Fast and Furious Feet

They walked back to where all the dancing happened. The energy of the crowd, the flashing skin, and the excitement got Boris into a daredevil mood. He felt untouchable with his penis semi-erect from all the hot women. So Boris asked, Mihigo how one enters the race.

"Well, you'd yell 'Ndi umwami!', which means that you are claiming to be king. The races have their origin from settling claims to the throne. Then you have to pass the test. You have to say how you feel, but it has to be true. Only when you speak the truth, will the crowd accept you. Right before the race, a soul guardian will pick you and take your soul. Like I said, the trouble is getting your soul back before you die," explained Mihigo. He was enjoying himself being a tour guide. He was thinking of showing Boris where the food was next.

"Ndi umwami!" yelled Boris. He repeated himself louder.

Someone turned off the music. People climbed off cars. A circle formed around Boris and Mihingo. He hadn't expected that. He had simply felt exuberant. Now, he felt threatened by all these serious faces looking at him. "Vuga!" they yelled at him. "Vuga!" they repeated in unison while stomping their feet angrily.

"I feel happy!" yelled Boris with a shaky voice. The crowd booed at him. The men shook their fist in anger. Maybe, as a white person, he wasn't supposed to intrude like that.

"I'm a little scared!" yelled Boris with a quiet voice. The crowd booed harder at him. They became restless. Fists were shaken at him. A guy pulled down the button eyelids to show lots of white in his eye as some kind of threat.

"I'm terrified shitless!" quivered out of his mouth with a surprising earnestness. There was appraising silence in the crowd and then cheering. The girls went back to dancing and the men back to posing.

"Boris, listen! Let's forget about this. Let's walk quietly away before the race comes. You never come back here. You go back to America. You live a wonderful life," explained Mihigo.

"Nah, I'm going to dance with Mukobwajana," Boris' cockiness had come back.

Suddenly, he felt himself grabbed by the neck and yanked back. He stumbled backward to avoid falling. For a split moment, he saw Keza's face in front of his. Her face was covered in thick sweat like one of those raving soul guardians. The next split moment, her lips were on his. He got that wonderful tingle of a fresh kiss. The next split moment, her lips engulfed his in a hungry tongue kiss. The next split second, her succulent tongue darted deeply into his mouth. He tried to react as fast as he could with his tongue to drink in the kiss. It felt so good, so luscious. He got an instant boner. His arms grabbed around her body to hold her in. His instincts were 100% on to savor her mouth.

Then he felt nothing. The joy of the kiss had gone. Her tongue was simply clinically searching the space between his teeth. Her mouth was sucking his air out. She held him in a claw grip. It neither felt pleasant nor unpleasant. He felt nothing, utter nothingness. He was confused. She let go of his mouth. She looked back at him. He was as beautiful as she had been in school. Seeing her had sent butterflies in his belly. Now he felt nothing. He didn't feel the air warm nor cold. He knew that he should feel panicked about what happened to him. It was like he was injected with a psychoactive drug, but he felt nothing about that as well.

"Why do I feel nothing," asked Boris.

"Your soul is gone," replied Mihigo while Keza walked away. Boris would have enjoyed watching her backside as Keza walked away, but he felt nothing looking at the perfectly round butt hanging out of a cheeky, black slip. Those cheeks were wiggling like mad side to side because she was walking on ultra high heels made from see through plastic.

The crowd closed in around Boris and pushed him forward towards the clearing. There were eight other runners that were pushed forward as well. When the runners were assembled on the clearing with the crowd at a respectful distance, he looked into their eyes. And he could tell what Mihigo saw in their eyes. The eyes had a knowing that they could die soon, but there was also a care nothing emotion about it, like they were equal parts aware of their potential peril at hand and it didn't matter. Perhaps, a sullen and alert look describes it best.

Mukobwajana paraded in front of the nine runners. She savored the moment in the spotlight. When she stood above the cliff and in the moonlight with her body casting a shadow and the side of her body facing the moon reflecting the pale white light, she reached behind her back to undo her top. She let the top drop from her boobs to reveal her nakedness to the crowd. She let them all savor her feminine assets. She didn't seem to feel naked and exposed. She was parading jewels in front of an admiring crowd. She swung the top in a circle and let it fly high into the air amidst the stars.

