I am writing this because I know they're going to lie about me.
My life wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst either. I
wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth; it was more like one of
those plastic white ones you used to find in syrup medicine packs. I
went to school. That's it!
I wasn't a model student (how could I be?
With my Dad's ugly face and the ungraceful ness' of my drunken mother,
no way I could've been a model anything.) My
class 8 teacher once thought of making me school head boy - but that
was only because I was the biggest, meanest, and of course oldest boy
in the school. They say school children can be cruel, and after 12
years in primary school, you either develop a thick skin, or a knack
for giving fat lips. Needless to say, I didn't help my cause when I
almost drowned the swimming instructor after she tried to stop me from
swimming in my underwear. In my defense, what's the difference? Aren't
they the same thing? High
school wasn't anything to write home about, especially since I couldn't
spell most of the words. My only high point was when the rugby captain
made me join the team.
I wasn't so much an athlete as a brute. I was
lousy at passing, receiving, and very slow. But when I got my hands on
that egg-like ball, nothing could stop me. I remember I once made a try
with 6 players holding on to me. And God bless the sorry player who
received the ball within arms reach. I am proud to say I broke quite a
number of ribs, limbs and dislocated a few shoulders. After
high school, I had nothing to do. That's when my rich uncle invited me
to stay with him in the US. I thought life would be a bed of roses, but
didn't turn out that way. He wanted me to go to college, I didn't. How
could I? I could barely spell the word! So
somehow I ended up being a bouncer at one of the downtown clubs. And
that's how I died.
One of those black people with those shiny chains
(like the ones I used to tie up my dog Simba, but better), came to the
club with a gun. I was searching him and he said something I didn't
understand, I slapped his head (kisogo), and he pulled his gun. That's
the last thing I remember. I
am writing this because I know they're going to lie about me. They'll
say I was an honor student, a star athlete, and a hardworking young man.
I wasn't, I was just a brute who managed to get by life through brute
force, and fittingly died by it.
And you my friend, what is your story? Or will you let them lie about you?
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