"The next time I see you, I'm going to kiss you," whispered Hannah, said Sebastian. Hannah's jaw dropped while staring back into Sebastian's eyes. "That's cheating," said Hannah. "No! The goal was to make your jaw drop; I think I did just that," Sebastian replied with a smirk on his face. "Stop being silly, Sebastian. Oh! I have to start off; I have church in an hour. Talk later," said Hannah. "Talk later," Sebastian replied. "The thesis is never a walk in the park, at least not for me," Sebastian said. He then decided to go about it the way rappers would, by doing a 7-minute drill. He timed himself for 7 minutes and just wrote whatever came to his head. "Alright, this will be it," he said, but he still had a challenge with what to write about later on, as Hannah never gave him one. After several attempts and restarting the timer countless times, he then came to the realization that he had never written anything starting in 'once upon a time.' "That would do it," he said, "plus I enjoy a little challenge." He had reset the timer once more; this time, it ran out with him only writing "once upon a time." Frustrated, he folded the paper and threw it away. He decided to deflect and do something else to help open his mind and increase his imagination. "This is so thwarting," he said as he was getting his headsets from the bag. "Thwarting! Who says that?" he asked with a smirk on his face. "Damned, for I have the vocabulary but never the story," he said. Immediately after finding the right song to accommodate his emotions, Hannah passed by, rushing for her church meeting at 16:30.Still seated on that grass? Don't tell me you are still writing your poems or whatever it is you write!" she shouted. Sebastian just smiled while shaking his head left to right leisurely, signifying "no." She smiled back, and he played the song while he lay down on the grass with his face to the sky. "Close, I stare at my dreams as they approach. Gotta be patient and trust in God; He's the coach. Temptations are taking a shortcut, but I don't, 'cause I ain't tryna be almost. When I get it, I'ma float. Gone are the days we were close. Now when I see you, I look at you just like a ghost—a shell of your former self, so caught up with that... "He rapped to a J. Cole song when he opened his eyes and saw the sun was about to set. 'One would call me an opacarophile because I miss my sunset,' he said. 'No, really, I miss my fan base. I really hate it when you ask me how sure I can be that this isn't a phase. Only you sound vague. We all love a chase, but my laziness prefers that I don't skate. So I stick to playing chess, hoping that one day you can go crazy about me just like my fan base,' he said. 'No! That's lame and weak,' Sebastian said. Trying not to despair and avoiding moonlight, he was working on a deadline, given the fact that he had to send his part back to Hannah before nightfall. He went back to the house, took a bath, and prepared his workspace to try one more time. It was as if William Forrester himself had entered him the way he wrote, "Once upon a time." Subsequently, his phone rang; he jolted awake, and it was his alarm that he had set to notify him when he had only an hour left. He opened his notes app in panic, trying to see something he hadn't finished. "Life is short, but this journey seems longer... I'm cooking right now; you can smell the aroma... These contradictory sayings have me in a dilemma." I hurt being left with my thoughts. I'm Ill Ndine Mulema, and I have the confidence of Malema. So when it comes to our goals and loving you, sinizakalema. I just had to diverge to love, even though I'm not a Cancer, but nurturing like you, mama. I hope I'm not unwanted by that beautiful heart, like a murmur. As I appreciate mom, na nimbo ya Tupac 'Dear Mama,' I appreciate you as well since I call you mama, and you mean a lot to me, sinizakunama... "He read, 'No! Not good enough,'" said Sebastian. He tried a different technique, took his phone and headsets, and sat down on the kitchen floor. "Once upon a time," he wrote, "there was a wise man in his late 60s. He would spend his weekends playing chess with the neighborhood youths. One Sunday afternoon, he was playing with four boys. They had been playing for nearly an hour and a half when he asked, 'What are your goals in life?' 'Salvation, sir,' Christopher answered while playing against him at the time." "Whoa! Now that's an answer you don't commonly hear when such a question is phrased. I'm glad to know that people still aim for more than what already is," he said. "What about you, Stephen?" he asked. "I want to see myself making it after all is said and done," he answered. "Sounds like all of us, Steve," he said with a smile on his face. "Checkmate!" Christopher shouted. The sir looked at all the pieces and shook Christopher's hand. "Good game," he said as he stood up, for it was Nathan's turn, and sat on the bench to watch and wait with the others. Looking to his left, he gently touched Ian's shoulder and asked, "What about you?"
"If I'm being honest, had your question been where I see myself 10 years from now, it would be simple because obviously, as a 32-year-old," Ian answered, and everyone laughed gently, including Ian. "But on a serious note, I would just want to see how, where, and who I would be at that time. I want to see how I maneuvered certain mistakes I made, if I'll be homeless or stable and admirably, handsomely cute. I want to see if I'll become a liar or not, if I'll be a father or not, a 'dzaddy' or a cheater who still loves his wife. I want to see for myself if I will be using life as an excuse for my messed-up habits. I want to see if I'll end up being a hypocrite or if I'll remain true to myself. "If that was the question, that would have been my answer," Ian said, "but to answer your question, I just want to be a prince who became a king. I feel, and I've been told of my potential. I don't want it to be a great downfall story to tell, like most stories we hear of our fathers and the potential they had. I want mine to speak for itself, not be imagined. I want it to inspire people, saying it can be done, not teach them what not to do."
