ONE

It Gets Heavy

You've always loved him no matter what anyone said and you did because he treated you like you were the most important thing in the world; his world. You didn't even mind when your friends kept making jokes about how big his head was. You felt his head was big because he had a big brain and his heart was equally as big. You liked how he was the only guy that called your name fully, with that slight bush accent that reminded you of your grandmother, how his black skin always shined reflecting the sun like a polished surface. You liked his sense of humor and contagious laughter, he always made you happy.

Then he changed. it started with the nagging, followed by the curses and threats even in public places. You wondered what was wrong, and asked him several times if you had done anything to offend him, if there was anything you could do to make him feel better. You wanted it all to stop badly but it didn't, It got worse. You endured, made excuses for him, you told yourself you were doing it for love.
It wasn't until the moment he slapped you, you realized how big his head truly was and admitted he was also very foolish.
He was a fool because he took you for granted; mistook your love for weakness, and pushed you away unknowingly. You picked up your bag, walked out of his presence, and promised yourself to never see him again.

Copyright © 2020 by Jhybho
All rights reserved. This publication or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.


Hi everyone, I came across a thread last week about how we've spent 100 days at home and what we've accomplished. Well, I've written a couple of flash fiction and I've decided to post them here.
I've been playing at writer for a while now.
I hope you enjoy it.
peace!

It's dedicated to everyone struggling to get a foothold in surviving this journey called life.

TWO

The store

I had no locks on my door and it had never bothered me because there was nothing to be afraid of. Everybody co-existed peacefully and knowing my place made it easier for me. Even though they called it my room, I knew it wasn't, because sleeping next to sacks of Rice and Garri stacked against the wall was a constant reminder of the simple truth that I don't belong there; like the sacks, I was also going to reach my end and probably be replaced by another. But I've been taught to be grateful, to grasp whatever ball life tosses at me with both hands, and be careful not to crush it in the process of trying to hold it dear.
The first time he was at my door he knocked softly, twice, like he was hoping I won't answer, I remember because I was leafing through pages of a fashion magazine stuck on a particular face, wondering how someone can be blessed with so much flawlessness. After I had invited him in, he stood at the door smiling sheepishly then I sat down to resume staring at my magazine. He left a book on my bed, told me to read it that he would be back. It was the last time he ever knocked. I had no idea he would be back for a lot more than that; for me, for everything that has ever been rightfully mine.
Then he started coming frequently in the middle of the night while everyone else was asleep. I never stopped to think about what was happening except when we were together, I felt there was little my thoughts could do to rescue me. I had already slipped, now I was going to tumble down the slopes of my lowliness. There was no way my narrative could be pleasant to any keen listener.

How could I tell anyone that I secretly enjoyed his little gifts and late-night cuddles; his perfect dentition and deep voice. Words flowing with richness like water out of a brand new faucet, the way his eyes flare up with rage anytime I try to hold on to what's left of my dignity. Most times I just lie still and calm, my eyes wide opened focused on nothing in the darkness, even though my heart keeps wanting to burst out of its cage, I always found a way to slow my breathing. The regulation was an essential ritual for me. It startles me; knowing how much willpower I have, to stop myself from moving a muscle, to do something. I just waited until he finishes. It's easier that way, no emotions involved. He'll plead gently after each deed had been done "don't tell anyone, please". But he would be back again to take me forcefully. How could I tell anyone that the perfect Boda Dele loved by the young and cherished by the old, whom every boy wants to be like and every mother wishes to born is a rapist? My rapist.

THREE

Set Me Free

Love is messy, selfish, and reckless at most. At the early stages of its inception, it dances around you hurling bubbles of happiness all over your face, leaving you at the mercy of your infallibility to burst them one after the other, or at once depending on how frantic you can be.

