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The Mandela Effect

Amanda Nechesa is sucker for the fictional world, she always has been.


There's music playing in her speakers. It's the kind of music that makes you feel like dancing one second, laugh the next and cry the next after next. She is smiling, enjoying it, letting the feeling ride her body.

"Ride..huh,"she laughs as she thinks then stops when she feels his eyes on her.

"Whatever are you smiling about," he says in that soft voice of his.

His right hand is closing the green nail polish bottle, his left still holding her left leg, displaying the work of art that entails painting her toes.

She wants to answer him but the moment she looks at him, she is taken back to an hour ago.

Her lips are smiling as her eyes fall on the bathroom door.

Oh, what that door must have seen and heard! The moans of her pleasure and the groans of his; the naked images of their bodies entwining in the bathroom mirror; the sight of her fully displaying herself to him, arching her back, taking him all in; the streams of hot water from the shower nuzzles falling on their skin, competing to make them wet as he did her.

Her smile is wide now, and she knows he knows what she is grinning about.

He's back to painting her toes, this time with a black nail polish on the big toe. She can't believe how lucky she is, how lucky he makes her feel she is.

She thinks of calling her exes and telling them ; See this, this is how a woman should be treated; a good pedicure after a mind-blowing fuck.

She smirks at the idea. Her exes would probably dismiss her, or not even listen. What did she ever see in those men? No wonder she shared so many men are trash posts.

"Do you know of the Mandela effect?" he suddenly asks her.

She doesn't know what that is but she is in awe that he can just randomly ask that. Here she was, thinking of that great sex they had just had and bragging to her exes while he was thinking of the mandela effect ; whatever that was.

"No," she answers, then decides to light up the ashed joint in her ashtray beside her bed.

"Is it anything like the butterfly effect?" she asks after one puff and passes the joint to him.

"What's the butterfly effect?"

" It is this theory that one small event can actually lead to a major one. Like, the mere flapping of a butterfly's wings in one part of the world can actually cause a tornado in a different part of the world. Or something like that." she finishes as he passes the joint back to her.

He smokes and hands it back.

She loves that she can have these kind of conversations with him. Her exes were the kind that could not read a book , let alone listen to her talk about theories.

She watches him with the nail polish brush. He makes it wet first; he does so slowly, taking his time and then gently as if he's afraid it would hurt her, he applies the first stroke, then the second then the third.

This boy will kill her. How can she not think about fucking his brains out when he does that?

"The mandela effect," he starts as he starts another toe. "Is the theory that people can have totally different memories about the occurence of a particular event."

The joint is back to him.

"It's origin is from Mandela's death. There are people in this world who believe they heard he died in prison around 1980's. They even swear they saw it on TV and even some remember the widow talking at the funeral service."

He stops, ashes the joint, and holds her toes up. He admires his work.

"So basically, " he continues, "the mandela effect talks about alterante realities. It states that our bodies live in different multiple realties, such that something might have occured in another you, in another reality that the you in this reality has not yet experienced. Once in a while, these realties collide and that's why we experience deja vu's."

She has lost him. Kind of. It's hard to concentrate when all she sees as she watches his lips are what those lips were doing to her an hour ago.

"If there are such kind of realities, I hope you are in each of them,"she says.

He looks at her. He looks at her the way a surfer looks at that huge wave, the way a programmer looks at his error-free code; the way a luhya looks at ugali, then he grabs, pulls her, kisses her with such intensity that she forgets how to breath.

She thinks of the mandela effect , of how she wishes all her bodies in all these universes are feeling what she is feeling; that all of them have a him.

© 2019 Amanda Nechesa

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