I woke up on the right side of the bed or so I thought. There was breakfast in my belly and my dress was crisp courtesy of my efficient steam iron. My day was going as planned and life was good.

Headlights shone in my driveway and I knew it was time, time to embrace the present gifted to me and use it wisely. I head towards the stairwell as Michael Buble’s “Feeling Good” cues to celebrate my exit. It is truly a good day until I meet you.

You. There you were in all your glory. On a different day, we would have said hello. You with a grin, baring your sharp, white spears; me with a smile, concealing my conspicuous gap tooth. I would have extended my slender arm, holding out the prospect of a firm handshake.

“My name is Nma”, I would have said.

“Call me Master P,” will be your reply.
Then we would chuckle, that uncomfortable laugh two strangers share when the cloak of friendship floats around waiting to enwrap the pair in its warmth.

Warmth versus frigidity; Pleasantness versus horror.

The irony of a sword dripping with honey. That was our real encounter versus our real encounter.

I gazed into your eyes, stunted buttons, intimidating and ugly.

You stared back ferociously, taking me as an intruder, an enemy.

No handshakes or smiles, only open hostility.

My childlike reaction was propelled by the igniting of the stranger danger button.

Or was it the adolescent reaction of get away from me you creep?

Needless to say, I screamed for five uninterrupted seconds and ran back up the steps that once offered the promise of a good day.

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