When the top fell down to the ground and landed in the dirt, the runners sprinted off. Boris ran after them, but he couldn't run as fast as they did. He didn't even get out of the sight of the crowd before he lost sight of the last runner ahead of him. He went alone into the darkness down a hill path that he didn't know. His legs wanted to stop already. His chest was huffing hard. He tried to tough it out, but he had to slow down to walk. The side of his belly hurt too much. When he tried to gather his air to run again, he stubbed his toe on a big rock and fell. He felt sharp pebbles scraping his knee. There was blood. He pulled himself up to keep going.

High above him on the other side, he saw the first lantern being lit up in orange light. He realized the stupidity of his idea to enter a running race without having run in a long time against bush guys who ran every day. But he wasn't going to give up. He walked to the edge of the creek. There was no bridge. So he tried jumping to a rock in the streambed. Yet, he slipped and fell straight back. He hit his butt on a hard boulder. He trenched all of his clothes. He checked his knee. At least some of the blood running down his shins was getting washed off.

As he tracked up the other hillside pushing one step at a time because it was so steep, he thought about giving up. He'd only have to do all the struggle backwards. The eight other runners had already passed him coming back. Yet when he was all alone in the darkness, trying to see the barely visible rocks and roots on the ground to avoid tripping, that's when he saw the hyena again. The gold eyes looked straight at him. The hyena had its head cocked to the sight like it was wondering if he was going to make, wondering if he was worth the observation, and wondering if the omen that had the hyena itself curious to its reality was true. Something inside of him didn't want to disappoint the hyena. He was going to show her. A strength pulled him onto grab the rocks and roots at the steepest part near the top that was more a scramble than a walk.

He looked across to the other hilltop where the race had started. The party had already continued. They weren't even waiting for him. Yet he saw Mihigo waving at him from across. He found an unlit lantern. There was a candle inside that he could remove and light at another lantern. He placed his lantern right at the edge of the cliff with the other glowing lanterns. Then he walked back. There was no point in running anymore.

When he came up the last part of the hill, he could see the dancing. He could hear the music. He told himself that soon he'd get to rest. There was a rustling noise in the bush next to him. The voice of a man, much older than anyone at the party because everyone there was between his age and 25, said something in Kinyarwanda. The intonation had the feeling of expressing, "There that's him!" or "We got the last one!" Then a man broke out of the bush next to him. There were lots of men rushing the party from all sides. They were all wearing blue jumpsuits and yelling 'polisi! Polisi!'

The police corralled the group towards a tight spot. Boris managed to get near Mihigo. Mihigo yelled at Boris, "It's a police sting operation! Don't get caught!" Then Mihigo ran towards the cliff. The police had left a gap there. Mihigo threw himself over the cliff apparently caring less about his life than getting caught. Everyone else was in equal panic running everywhere and screaming. The blue jumpsuit guys felt superior as they had systematically cordoned off the escape holes. Having nowhere to run, Boris looked up at the woman tied in the air in that big tree. A guy climbed up to her, probably to untie her. But right as he grabbed her shoulder, they both vanished. Strange! Boris looked around. He saw another especially muscular guy running towards a woman. The moment their bodies collided, both vanished.

The picture of flying, bare arms, stretched out legs in spring, and haunted facial expressions mellowed down as the ring of blue jumpsuit guys tightened around them. The youngins were increasingly bumping into each other as they backed into a bunch. He could feel arms, hands, thighs, and butts covered in sweat touching him fleetingly before shuffling somewhere else. The explosive activity of bodies calmed down into a tense stare at their captors. The captors stood around them in a circle with their arms wide. A short, woman with big bulbous butt that seemed to give her immense sprinting power, darted forward, trying to break through a gap in the reached out arms, but both blue jumpsuit guys leaped for her, grabbed her around the waste, threw her to the ground, drove their knees onto her screaming body, tied her hands with zip tied behind her back, and left her lying on the ground face down. Bodies were left on the ground face down with hands tied behind their back like a farmer gathers hay at the end of the season and leaves hay balls scattered all over the field.

