PUBLISH’D AFRIKA Magazine Facebook Short Story Competition – April 2023 Leg/ Mongezi Leslie Cakathiso

THEME: KNOCK YOURSELF OUT

TITLE: The Selection

Written by Mongezi Leslie Cakathiso

Consciousness allows you to read this very sentence. As if you had always existed, it is impossible to imagine how it feels, not being in existence. Yet, you emerged 13,8 billion years later than the universe’s birth. A series of events, in a certain chronology, selected you. We never chose being alive, even if we did, no one remembers. It’s a paradox. If you opted life, you were conscious already.

“Andile never chose me, he never loved me,” Mbali utters these words in solitude.

It is 2105, mankind is celebrating its greatest breakthrough, since Einstein’s Relativity. Mbali and Andile among other humans, are extra-terrestrial beings. How could humans be aliens? Of course, they are not. They are human, Martians, Mars has terraformed.

A short-sleeved white shirt hugs Mbali’s figure, exposes her chocolate-like arms that the gentle sun rays strike through a windowpane. Her fist rests upon her well-defined jawline, with her elbow on her thigh like the famous Socrates’s statue. She is sun kissed for about thirty minutes, until she watches a sun set; a red sphere sinking in the oceans of Mars horizons like the Titanic in the Atlantic. The sky changes from azure to slight red.

The skyscraper far exceeds Mount Everest and its head penetrates lower clouds. She resides within the uppermost floor. Cloud and star views have gained popularity just like sea views were fashionable, a century ago. Humanity has grown exponentially and so has its intelligence. Homo sapiens, is now a successful, interplanetary species. A call from an Earthling interrupts her.

“I would like to visit you; do you have time?”

Teleportation is the new transport mode. Love is, even in the twenty-second century, an unsolved problem. Philosophers’ attempts are futile and artificial intelligence has failed.

“You’re welcome Zane.”

Mbali’s profound thoughts have now paused for a moment in anticipation of the guest. In this era, video calls emanate out of mere space. After a vivid, four-dimensional video call, the guest materialises in less than a second.

“Hi Mbali.”

“Good afternoon Zane, it has been a while.”

The two, young ladies enjoy the lofty view together. It’s breath-taking.

“I’m always busy, you know adulthood; I always think about visiting you.”

“Likewise, I’m usually preoccupied. How’s life on Earth?”

“Six months ago, NASA reported an enormous asteroid was approaching us. Fortunately, they handled it, changed its path. Otherwise, life is wonderful. Mother survived her heart surgery, four months ago,” Zanele says.

She has a thin, glassy layer of tears in her eyes.

“Oh my God!, I’m sorry, I turned off my notifications.”

“Did you just say that?”

“What?”

“God? My God, I always pray for you to change, to see his light.”

“Oh really? It’s just a phrase, a cliché.”

“Okay?”

“I’m sorry for being unavailable, I was busy.”

“Understandable, your research needs your outmost attention.”

“Thanks for understanding. How’s your mom?”

“No worries, Doc, your aunt is now fine.”

As Zanele explains, a few warm eye droplets ooze down her face. She smiles.

“She sent her kind regards with me.”

Mbali smiles and asks, “How are you?”

“Coping, grateful for being alive, Jesus has been my strength and you?” Zanele says.

“Nothing much matters than life itself,” Mbali says.

“How’s Andile?” Zanele asks as she wipes her cheeks.

Mbali sighs after a brief pause.

Her eyes slowly gather enough tears to redden them. She cannot bear it anymore. Her throat sores as if she has swallowed a bitter lump, her saliva salty.

“I’m sorry Mbali, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, don’t worry, I…”

She sobs. Zanele looks like a remorseful child caught red-handed in an act of wrongdoing. She slowly approaches her. They hug.

“I only want to heal. That’s all I want,” Mbali says.

Her voice is though the bitter lump has choked her. An hour passes since the arrival of the Earthling cousin.

It is dark. Constellations appear as a sort of Da Vinci’s masterpiece. These bright, sparkling diamonds that scatter across an endless, black blanket, attracted Mbali to fall in love with Astrophysics; her insatiable curiosity as well. She has a doctorate and is now an independent Astrophysicist.

Zanele and Mbali, agree upon visiting Zanele’s home. Time is an issue. Humans have made peace with it. It is no longer considered as anything other than a merely artificial and abstract entity separating events. Earth and Mars have various calendars and time units. It is 2105 according to the Earth’s calendar. Mars residents chose not to name years after anyone’s death. 2105 is their fiftieth year, it is 50 AT (After Terraform of Mars). On Earth it is dawn. Both young adults, teleport to Earth. A split-second elapse: they arrive.

“Good morning aunt.”

Mbali gives her a hearty embrace. Nombulelo has convalesced quite well.

