I GUESS THIS IS HOW I’M GOING TO DIE
I
She prayed for this day. She had dreamt about it for years, her mind weaving fantasies where he was more than just a memory. In those dreams, he was the sky, the earth, the very air she breathed. His husky voice lingered in her mind, his presence so vivid it made her body tremble.
And now, here he was, no longer a figment of her imagination, but flesh and bone, his flawless, divine face inches from hers. His lips, plump and inviting, traced her skin with feverish kisses. They had been at it for hours, and even now, after their fourth round, his touch sent shivers down her spine.
As he moved on top of her, his pace agonizingly slow, she felt her breath catch. His hands, once tender, now gripped her neck with increasing pressure. The pleasure intertwined with panic as she struggled to breathe, her vision blurring.
“Come for me, baby,” he whispered, his voice coaxing her even as her consciousness began to slip away.
As the light faded from her eyes, her final thought was, “Is this how I’m going to die? Thoroughly sated, with my deepest desire fulfilled, only to be taken away at this moment?”
She tried to hold on to the last vestiges of the high she felt, but the darkness claimed her.
II
Three houses down the street, the glow of a laptop screen illuminated the weary face of a young woman typing furiously into the night. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed freely or had a moment to herself. Her life was a blur of Lagos traffic, endless work hours, and the monotony of survival.
This wasn’t the life I imagined, she thought bitterly. She was supposed to be a pop star, her voice heard by millions, collaborating with her idols. Instead, she was trapped in a cycle of KPI reports and missed deadlines, her dreams of stardom fading into a distant memory.
As she typed, the power suddenly cut off, plunging her into darkness. Frustration welled up inside her, and she screamed into the void, “Koni da fun iyalaya yin, NEPA!” (It won’t be well with your ancestors!)
She slumped back in her chair, the weight of her unfulfilled dreams pressing down on her. Is this it? Is this how I’m going to die? In a rut, furious with NEPA, and nowhere near the life I wanted?
III
Across the city, in a dimly lit apartment, Yemi frantically searched for the rod she had hidden amongst the flowers. She could hear Daniel’s footsteps approaching, his anger palpable in the air. She had endured his beatings for too long, and tonight, she was ready to fight back.
Just yesterday, because she hadn’t moaned to his satisfaction, he had lashed her with a belt, leaving her back bruised and raw. Enough, she told herself, her fingers finally closing around the rod.
But before she could defend herself, he struck her with a chair, sending her crashing to the ground. The rod slipped from her grasp as he descended on her, fists flying. Each blow felt like a final nail in her coffin, and as her vision dimmed, she thought, I guess this is how I’m going to die. Not from his hands alone, but from the weight of everyone’s expectations, telling me to endure.
Outside, a car passed by, blaring Redemption Song by Bob Marley and the Wailers into the night, the music a distant echo of a life she once hoped for.
Author’s Bio
Melody Tobi-Makinde is a freelance writer and poet who enjoys reading and writing. She can be found burying her head all day in a novel somewhere or scrolling through peoples thoughts on twitter @michealynarnold.
