Cecil John Rhodes: British Empire Hitman

“The thought of dating you makes me want to throw up” said a pretty classmate in high school. Then there was the beautiful girl I secretly asked out to the matric dance. After she rejected me, I thought the story would remain between us, but she made sure to tell my classmates and I became the laughing stock of the whole standard. I cried. I sobbed my sorrows to sleep.

“It’s a lie; I know it’s a lie! He can’t die, he is too kind hearted to leave, too young to ascend to heaven, and he hasn’t even started pursuing his dreams. No! It’s a lie!” as I yell frantically to no one in particular.

Imagine you are a mink – beautiful and precious beyond compare. Then suddenly one autumn day, hunters invade your homeland.

And while we spend precious time beautifying ourselves in front of the mirror, for his amusement of course - we do not see the truth. We brush our expensive hair strands carefully, colour our lips and pout, and turn to admire the castle built around us.

I am always careful and wary of my surroundings, for my daily commute on foot from Noord to Bree Taxi Rank carries potential terror for my kind. But on one morning I am less vigilant; my mind is burdened with personal troubles that kept me awake the night before.

I have been single for about six months now. I miss him. His face, the taste of his lips still lingers but has begun to fade with time. We started talking again after four months of silence after the break up. For what reason, I am not sure.