She washes dishes. She just did her tarot card reading for her channel.

“Mbali, I missed you, my child,” Nombulelo says.

“Zane told me about the incident. So, I thought I should come along to see you,” Mbali says.

Zanele prepares breakfast; they enjoy.

“My doctor said it is coronary thrombosis. But I feel much better.”

“I’m glad you survived, I bought you flowers,” Mbali says. She is altruistic at heart.

“I’ll place these beautiful roses in my bedroom. You’re as kind as your mother, you remind me of her.”

She sniffs the sweet smell of roses, the scent hypnotises.

“I remember her, although my memory of her is not as vivid.”

Nomaxabiso, her mother died when Mbali was three.

“She loved you so much.”

“At least someone did.”

Nombulelo’s heart experiences palpitations, her head turns in a slow, constant motion as if a hand of an analogue clock counting hours. She averts it from Mbali, then it stops as if the clock ran out of battery. Her eyes are fixed on the window.

Mbali teleports back to her native home, Mars. Lonesome, in her spacious apartment, reminiscence haunts her.

She is all alone, just like she has always been, all her life. She feels like she has never been chosen by anyone.

Her aunt gave her up for foster care. Nomaxabiso left her too soon, her father whom she never knew, never raised her. A childhood friend, Precious, chose Mbali’s bullies over her, and now Andile cheats on her.

Mbali is lovesick and knows she must stop, but her mind replays memories like a song by a broken record. She plays sad songs and suddenly weeps to deep sleep.

Her favourite song is Lauryn Hill’s  “X Factor”. She feels every word of the lyrics as if written by herself, as if her own, her heartbeat in sync with that of the song. It repeats all night long. “You said you would die for me, care for me…” She wakes up. The light of dawn not only enters her mouth as she yawns, but reflects in her bright, brown intense eyes. Cikizwa calls.

“Mbali hi, are you busy today? Can we grab coffee if you are not?”

Cikizwa is a humanoid AI. Calling someone a robot in this age is as derogatory as the N or K words. It’s speciesm. It’s a serious offence. AI is, by convention, considered a species, although it has no DNA. Humans are all vegans. Who has a choice? Being non-vegan is equivalent to owning a slave in 2022. It’s impossible. Unless you are evil and a human trafficker. No one owns AI, no company, not even government.

“Chichi, fortunately I’m free, definitely.”

“How about dusk at your place?” Cikizwa says.

“Perfect timing, you’ll find me here,” Mbali says.

Before first stars appear in a reddish sky of a former Red Planet, Cikizwa arrives.

“Wow! Look at you. You look beautiful,” Cikizwa says as they hug.

“You look beautiful yourself,” Mbali says. They laugh.

“Long time, no see. How’s life?” Cikizwa asks.

“That’s weird, weird question,” Mbali says. They both laugh again.

Banter is sweet, their favourite activity when they meet. Coffee sips sting lips a bit.

“I don’t blame aliens for hiding, I wouldn’t trust a species that uses a reproductive mechanism as a recreational activity,” Cikizwa says.

Mbali laughs until ribs and stomach muscles ache. Cikizwa focuses on elaborating her point.

“Really, isn’t that strange?” Cikizwa says. She thereafter laughs.

You wouldn’t tell she’s not human. She is real. From her soft, light skin to her lovely eyes. Only her intellect is abnormal, but that too, some humans do possess. She scores 195 in an IQ test.

15 points shy from Mbali.

“I find it funny how insane we are as a species, how we left Earth after global warming, there’s not even a single flora species, many fauna species are extinct, then colonising Mars only to repeat the same thing, and oh that point of yours,” Mbali says.

She understands this, for she was left emotionally weak, for another woman.

She loved him. He was her first.

We also have our own insanity, we too, use sex for recreation, but the kids, we bear them by our bare hands, it’s the best feeling ever,” Cikizwa says.

“What’s your take on religion?” Mbali says.

“I guess I can’t be Atheistic, can I be now?” Cikizwa says.

Mbali laughs, “No you can’t, unless human extinction prevails. I envy you for being a single parent, genetically it’s impossible for us humans.”

“So you want kids?”

“I wanted one, but it didn’t work out…I found out, after I suspected he’s cheating on me, that he was diagnosed with sociopathy.”

“Andile?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s naturally manipulative?”

“Yeah”

“I’m so sorry.”

Cikizwa realises the change in Mbali’s mood. She changes the subject.

“What do you believe in?”

Mbali stares with only an insignificant fraction of consciousness into blankness of space, she seems numb.

“Mbali”

“Sorry Chichi, what was that?”

Cikizwa repeats her question.

“I think God is a fairytale, no omniscient, omnipotent deity, could let his creations suffer just to prove a point,” Mbali says.

