This is a sequel to old notes and memories. If you are reading this for the first time, you can check my profile for the 3 episodes of old notes and memories.. Your comments would mean a lot. I do hope you enjoy reading this.

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In death, it is all silence.
Silence is a steady hand, palm flat and facing downward; like that of a corpse in casket after it has been prepared for interment; the state of infinite silence. Some people are alive not just to live but because their demise would leave a void in others that could never be filled.
There are sometimes I feel like killing but taking another life is not legal. Recently I found a way to actually kill people in a very legal way.

I have an addiction, an addiction to walking. Science calls it wanderlust; a walking disorder. It started when I was a child, and to make it worse, I also have this habbit of pulling people's legs, even my mother's, science calls it sarcasm. Once, I told my sister I would kill her if she doesn't give me an extra piece of meat. She asked how I would kill her, I said I would turn her into a cow and drag her to ajelogo abattoir. That was my way of calling her a cow. I got two dirty slaps at both sides of my face instead of the meat. Another time, while being punished for going to the river to swim, I told my mother that something in the swamp called me and I wandered off to answer that call. Along the way, I met others the something in the swamp also called and they decided to wash in the river so I joined them. I told her I met fishes with human legs and humans with fish head at the river and that they would come for her in the night if she doesn't stop flogging me. she got scared, it worked.

One day, on my way to school I bought milkose and goody goody from an old woman who sold at the roadside. It was morning, I was her first customer. Several people, both students and non-students had been passing along the way that ran in front of her stall but I was the first to stop by and patronize her (so she told me). I was still waiting while she searched her waist pouch for my change when three other students and a middle aged man stopped by to buy from her. she called me olowo aje, and she gave me three extra milkose sweets. That same day, in the evening, my feet started to itch so I left my mother's shop and wandered off. I met some boys I use to play football with, they were hawking vegetables, and they had football with them so I followed them. I returned home 9pm, I told mama the woman I bought sweets from in the morning told me to follow the boys because I am olowo aje otherwise nobody will buy their vegetables. It wasn't enough anyway, I slept outside that night. I was nine years old.

That was almost fifteen years ago. Ekene doesn't mind that I have an itchy feet, she doesn't mind that I prefer we trekked rather than board a bus sometimes; in fact she even loved it. She believed in me, she believed it when I told her walking will increase the length of time spent together because when the brt bus stops at ketu It would mean goodbye, and neither of us like to say goodbye.

Mama once tried out a solution to her problem; my problem, my wanderlust. It was during my rebellious teenage years, I was fifteen and my rebellion was at its peak. I had other problems too but wandering she considered the worst. She stared putting in place things that could distract me from wandering inside our congested home, she even made peace with the neighbours she had issues with so I could play around in the compound with their children. It worked for about a week. When Ekene came along it was different. She did not see my itchy feet as something that could be referred to as a problem, she encouraged it as long we wouldn't walk to the river.

Ekeneoma was my best female friend, the one i thought was one of the reasons i have to wake up in the morning. I fell in love with her. I told her i love her and she said she love me too. Life became a bliss; Sebi it is said that the greatest feeling is to love and be loved back. There are so many things about Ekene I would like to tell you about but that is a story for another time. Anyway, I couldn't imagine life without her but I wanted to know what life, my life would be like without her, So I killed her.
I started a story and I made her a character, the story isn't the one with a hero and a heroine, it was an unusual type. I wrote about my wanderlust, I wrote about Ekene's eyes, and her smile, I wrote about her hair; her conrows and about how much I loved to play with the smoothly plaited tress. I wrote about the many times we walked together, I wrote about our blissful life, I wrote about the fights and quarells we were yet to have. And I killed her. She told me she would do anything for me, go anywhere for me. So I asked her to go to the river with me and she agreed reluctantly. At the river, I drowned her. I had to, it was the only way I could know how life would be like without her.

It's been three months since I killed her.

I still have the impulse to walk, but she wont walk with me anymore, so its a meaningless walk, a meaningless life. I haven't found out how life would be without her because I haven't finish the story. However, i know it would be one painful, miserable life, one that isn't worth living. So I guess I would kill me eventually in the end, because I can't live without her.