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Struggling to read ? Look no further. Afrikaans just got easier. Let me know if part 2 should be released!
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AFRIKAANS EATDIE
ONDERWERELD
ENGLISH TRANSLATION
MISS. E. PILLAY
2023
,Page 38
Entering a combination of a user's identification and password to gain access to a computer,
program.
Page 39
That's what fear feels like: Fire flashes through your body, every nerve jolts awake, adrenaline
throws your thoughts into high gear, your eyes snap open, your breathing stops and your chest
cavity squeezes. And you hear it - your own heart.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
An unfamiliar sound wakes him up. Or maybe it's something in a dream that says,
"Get up. You have to stop him!"
This is where the fear begins. Down, down the dark corridor he walks now. His throat is constricting.
The punches of his heartbeat hammering faster. He felt like turning back, away run, but he is almost
at that room at the end of the corridor. It is there where the light burns. It is there that his eyes will
open tonight - go. He can barely hear his own footfall on the tightly woven carpet. His breathing is
shallow, but each breath gradually becomes deeper, more urgent than the previous one. Now he is
at the half - open door of his father's study. You must stop him! Prevent him from doing what? He
just stands there at first. Listen. He hears the crickets outside the house. A car in the street. From the
study comes the rustling of papers. The light shining through the door illuminates the tips of his toes.
He smells the wooden door's polish, the familiar smell that hangs everywhere in their house. His
fingers touched the door handle, and the cold sent a shock through his eleven year old body. A
sound comes from the study. Like a startled animal, perhaps. No, it's a person. This is his father. The
boy pushed the door all the way open.
Page 40
What he sees in front of him is the first cutting scream that will echo through his growing up years:
His father's big body, half bent, as if he is writing. But in his hand, there is not a pen. There is a 9 mm
pistol in his clenched fist. One finger is around the trigger. What about the desk? The boy saw the
fine hairs on his father's fingers glistening in the light of the desk lamp, his knuckles white from the
strain. His father's eyes are fixed, caught by the black metal as if he no longer knew where he was.
As if he is unaware of the leather chair he sits on behind his large desk. As if he didn't know about
the lamp's light shining on his face and making him look like the monsters the boy dreamed of when
he was younger. One side of his face is brightly lit, the other in shadow. Is that his father? the boy
wonders now. Isn't he a monster? And isn't it just a dream that his real father will wake him up from
now; will bring him water to calm him down? Calm. That's what he must do now. But it is not that
easy. Not when your heart is breaking your ribs.
"Dad!" he says.
The word comes between them. An echo. Now his father looked up. There is a gleam of recognition
in his tired eyes. He is slowly coming back from the dark underworld. His shoulders sagged slightly,
as if the tension was draining from them. His grip on the firearm loosened. The weight of the pistol
causes it to slide from his hand onto the spread piece of cloth on the desk. The boy wants to ask:
"What is Dad doing?" But the words don't get past his dry throat. His father looked at him. A muscle
, twitched above his eye. The frozen eyelids now move. Is his father going to cry? He had never seen
him cry. His father wrapped the pistol in the cloth. His hands are shaking.
"Go... go to sleep now, my son," he stammered, pulling open a desk drawer.
At the same time he pushed the pistol into it. Then he stretched his fingers towards a yellow
envelope lying on the tabletop. But before he can take it, he looks up. His face was wet with tears.
Page 41
The boy just stood there, one hand still on the doorknob.
"It's okay, I promise," said his father.
"I... I won't..."
The silence becomes a sponge that must soak up the words.
"You don't have to tell your mother. Okay? It's our secret." The corner of his mouth twitched as he
tried to smile.
"Go to sleep now."
The boy's hand slipped from the door handle and fell to his side. He still doesn't say anything, but his
father's voice echoes inside him. As he turned and walked into the room, he heard his father say,
"Night. Sleep well..."
His father said his name, but he didn't hear it. His name dissolves in the dark. Disappear. But that's a
good thing because years later he would choose a different name for himself. One with which he
could banish the fear. A name that says how it feels to wait helplessly for answers and only get
echoes from the underworld in return.al Ekk-0
Page 42
A computer command during which a packet of information is sent from Colleen's computer to
another. The target computer must echo the information to confirm that it is reachable and O active.
Page 43
<h>Slumbering gray cells, wort Polyfilla and ringtones<>
The shrill ringing of the cell phone bursts into my ears and explodes inside my beleaguered brain.
"Here comes the circus!" my mother, Rina, would say laughing now if she heard the polyphonic
ringtone. And then she might feel guilty for allowing herself to laugh. I push the pillow over my head.
This muffles the sound slightly. I still want to sleep, damn it. But the ringing penetrates the pillow
and comes to get me out of there. With my eyes closed, I reached for the mobile phone on the
bedside table. My thumb goes for the reject call button, but before I can press it, I see the name on
the screen: Nicole. The name swims through the dormant gray cells in my head - and it hits me.
Nicole! My girl. If I die, she'll give me hell. My thumb quickly moves to the answer button.
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