Did you ever imagine that life is a cycle and that what goes around comes around? Did you envisage it that time in the university when I was your man? You probably didn’t. You were the type of beautiful girl who knows she is beautiful. You flaunted it ceaselessly and carelessly and shamelessly too. Remember those times that I told you that you are beautiful? Do you remember what you used to say? How you used to say it? What was it between us? What was it that bonded us together that time? Was it even Love? Do you even understand Love? Were you not just the pretty lady who milked me dry? Those times we stared at each other, those times our eyes seemed to be in a tête-à-tête, what was it? Please do not say it was love. You were not capable of loving. You couldn’t possibly have been in love those times alone with me, when you let me kiss you, when you moan and whimper in pleasure. Did I say pleasure? Was it fun for you, my drama queen? Wasn’t that part of the grand plan, a plot to which you are chief actor, miming your role in grandeur? What was that thing we used to play together, that game you so much loved to play? Oh! Truth and Dare—do you remember how we used to play it, how many of my questions to which you had no answers? Why do you love the game so much? Was it because of the dare part, where I pay a thousand naira for every dare I couldn’t perform?—I dare you to dance naked, I dare you to taste urine, I dare you to miss an exam. Was that not all you could come up with? It was for the money, wasn’t it? You couldn’t possibly have imagined it turning out this way—you couldn’t in your wildest dream have seen this letter coming. Did you think I was dead or rotting away in jail? True, I was in jail, locked in a dark cell in Kirikiri—where the female warder reminds me of you, where her sassy ass sprouts memories of you!

Do you ever read the bible? Do you believe there is no peace for the wicked? Was it your watchword as it was mine? Did you think we have had a closure to our story? Did you think me serving ten years, and you, living merrily ever after was the end of this chronicle? Were you so fast to move on? Did you mourn for me? Did you thank your Chi, your revered ancestors for destroying me? Or was it Jesus you thanked? Did you go to mass to offer prayer to the graven man sprawled on a cross? Did you see his face, the eternal engraftment of pain on his countenance? Did you ever wonder if that was Jesus grieving for me, for you, or for both of us? Professor Nelson must have been so happy, wasn’t he? When he witnessed against me and you corroborated his tale, did he hug you? Did he tell you how convincing you were, how those tears looked real, how the judge was absorbed into your theater? Did he Bleep you hard after? Did he buy you a car? When the judge read his sentence and convicted me, was that elation real?  Did you truly weep for joy? Did you enjoy my tears; was my plea for mercy sonorous music to your wicked soul? Did my plea for compassion pinch your hardened heart? When I called you Amara mo, and wagged on the floor, did it stroke your heart; did it remind you of whom I used to be to you? You felt no remorse, did you? How did you sleep that night? Did you dream about me, or about my dark little cell? Did you imagine me make friends with convicts? You needed to have seen the cell-lord, the dreadful beam with which he welcomed me.

Was it so painless to forget that night? Did it fade away so easily from your memory like steam from a pot? Does it come back occasionally, do you see that scene in your reverie, and does it haunt your head when you slumber? You thought I travelled, didn’t you? You thought I was gone for seven days like I said. Did you not check the date; did you not notice that it was the first day of April? I wanted to make an April fool of you, but you made an eternal fool of me. Can you even discern what it feels like—to walk home late that night eager to surprise you, to hold a flower and a teddy bear, to imagine you jump at me, thrash me, and cry on my shoulder for tricking you? It was a pricey joke, wasn’t it? Why did you ask him to come to my apartment? Why did you not bother to bolt the door? Why did you not put off the light? Why were you moaning so loud? Was it fun caressing his overstuffed body? Was he better than I was? Was his grip firm on your breast, and did you call his name? What did you call him? Was it professor, or Nelson, or was it my name you called him? You couldn’t stare at me that night. Did you not want to see my eyes? Were you truly ashamed, or was it fear, or just contempt? I think it was disrespectful to have avoided my gaze, to not stare into the eyes you hurt. What did you envisage I was going to do? Why did he not run when he had the chance? When I dropped the flower, and the teddy, while I was away, did he ask you who I was? What did you tell him? Did you say I was just a friend, a measly acquaintance? Did he continue to smooch you, or did he stop for a while? You didn’t believe I was gone, did you? You weren’t that stupid, were you?

