Sihle Qwabe: How the mighty have fallen

Mbalenhle leaned towards Simphiwe and whispered, “How long has that car been at your gate?” Her fragrance had a tincture of vanilla in it.
Simphiwe loved her scent. He stole a quick glance at her cleavage, the same way she had been peeking at the car for the past half an hour. There had been no need to whisper. They were just outside his house, in camping chairs – Simphiwe, Mbalenhle, and two of her friends. The car was on the other side of the gate, too far to overhear their conversation. “Simmy?” Mbalenhle nudged him.
Simphiwe blinked. “Thirty minutes,” he said.
“It looks fancy. What car is it?” She asked him.
“It’s a Jaguar XF,” Simphiwe said grudgingly. He wasn’t sure of the model, but it sure looked new. He didn’t like the way Mbalenhle’s eyes had just brightened. He had a huge crush on her, and the car had just stolen her attention, and that of her friends. What made it worse was that Simphiwe knew the driver, and that he wouldn’t stand a chance next to that man.
“Why don’t you go outside and see what he wants?” Mbalenhle suggested.
Simphiwe felt heat rush to his face. She had cut too close to the bone, and she had not even realised it. She smiled her perfectly ignorant smile. Her teeth were a brilliant white, eyelashes long, eyebrows thick, and her caramel skin was flawless.
Simphiwe held his tongue. Women didn’t care if their words offended a poor man. He was beneath their consideration. After a deep breath, he said, “The gate isn’t locked. If he wants to come in, he will.” He wouldn’t belittle himself by running after the Jaguar.

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Sphesihle Vusimuzi Qwabe was born in a small Kwazulu-Natal village. He was raised by his grandmother who, as a retired teacher, read to her grandchildren every evening. He is 29 years old and works for a Foschini store in Johannesburg. Sphesihle completed a national diploma in public relations. He spends every lunch break reading and then writes every evening when he gets home. He writes because he firmly believes that this is what he was meant to do; it is his calling and contribution to this world. He is never so at peace as when he holds a pen in his hand. He is fully committed to the art of writing and is determined to make writing his full-time occupation.

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