It was one of those Wednesdays where If you don't leave campus early you'd blame yourself on getting to the park. I was seated on a bench near Lagos hostel nodding to Nf's Why blasting through my earpiece when I felt a tap on my shoulder asking if she could join me on the bench, I told her it wasn't my father's that she could if she wanted to. She replied along the lines of if it was my dad's I wasn't going to share what type of person does that make me. I had to explain to her what I meant was about having authority over my father's possession and it has nothing to do with being selfish.
It wasn't love at first or anything of the sort, it was more like an awareness of having a prospect that could lead to something around. A chance at love maybe.
Eventually, it grew with ease like a plant that had been showered with attention, it took a shape and direction after some time, and finally turned out to be love. I gathered my happiness, placed them in a box, and locked it away safely. I wanted to be in control; to be able to feel it anytime I want. She was everything to me. To offer her more assurance, I gave her my friend's contact to be able to reach out when I'm unavailable. It turned out to be my greatest mistake.

I had suspected them for a while now, I had known them for too long not to know how they act when they're nervous or uncomfortable. I saw it coming since the first day I made the introductions; the lingering smile on their faces coupled with the series of unnecessary compliments. I thought I was imagining things and cautioned myself for thinking either of them will betray me like that.
I was in denial for long till I caught them on the balcony of her apartment; the same one I have been paying the rent for a while now.
she was kneeling on the floor taking him in passionately, he had his hands on her head, his eyes closed savoring every ounce of the assault her mouth was rendering him. The same mouth that had professed me undying affection for close to three years now; has made me believe there's a thing called love. What bothered me most was why they had to do it in the open, anybody could have walked upon them. But then something about the carelessness of the whole situation was funny to me. I busted out laughing, a different kind of laughter. I stopped abruptly to register the look on their faces, with the satisfaction of what I saw, I walked out of there a free man. Free from the shackles of treachery and deception; of misery paraded as love, of being a slave to the tenets of my happiness.

FOUR

Low-key Losing It

The moment I knew my brother was a mad man wasn't when he played the first prank. It only made me question his sanity. It was the second that finally made me draw the conclusion that he needed to be placed in a facility.
It was a Saturday afternoon, I came out of my room to pick up something in our parlour when I saw a figure dressed in white from head to toe, the only part spared was the eyeballs. Now I have seen enough Nollywood movies not to have an idea of what a ghost looks like but what stood in front of me was an upgraded version of even the best of the best portrayal of ghosts.
I gave out a weird cry with an attempt to make a run for it when I saw the supposed ghost burst into laughter. I first had to lower myself on one of our sofas before I run the risk of high BP and other forms of heart malfunction then stood up, made my way into the kitchen in search of something strong to break his head with, but by the time I returned to the living room, the ghost had disappeared.

It was a little dark when the second prank happened. I was coming from a friend's place when I felt someone with a machete sneak up on me from the corner of my eyes. I didn't even wait to understand what was happening before I took to my heels, and at the same time screaming my lungs out for people to come to my aid for I was being robbed. The most terrifying part was my assailant never stopped chasing me but kept saying something which made the whole thing eerier. I couldn't even care to pay attention, all of a sudden his voice and what he was saying started sounding familiar and I was forced to look back, then stop. Lo and behold it was my dear brother with a stick in his hand trying to catch his breath like me and he was wise enough to keep a little distance between us. I didn't bother to wait for any explanation before I attacked him with the strength left in me, but he had anticipated his hunter might eventually get hunted and was already on his heels. I chased him a little before it occurred to me that he was his school's fastest runner for a reason.

Five

The Memory Of Loss

Remember the time he came from Lagos just to see you in Ibadan for a couple of minutes. He gave you a bunch of flowers that had wilted due to the excess heat in the bus, but you collected it beaming with so much pride. You held on to him for so long and prayed selfishly to God to stop him from going back. What about the late-night walks on campus, where silence did all the talking with each person lost in his forest of thoughts. But it felt so relaxing that you'd rather not be anywhere else at that moment. Even when he caught you cheating, he took three deep breaths and calmly said if there was nothing more to it, he had forgiven you. The perfection of him scared you, filled you up like air in a balloon, had your head spinning in circles, and made you love him with every ounce of strength in you.