The jumpsuit guys worked efficiently. While most of them held a captivating circle, a few of them darted into the corralled and scared crowd to pull the smallest and weakest bodies out, throw them to the ground, and handcuff them face down. Faster than it seemed likely, they had moved their way up to people the stature of Boris. If he'd run forward, he'd run straight into their arms. He felt with his palms behind him but only found sweaty skin blocking the path back. When a police officer finally darted at him, Boris froze. He felt a kick into the back of his knee and went down like a domino piece. The plastic cut into his wrist. His face was a foot away from a beautiful, nubile butt in the moonlight. His eyes were so close that he could see the tiny bumps of her pores over her peach, smooth skin. He turned his head to the other side to have visibility. The ring had become so small that ten jumpsuit guys could keep the small band of holdouts in check. The roving jumpsuit guys would team up three to pull the big guys down to the ground. There was an eerie silence to the entire clear space among the trees being littered by tied up people lying everywhere in the moonlight. It was almost an art installation. It had such a purity and prettiness to it - a still life of exposed limbs, torsos, and heads full of athletic curves.

The sound of a couple large trucks rumbled up the hill. The last of the youngins were lying face down in the dirt. The jumpsuit guys rejoiced with relaxed laughter about their catch like a fisherman revels in the beauty of a net bulging with fish. There was such a feeling of pride in workmanship that it was startling and reassuring at once. It was startling because they operated with such professional motivation at their injuste harassment but also reassuring that they weren't rogue and would take abusive advantage. The light beams of the trucks caressed over the body to give Boris another look at the bodies, bright colored dance clothing. He vowed to come back that moment. There was so much hunger inside of him, had been his whole life, to be back to experience that inner stimulation and happiness and that tempting sexual possibility.

A strong hand grabbed him at the elbow and lifted him off the ground with such force that he could barely get his feet under him fast enough. The strong hand pushed him forward, the owner of the hand being behind Boris made it hard for him to turn around enough without tripping because each step he was pushed forward and had to catch himself again with a rushed step forward. Full on focused on not falling with every jerk he received, he came up on the truck bed of a cattle truck so fast that it was right under his nose. That same strong hand grabbed him behind the knee to thrust him forward and up. Next thing he was on the truck bed face down.

Taking a quick look, he saw that everyone up there before him had crawled inward and lined up to rest the back against the truck wall and the feet in the center. He sensed that the next body was already coming up behind him. So he tried as hard as he could to quickly crawl, hump and roll his way next to the guy on the left side. The truck was roofless with the moonlight shining in. Everyone's faces were solem and quiet. More and more bodies came. Boris was squeezed between two guys. And when the left and the right row were so full that Boris' arms were jutted in front of him, the blue jumpsuit guys still tried to get more bodies onto the truck bed. They grabbed a short girl by the hands and arms by two guys on either end of her. They swung her back and forth: "Rimwe - kabiri - gatatu." Then she came flying with her feet first. Her feet spread wide in midair to try to stabilize herself. Everyone reached their arms forward to catch whatever they could of her to avoid her hitting the ground hard. Boris got her wrist.

The count restarted right away: "Rimwe - akbiri - gatatu." The next girl came flying through the air. Two dozen arms reached forward as far as they could to catch her body. Suddenly it made sense why all the big guys were sitting in the truck first. The young women were lighter to throw. And the bodies kept flying through the air: "... gatatu." The already arrived women started building a landing mat for the new women coming in. The walls were seven feet tall on the truck. Boris wondered how high they would pile the bodies.

The whole thing turned into a big cuddle party. He could feel warm buttcheeks sitting on his left calf. At some point a woman crawled by to find a spot in between limbs. She placed her hand right on his penis before her small, sharp knee gave his quadriceps a sting as she crawled by. Boris was startled, yet unable to move. He had never been so physically close, had felt so much skin, and such unreserved touch. Then the floor rumbled as the truck was turned on and they started their journey across potholes and big tree roots all nestled and intertwined with each other. He felt one with them. The hardship created a camaraderie that made him not the bystander that he usually was at events but like someone who had earned his place to be there, to walk amongst them, and hold his head high.

