29th November, 2009
Dear Diary, a burial service was held for Mr. Dumpson yesterday. I stood defiantly in the splattering rain. I stood there long enough to catch a cold as I watched his lifeless body being lowered into the grave, encased in an exquisite casket. The autopsy revealed he died of natural causes as there was no shred of evidence of suicide or murder. It was simply a motionless body on an antique mahogany table surrounded by a few books, which lay idle in various directions.
My spirit welled up with wrath as I stared at the open grave. A stinging knot formed in my throat, making it impossible for me to swallow. I blinked away a tear and let out a deep sigh. Mr. Dumpson deserved to be buried without a coffin or a grave. He deserved to be abandoned in the bitter, cold air, where scavengers would feast on his remains.
Blissful day,
Liz
4th May, 2009
Dear Diary, I turn eighteen today. It is my first day at Mr. Dumpson’s house. I spot his wife, Miss Dumpson, standing akimbo in the parlour. She looks irritated, evident as she glares at Nathan, the housekeeper, with gargoyle-like dismay at the puddle he is dripping onto the marble floor.
In the unexpected scene, I feel conflicted, with butterflies rumbling in my stomach. Will I survive in this mansion that smells like sandalwood and is adorned with nineteenth-century artefacts? The walls are covered in brilliant wall patterns, and the place smells like luxury. There are satin curtains on either side of the hall, flanked by gold-framed photographs of the mistress neatly arranged on the wall and an old, isolated picture of her spouse in one corner. Miss Dumpson is a slender, six-foot-tall lady. She rocks a peplum top with baggy pants. She has three piercings in each earlobe and a modest nose ring. Her left ankle is elegantly laced with a dazzling gold chain; her kinky, black hair and flawless skin give her an aura that makes the entire room gleam like heaven. At the end of the day, she employs me as the maid of the house. I come from a family of eight, and with little to feed, I have no choice but to work as a maid for a monthly wage.
With love,
Liz
At Dawn – 28th June, 2009
Dear Diary, the house is jolted awake by a loud commotion coming from the mistress’ room, causing Nathan and me to dash upstairs. We hear glasses shatter and objects smack against hard surfaces.
Nathan orders me to call 911. Unfortunately, a male voice roars from the room, warning me not to do anything silly. The unfamiliar voice prompts me to stop in my tracks. I can only guess that it is Mr. Dumpson’s. He is back home from a business trip. I have never seen the man of the house, but my initial impression of him is that he is a jerk who doesn’t deserve such a lovely mistress.
In deep thoughts,
Liz
Morning – 28th June, 2009
Dear Diary, I sit still in the kitchen, with my eyes locked on the ceiling in deep thoughts. Nathan tells me that I’ll get used to it. It implies that it is the man’s habit. My big brown eyes instantly fill with pity for my mistress, who has embraced me with nothing but kindness.
Nathan says Mr. Dumpson is a spoiled brat who catered for the mistress while she was in school, and she had to repay his kindness by marriage.
Our conversation ceases as Miss Dumpson enters the kitchen in her morning coat. Her eyes are puffy and inflamed. Her right wrist is bandaged, and she limps to the cabinet with unsteady hands to retrieve a drinking glass. The glass shatters on the floor, and she slowly bends, blinded by tears, to pick up the fragmented pieces with her bare fingers. We move swiftly to her side but stay silent as Mr. Dumpson descends the stairs and heads out the front door with a bang.
Sad,
Liz
Afternoon – 28th June, 2009
Dear Diary, the heat is unbearable. The sun glints off the roofs of new and used cars. They are parked in colour-coded rows. Nathan and I make our way through the cramped wooden homes and muddy streets to the noisy marketplace for grocery shopping, where the vendors stand waiting. Miss Dumpson usually goes grocery shopping, but today she prefers to stay indoors to nurse her wounds, which cannot be concealed with makeup.
