little boy I had never seen.
She wasnāt angry, she wasnāt shouting. We slowly walked, hands intertwined, to a bench close by. I wanted to apologise to her, I wanted to hold her.
She picked the little boy up, placed him on her lap, smiled and held my hand.
āSello o tla dula a nale wena.ā
The End.
About the Creator
Ofentsešø
South African Based Writer šæš¦ā¤ļø
āSimply writing to hold onto my sanityā
~ anonymous.
Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Compelling and original writing
Creative use of language & vocab
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
Keep reading
More stories from Ofentsešø and writers in Fiction and other communities.
My Hair Story
When I think of my hair, thereās always the question of what if. What if I never relaxed it? What if my mom never got tired of plaiting it? What if I never cut it? What if itās not even in itās natural state? What if I never did that S-Curl hairstyle? What if I never used that green product? What if I plait consistently? What if I cut it again?
By Ofentsešø11 months ago in Fiction
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg liftsāan instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I haveāfirst base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if Iāve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I canāt see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isnāt over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows itās going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will endā¦ My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him outāits milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins7 days ago in Fiction
My To Be Read List
I have been taking some time away from writing. I haven't forgotten about Vocal, the truth is I just have been too busy pursuing other things to write online and honestly, my little family and I just had a really hard month between the flu and a weird eye infection/cold circulating our house. I'm currently sipping some warm peppermint tea because my throat is sore.
By Chloe Rose Violet š¹7 days ago in BookClub
Comments (25)
Coherent. I love the flow of your story, very creative.
https://vocal.media/fiction/the-racer-2-redemption-on-the-track-vu2p01fb
This awesome keep it up
I read this yesterday and was so blown away, I had to sit on it. This is truly stunning writing. The multiple refrains "so her" "she promised, it wasn't verbal, but she did" "o setlatla!" really give this piece a poetic, almost song-like quality. I am completely enraptured by the way you tell this story, almost without being direct about anything at all. It's indirect enough to know what happens, but the emotional weight is placed at a distance, such that the reader is crying while being pushed away. Does that make sense? It's an unusual interplay between narrative distance and first person voice, yet it works perfectly. I can't even be mad at our speaker at the end of it all. She is hurting, just like everyone is in this story. And, I must say, I love that you included the dream at the end. That closure was like breathing after being suffocated for several minutes. To me, including the little boy forces the reader to confront the realities of how violence leads to more violence, how one act can cascade into the destruction of relationships. Yet, you redeemed all that, even still. Amazing, amazing! Absolutely well-deserved Top Story. You wrote a masterful piece, here.
What I want to know is why people are ALWAYS in a hurry? Even on the weekends. Hurrying and worrying do not add ONE second to your life. So, maybe they're not Jerks. They are just idiots. The world is full of those
you write so well hats off....
wow, that was intense and captivating to read
I honestly was just hooked from beginning to end. I am at a loss for words really. Just incredible heartbroken but yet so captivated by that. Fantastic work. Really Well-done. New Follower here.
This was intense. Well done!
Wow that was intense! The flow of the narrative was intoxicating, and it carried me through seamlessly from paragraph to paragraph. I loved the multi-day nature of it, almost like a diary.
Wow! You are so very gifted. What a joy to see this brilliant story represented here. You alone merited this win. Ah! This story was worth my fight and heartache to see more Black stories highlighted on TS. Congratulations my dear.
Masterful build of tension... Great storytelling! š
You have a gift and a half. When you publish your book, I'll buy it.
your writing craft is exceptional... the story creates a chill. well done.
Brilliant storytelling. The timeline was a very nice touch, especially with the "whens" for each date. Well done and congratulations!
Woah, that was a lot in such a brief piece! Loved the progression of dates. Very well done! šš½š«
I loved this story about tough choices. Congrats on your top story!
An amazon, powerful and fascinating story! Very nice! ā¤ļø
What a powerful story! I couldn't help but ask ChatGPT about the key word, and that's what it produced, "In the context of a mother saying "setlatla" to her daughter who just had a secret abortion, the term could be a derogatory comment implying that the daughter is "barren" or "unfruitful," much like an unproductive tree. This usage might carry a heavy emotional weight, suggesting that the daughter has failed to fulfill expectations related to fertility or motherhood." Is this correct?
That was a whirlwind, not too much, not too little, just enough. Thank you.
Congratulations on Top Story!!!ā¤ļøā¤ļøš
It was an amazing story! can you read my story too?
Brilliantly written and so powerful! Congratulations on Top Story! š¤
Crikey, this is so succinctly potent, great work.
This is genius and fierce and brave.