Normally, he would have had a boner or anxiety. However, that lack of emotional resonance ever since that kiss still lingered with him. All his comprehension about oneness seemed to be logically like that's what was going on, but he didn't feel any welling up in his heart or shakiness that stole his breath. He was solem. He didn't feel the cold. He didn't feel anything about what was going to await them. The cool, white moonlight reflected off the bodies into his eyes as the overhead branches kept changing the light trajectory.

After about half an hour, they were on a paved road without any trees and pulled up in front of the police station. They were pulled one by one off the truck bed. When he had to slide forward on his knees into the waiting arms of a jumpsuit guy to pull him down, he felt for a moment the lack of the body contact - the contact of three or four bodies resting against him with their warmth and the unique sensitivity of the owner's person attached to them. It was like getting a blanket pulled off and being exposed to the cold air all alone. That emotions flashed up in his mind for a blink of a moment because it was such an intense emotions and then the emptiness of having lost his soul wiped out all emotion again. The second blink of another moment, he wasn't even sure if that feeling had been real or if he had only thought that he had had that feeling.

A jumpsuit guy walked him into the low one story building through a simple door. There were cells with metal bars. In front of the one that he was guided to stood another jumpsuit guy with a cutter to remove Boris' hand restrained. He was ushered into the already overcrowded cell. Everyone sat on the beds, on the floor, wherever they could sit with their backs against the wall. Most noticeable was a big guy who had taken one of the beds. His upper arms seemed almost a foot wide. He had a woman on both sides and two more at his feet. They were holding onto him, while he sat royally in the middle ignoring them like he was the king. He shooed the women on his left away and waved Boris to sit down right in his armpit.

Boris followed the unusual directive. He sat down on the bed with the stretchy metal springs underneath it. He put his head against The big man's bicep and sat at his side like a pet. Nobody talked. There was silence as more youngins entered the cell. The floorspace got crowded. Boris realized that he was sitting on the nicest bed at the center of the wall. The bed was like a throne.

When the cell door locked, the big guy spoke with a baritone voice that resonated on all three walls, "You are the boy I've been wanting to talk to." The big guy spoke with perfect English. He sounded like he had a Western education. It seemed that the cell door was locked and the jumpsuit guys had left gave them privacy to talk. The whole room turned to the big guy and Boris with attention in their eyes and anticipation in their faces. "I want to know who is this white boy who enters a race and doesn't run? Speak!"

"I'm Boris from Florida. I haven't run in a long time, but I wanted to win the dance. Mukobwajana is so hot! There is not more to tell," explained Boris.

"Ha!" said the big guy like he believed Boris but also thought that Boris was a fool. "My name is Ntwali. I'm the race king. I organize all the races or one of my associates. Do you know that you are dying?"

"I've been told that my soul is gone and that I have 24 hours," replied Boris.

"Ah, you don't believe it? It is hocuspocus to you. Is that right? Touch your arm and move your skin around," ordered Ntwali while demonstrating with his right hand on the woman's forearm in his armpit.

Boris did as he was told. He could move the piece of skin that he gathered on the front of his forearms all the way to the pack. He felt a short pang of horror in his stomach before the same bland stupor of emotion came back. It was like a wave on a beach that quickly receded. "It's not supposed to do that!" Boris exclaimed.

"The soul is in the connective tissue," explained Ntwali. "Your connective tissue is dissolving. Some time in the late morning, your organs will fall out of place. Some time around noon, the connective tissue that holds your muscle fibers together will disappear and let your muscles turn to mush. I hope to see you again another day, but from what I have seen about your race, these might be your last hours. That's why I've invited you here to this sacred spot on the bed. I want to honor that you have come from another continent by giving you company for your last hours. Let me tell you the story of how we started racing."

Boris touched his thighs discreetly - as discreetly as he could with two dozen people watching him. He pinched his index finger onto the skin and moved the skin over the muscle. The skin seemed to move without resistance or end to it in any direction he wanted to. His body felt strangely exotic, foreign, and endangered.