We return home from shopping to find an unexpected sight. Intoxicated with drugs, Miss Dumpson lies motionless in front of her bedroom. I called an ambulance. It arrives in no time and carries her away in the company of Nathan. The hospital later informes us that Miss Dumpson had fallen into a coma.
Frightened,
Liz
Evening – 28th June, 2009
Dear Diary, I dash inside the study room and rummage among the stacks of books on the shelves for Mr. Dumpson’s contact details. I need to inform him about his wife’s condition. After minutes of a fruitless search, I settle into his favourite chair in the study room in deep thought.
I reminisce about the first day I met Miss Dumpson. Why is a married woman still referred to as ‘Miss’ instead of ‘Mrs.’?
She doesn’t have any children. Her husband is barely home, but it is a nightmare whenever he shows up. She is usually sad and sits in the hall for hours in the dark, with only the television’s screen light illuminating the space. She cries when no one is watching, and she pretends to have itchy eyes when someone steps into the emotional scene unawares.
Good afternoon,
Liz
30th September, 2009
Dear Diary, Miss Dumpson has been in a coma for weeks. I finally contact Mr. Dumpson, but he is reluctant to come home. Once he does, he shows up enraged because I fabricated a lie saying that Miss Dumpson is having an affair with Nathan.
Mr. Dumpson beats Nathan to a pulp on the day of his arrival and sends him packing.
And for the first time, Mr. Dumpson decides to stay for a longer time. How I hate the thought of that! I have to pick up his mail, assist him in the study room, and attend to his numerous guests who come by regularly.
Sincerely,
Liz
2nd November, 2009
Dear Diary, the morning air is flavoured with the aroma of pancakes, omelets, and steaming coffee from the kitchen. I serve Mr. Dumpson like a king. And it appears to stick with him as he makes sexual advances towards me. He is an old man with fondness for younger women, looking at seventeen, an age difference between him and Miss Dumpson. Unfortunately, I decline his offer. He roars angrily at that, and it lances the air in the kitchen.
Worried,
Liz
8th November, 2009
Dear Diary, I send Mr. Dumpson’s letters to him in the study, where he is comfortably seated, smoking a cigar. I stay quiet as he reads and stamps the letters.
He orders an envelope. I hand it over to him and step away, patiently waiting to drop it in the mailbox. He pushes it towards me after licking its flap and sealing the content.
The unexpected happens when I return to the study room. Mr. Dumpson’s face is buried in the books on his desk. The room feels too cold all of a sudden, and then it slowly turns warm. Perhaps his ruthless soul is journeying to hell.
Hopeful,
Liz
18th November, 2009
Dear Diary, Miss Dumpson has been discharged from the hospital. News about her husband’s demise has reached her, but she barely mourns her loss. I hear that Mr. Dumpson’s properties will be transferred to her as his legally wedded wife according to the law. She flashes a smile and lets out a sigh of relief upon hearing this news. Miss Dumpson is going to be a millionaire!
Hopeful,
Liz
28th November, 2009
Dear Diary, today is Mr. Dumpson’s burial. I am standing in the rain without an umbrella, watching as the casket is being lowered into the grave. When no one is looking, I drop the remainder of the thallium poison to the ground and trample it under my right foot. I spread poison on the flap of the envelope that Mr. Dumpson licked in the process of sealing its content. Tiny drops travelled down his throat and killed him instantly, leaving no evidence. I sigh satisfactorily, for a job well done.
Then I turn to Miss Dumpson and smile broadly. She returns the smile with a nod. Slowly, we all turn and head back home to continue with our daily tasks as if there was no funeral.
All’s well, that ends well,
Liz
Read – Memories – A Short Story by Owuor Hellen, Kenya
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This is an interesting piece!
It is rich by all standards.
Great job Liz, you are an inspiration.
Thank you so much for your continuous support!
Let’s keep winning.
Beautiful write up and I love it. Big ups Liz
Thank you for your kind words!
Amazing!
Thank you!