Faith Hunter

That’s what happens to people in panic. At work we once filmed disaster reconstructions with thrilling music and a voice-over. ‘She stepped outside and looked wildly around.’ says ‘the Voice’.

He jabs.
—Stop it!
He jabs once again, and again he hears a bell, louder and clearer than the first. —Stop, someone screams.

With half-closed eyes I looked upwards to Zanele who stood on the grass in the bright sunlight.
‘So many butterflies!’
She nodded. ‘Is butterfly month,’ she said with a smile.

It was about ten thirty New Year’s Eve and I only had a couple of hours to live.

"Met Babu".
Ik leg snel neer.
Nu weet ik hoe hij heet.

“Babu.”
Quickly, I hang up.
Now I know his name.

we followed a digger all the way to the cemetery
his yellow dirty
arresting our silver dignity

two white
tombstones skywards,
a story too short
splashed across them
in a terrible red scrawl

I asked what I had never dared to ask anyone. What did it feel like?
‘Big, big!’ Her lower teeth flashed in the sunlight. I stuck my hands out in front and started waddling —