'Grounded escapism' by Winston Kinyua

First, there was the feeling of detachment, like his body was no longer his. Then, when he closed his eyes, he flew.

He could feel the breeze on his face as he glided above clouds too white to be true, and a sun that was as gentle as a kiss on his skin.

He wondered why she hadn’t showed up yet. As if brought on by his musings, she suddenly appeared, gliding next to him.

“I was beginning to wonder if you weren’t going show today,” he said.

They glided in silence, and he looked at her, wondering what was going through her head. She was the color of molten gold, and her ears lay flat on her head. Her snout was moist and her eyes were as bright as he remembered them to be.

Then, like a fading technicolor dream, the landscape began melting. The blue sky darkened, and the clouds melted away, revealing a naked nothingness that scared him. Already?

Then everything turned black.

He never liked this part, not because of the pounding headache or the unbearable nausea, but because his reality was too painful.

“Hey Usman, you’re done for the day,” she said, while she pulled the tubes from his arm.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the stark brightness of the room and her uniform.

Across from him, another nurse was waking up Munira. She had the same look that he had on his face, he was sure. One of longing and pain.

Does she also see her dead dog? He wondered.

Chemotherapy isn’t something you expect to be doing at only 23 years. But it was the reality he lived in.

The corticosteroids he was injected with made his flying possible and only then, did he feel alive.