It was one of those super sunny Saturdays. You were at Mokola trying to get ingredients to make Cowtail pepper soup together when you got his text saying it was over. It hit you like an arrow and made your legs tremble. You felt deflated and watched everyone around you move in a quiet orchestra of slow motions. You wondered what was over exactly, the glowing connection you shared or the perfect ship you had sailing serenely on. He ignored your calls for days and left your messages unread. You finally showed up at his doorstep three days later only to discover that he had changed locks. You couldn't stop the tears from flowing as you asked him what you did wrong. He showed no emotion and simply stared at you. Your camel didn't have to wait for a second more as the final straw shattered it to pieces. You got home back and started wearing only black, you even stopped entering your kitchen, and drank just water for days. It was the only place that reminded you so much of him. He was the best cook you've ever known, all your friends had a crush on him. The first time you ate his egusi soup was the only time you've ever licked a plate in your life. What bothered you most wasn't how everything you did reminded you of him. It was how you couldn't even remember the choices you made before him and how his silence was making you lose your mind.

You lost him and found pain, the dull agonizing ache of nothing but sadness. You made it your home and shut your door on happiness because you were busy tending to the flowers of hurt he left behind. You mourned him for a week and decided to let him go. You started with the kitchen and emptied all his stupid packs of Lipton and seasoning away in the trash. Next was his belongings, followed by the silly books he read plus the ugly art he got for your birthday. You set them on fire and watch it all go up in flames along with everything you ever felt. Then it occurred to you that even if you might never care for anyone like the way you cared for him, you'll always find someone to love you more than he ever did.

Six

Ropes And Sèances

I have made thinking about her an obligation. Thoughts of her wake me up in the morning, cloud my mind during the day, and follow me to sleep at night. I slip out of consciousness at work, when doing grocery shopping, in the shower, during conversations with people, just to spend time with her. I have spent the past couple of months paying attention to every detail, perfecting each line and curve like an art. I have woven her into the fabrics of my being and dyed myself in the composition of her colors. Listening to our favorite songs gets me worried about the things I can't remember, like what I found comfort in before us. Maybe I don't need them anymore. Maybe all that matters is enjoying the present as much as I can.

I think about the burning sensations I feel when I stare into her brown eyes and the tightening of my chest at the flawlessness of her skin. I think about us and what will be made of this narrative when we don't matter again.

I think about her now as she lay helpless in the whiteness of her hospital garment, drifting away from me with every beep of the oscilloscope. How someone so full of life could transform into a shadow of her former self was still a mystery to me. The machines put me out of my reflections with its frantic beeping that made me scream for help. A nurse entered and upon sighting the machine I saw fear and instinctively knew that something was wrong. I rushed to her side praying for a miracle, a ray of light, something other than the scary feeling of impending doom. When it seemed none was forthcoming, I wished for final words, anything I could hold onto forever. She opened her eyes, looked directly at me for the first time since we've been at the hospital. All she had to give was a smile as she closed them back for one last breath. She had a strange calm about her, like she had moved on to a foreign but welcoming world. I was out of it for a while, screaming, shedding tears uncontrollably, recounting all the promises and plans we had made. They said I threatened to kill myself.

A week has passed since life struck me a fatal blow. Words can't describe the ache in my soul, how tattered my thoughts are from the overbearing weight of loss and the misery that accompanies it. Sleep has long left my abode with shrubs of pain for me to tend to. I've welcomed the new normal and turned it into another ritual, showering it daily with attention. We spend lots of time together now, talking about all the plans we made and what could have been. I make her favorite dish every day and set it on her side of the table. She tells me stories about her new home, her new friends, and how everyone seems to like her. I don't try to make sense of anything, and on days we run out of things to talk about, we just sit staring at each other enjoying the melodies being silently served.

Your flash fic is quite good.
Well done.

Thank you!

ChiwyN:
Your flash fic is quite good.
Well done.

jhybho:
Thank you!

Hi. Reply hi

Hi boss

Maskyy:

Hi. Reply hi