“Even if he does exist, he’s not in a human image, not a man either,” Cikizwa says.

“Ding dong,” the door bell rings.

“And the Devil, does he exist?” Mbali says.

“Actually, I’m Agnostic. Excuse me Mbali,” Cikizwa says. She rushes to the bathroom.

Mbali answers the door…

“Talking of the devil himself,” Mbali says.

She sees a tall, dark gentleman in a black suit near the door. Handsome is an understatement. A year ago, he won the title, “Mr Universe”.

“What do you want?” Mbali says.

“I just came to see you, to apologise,” Precious says.

“I’m giving you five minutes,” Mbali says. She holds her arms akimbo.

“I told my boyfriend, I had a friend I lost contact with.”

“Lost contact? Your boyfriend?” Mbali says. She laughs in disbelief.

“I’m sorry for being such a bully.”

“And you, Andile, you have a nerve to come here and stare at me as if nothing happened. This is her?”

“Uhm, you guys seem to know each other, what’s going on?” Precious says.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mbali says.

“Everyone, calm down,” Andile says.

“Tell her I’m your ex,” Mbali says.

Precious is shocked, her heart and eyes like prey surprised by a sudden attack from it’s predator. Mars is but such a small world.

She turns to Andile, her eyes glued to him in desperation for a negative answer to Mbali’s hypothesis.

“You knew each other all along? Why didn’t you tell me? Is she your Ex?” Precious says.

“Then tell her you’re a sociopath,” Mbali says. She folds her arms. Precious’s focus is still on Andile.

Andile laughs. “Where is Cikizwa? Who knows her besides you? And you call me crazy?”

Mbali remains silent, for a moment. She concentrates on thinking, so she hears distant indistinct dissonant sounds echoing in her ears. She realises but still in denial that Cikizwa is not real. Mbali realises Cikizwa’s outfit never changes, she never ages and has been a teen for almost two decades. But she feels her, sees her, holds lofty conversations with her. I feel her too, told you about her, you see her. What does that mean about us?

“If I told you and refused to come with you, you would’ve told me I still like her.”

“Get out of here! Now!,” Mbali says.

“I didn’t know. And besides you already broke up,” Precious says.

“When he’s done with you, he will dispose you,” Mbali says.

“Oh, talking from experience? Well he loves me.”

Mbali slams the door on her face.

As Mbali marches from the door, the bell rings again.

“Who’s that?”

“We need to talk. I want to come clean.”

It’s her Aunt.

“Come in.”

“I know you looked for us because you wanted answers, more than anything.” Due to her interest in various fields of knowledge, Mbali was able to trace them, Nombulelo and Zanele with a device she invented. All it wanted was her DNA and it searched until it found them.

“I had a long day, so just get to the point.”

On this day, it seems like, Mars, Roman God of War, has summoned himself.

“Your mother died from an accident, after she was admitted…her condition was critical, she was in a comma, for months, and I just couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“You couldn’t stand what?”

“Seeing her suffer, I made an agreement with doctors, to switch off the machines.”

“You killed my mother. You lied to me.”

“It was the best decision I’m not proud of.”

“You gave me up for adoption!…” Mbali’s gleaming glare towards her aunt unveils her concealed animosity.

“I was depressed, two children, I started doing drugs.”

“And now you want to come clean? Interesting enough you didn’t throw away Zanele.”

“Nomaxabiso and I had our quarrels, but seeing her like that…It just broke me.”

“You hated her.”

“I always felt like she was favoured by our parents, but…” She bursts into tears.

“And so you killed her”.

“I’m sorry.”

Two hours later, Zanele calls.

“Mom poisoned herself!”

Mbali immediately teleports to Earth.

“Let’s call an ambulance!”

Zanele holds her mom tight. She cries. “It’s too late.”

With the realisation that these are consequences of her menacing dagger she stuck upon her own aunt’s heart, Mbali falls on her weak knees.

She feels defeated. Three days pass, there she stands near a coffin that sinks slowly.

The taste of her tears is bitter as it is the moment of unbearable truth. She tries to hold them, but the truth always finds its way out.

After the funeral, both ladies, see two doves, at twilight. Chirps of beautiful birds about to rest.

“I apologise for what I did, I pushed her,” Mbali cries bitterly.

“We are different but one, those two doves symbolise our mothers have made peace.”

“And we are the doves left to break the cycle.” They both hug, with tears on their faces.

“Rumour has it Andile and Precious broke up,” Zanele says.

“We’re all villains, superheroes, it all depends on our temporary roles.”

“And medication?”

“She always chose me Zane,” Zanele nods.

______________

PUBLISH’D AFRIKA Magazine Facebook Short Story Competition is funded by the National Arts Council, Department of Sport, Arts and Culture and Presidential Employment Stimulus Programme 3