BAD GIRL: The Preacher’s Daughter

BY PATRCIA WAFULA

An illustration picture of a bad girl. Photo courtesy.

An illustration picture of a bad girl. Photo courtesy.

I glance at my watch again maybe for the millionth time. Only a minute has elapsed how unbelievable!

I curse myself for registering for this class. Usually i could settle for anything but class on a Friday evening.

The buzzing of my phone awakens me from my wicked reverie and suddenly I roar back to life.

Who doesn’t like parties? I smile inwardly knowing i have something to look forward to.

Moments later I am in my dorm room considering all my fancy party clothes.

Expectedly so it is hard to choose. I settle for a deep shade of blue.

Bodies are swaying, drinks flying, music banging… Standard. I settle down with my ‘elixir’ it can’t get better than this.

I get lost in the crowd saying the same thing in my head over and over again before i pass out.

The following day i wake up feeling pathetic. Was i saying ‘you only live once’ last night?

All i need is to be woken up when the world is almost over. I would trade this feeling for anything. I think to myself i have officially quit partying and drinking.

After showering, i get dressed convincing myself it would make me feel better. My room reeks of alcohol but that doesn’t bother me much.

I fix myself a cup of ‘coffee’ and before i get comfortable a knock on the door makes me jump. My mother’s voice floats clearly through the door.

Oow! Did i mention am a preacher’s daughter?

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