"Checkmate," Christopher interrupted, referring to the chess game. "Hell yeah, checkmate," the sir said, referencing Ian's response. The sir continued, "That's endgame right there. The sardines aroma hits the loudest from the neighbors when you have chicken at home. You have the power; now control your desires and know exactly at what hour to burn out that fire, that fire that you carry inside. Given that life was your last project, would you say it was your best one? Are you comfortable if the rest won? The answers to these questions define you, so deep them." It was getting late, so Ian left everyone and went home, for he was the youngest of them all. Four days later, Ian received a "good morning" text from Amelia, a girl he had been talking to for a while. "Good morning, mama," Ian replied. "I just noticed that you don't write to me like you used to," texted Amelia. "I figured you never used to read any of it, and the writer's block isn't helping either," said Ian. "I did to used to read, write me something that will make me feel sexy, step out of your comfort zone," she said. Ian looked at the date after reading the text and just laughed. He replied, "I'll just try telling you I love you instead," and sent a message saying, "I want to tell I Love....
I want to tell you I love you. "Do it then," my mind says. No! I want to tell you I love you while you are right here, not just next to me but in my arms. I want to tell you I love you so that you can see me nearly mispronounce it because of fear and the shivers I get whenever you are insight. I want to tell you "I love you," but I can't because I want you, to see my tongue movements with my eyes concentrated and my pupils constricted because I want you near me mama. I want to tell you "I love you," but I won't because I want you to see me almost shade a tear because I also miss you and "wow! You are really mine" for I'm in disbelief at times. I want to tell you "I love you" because I really do. I want to tell you "I love you" because it's one of the most beautiful things I've learnt from you, but I can't because I want to tell you "I Love you," with both your clothes on and off. I can't tell you, "I love you," because I want to whisper it in your left ear as I drop to suck your beautiful pointed breast tities and drop to give you tummy kisses before I put my tongue in that tight juicy fat pussy. I want to tell you "I love you" before I suck your clitoris vigorously impatient until you start pushing my head so that you can take a deep breath, but no, I don't want you to take a second away for that will prevent you from hearing me tell you "I love you," just before I put my dick inside you as I look you straight in your eyes and slowly penetrate and loosen you up and tell you I love you during all first 9 pumps. 9 because 4 for you being in year 4 and 5 for me being in fifth year. I want to come out and in of that wet juicy pussy until you let all that cum out. I want to temper with your hormones as I ask you if you love me back and you say you love me a lot. Not only that, I want to ask you if you want me to stop as you respond with coochie filled with dick, "no baby please don't stop." Normally I wouldn't stop, but I don't want to make you cum via text, I want you Cumming to be dick privilege but I still want to be in control of your body even if I'm not near you, so tell me I made your hormones do something to your body for reassurance. I want to tell you I love you because you managed to picture and imagine all that, then I'm sure it's okay if I tell you I love you on phone for my love for you and yours for me will depict and comprehend everything as intended. I love you soo much my baby. After conversing for a while, they stopped and went about their day. Ian, still being in school and in an exam week, was expecting some friends in the evening for a group discussion. Studying late at night with his friends at his parents' house on their porch for a math exam, they heard a noise outside. "Hold him! Hold him!" one guy shouted, while another guy cried out as if he were in pain. Expeditiously, they dashed to the scene, filled with both curiosity and excitement, suspecting a thief had been caught. Upon arrival, they found two guys beating one guy lying on the ground, and the number of onlookers increased over time. "What has he done?" people asked. "He tried to steal my phone just now while we were walking," one of the guys who was beating the man replied. After hearing that, some of the neighbors joined in beating the guy. Since it was late, Ian and his friends left to finish their studying. Early in the morning, Ian came back from taking his test. Ian was low, worried, and sad because after his test and settling down, his mom told him, "Remember the guy you went to see being beaten last night?" "Yes," Ian answered. "He passed. He was stabbed with what seemed to be a screwdriver and left out there in the cold to die. The police took the body, and the mother said he was no thief," Ian's mom said. Ian felt guilty because he didn't do anything to stop them from killing that man, and he was so dumb to fall for the story given, as it then clicked that the story might have been the other way around and the two guys were just lying. He didn't have evidence for his hypothesis but still felt the outcome could have been different if he hadn't been ignorant and not human enough to intervene.
He was disappointed in society, his country, and the system because they didn't even investigate the case. A mother lost her son, and nothing was being done. What could have been done at this point, he pondered. He resonated even more with one of Jermaine Lamar Cole's lines that said, "That's what I get for thinking this world is fair. They let a brother steer the ship and never told him that the ship was sinkin'. But I got other shit to think about, like my bank account."
"Sebastian?" Hannah texted. Sebastian knew it was time to wrap up, so he submitted his work. "Thoughts?" asked Sebastian.