I am sorry I broke your arm; you broke my heart too, you broke my existence. Do you know what it feels like to be discarded, to be thrown away like a cold Akara in the hands of a toddler? The cudgel was meant for his head, why did you put your hand? Was he worth breaking an arm for? Do you think I was a monster, and you a knight? What did you feel when he overpowered me? Did you see the way he threw a jab to my nose, did you see the trickle of red, did you feel my bones crunch under his grip, and did you enjoy my squeal, was it like those of ravenous piglets? What was it you told the police that night? Why did they let him go? Did you know how devastated I was when Corporal Obinna read your statement to me? Was I an abusive lover like you claimed? Did I fracture your arm because you wouldn’t have sex with me? Was the professor your rescuer, the one you had made a frantic call to when I attempted to rape you? How did you come up with that story? With whom did you make such connivance?

 

   II

 

How does it feel to be paid back in your own coin? What does a handcuff feels like? Was it like those bangles that you had your drawer full of, was it fashionable, trendy, like those beautiful chains? Was your head foggy? Did you see your husband, the cold fixed gaze of death? Tell me; what does it feels like to wake with a bloodied knife in your hand, to have your dress smeared in his blood? Did you plead for mercy? What did you tell the police, the judge? Did they dismiss your story too, the way adults wave off a childhood ghost legend? Did you see the look on their faces, and does it hurt; to have people look at you like that? A murderer? Did I cross your mind? Did I?

You met her was at the big supermarket where she went shopping with her mom. You liked the way she looked, the curviness of her hip, the roundness of her breast and the smoothness of her skin. She is fair, just the way you liked it. You saw her walk away from her mom, towards the culinary section and you followed her. She asked the waitress for spiced chicken and just when she was about to pay, you smiled at her and offered to pay.
‘No, thanks’ she said shyly
But you insisted. ‘How could I let an angel pay for a chicken?’
She smiled and said ‘thank you’ as you paid and asked the waitress to keep the change.
Then you had the chance to look at her close on. You saw her face, the way tiny pimples are starting to appear, you saw her dimples, the way they look deep as if someone had carved them with a finger. She saw you staring, she saw you moving your eyes over her and she felt intimidated, she twitched like someone sitting on the stabbing edge of a nail and she could stand you no more.
‘Thank you’ she said. ‘My mum would be waiting now’ she continued.
‘Oh yes that is true’
‘What is your name?’ you asked her
‘Rosabel’ she replied.
‘I will like to meet you again’ you said. Then you gave her your phone and being a smart girl, she understood you. She poked your keypad and entered her phone number.
‘Goodbye’ you said
‘Goodbye’ she replied, a moon like smile on her face, illuminating, irresistible. She was young, naïve and you liked it.
At night, after you had imagined her tucked in bed with perhaps only bra and pant, after you had reflected on what to say to her, you decided to call her. She did not pick the phone at first and it scared you. That you might never get to hear her voice again, that you might never get to see her again, it really scared you. When you tried for a second time, she picked and you heard her say ‘hello’
‘Hello angel’ you replied.
‘Hello. Please who is this?’ she asked
‘Well, I am not going to tell you, I am going to remind you’
‘Okay’
‘Today, somewhere in Victoria island, at a really big place, I saw you stand with your mum, I saw you buy a chicken and I saw you press my phone’
She laughed, she laughed a lot. ‘So it is you’ she said
‘Yes it is me’
‘But I didn’t get your name’
‘Vincent’ you replied coolly.
‘How do you do?’ you asked
And she told you how she had just graduated from secondary school, how she waits anxiously day and night for the result of her A levels examination and how she gets so bored because there is nothing to do other than watch the TV and chat with boys who have nothing to offer other than the vague promise of love.
‘You don’t like boys?’ you chirped in
‘I do. Just that you know most of them are so childish. They only bore you the more’
You both laughed, yours, louder and thick, hers, mild and gentle.
‘Is what I said funny?’ she asked
‘Yes. A lot’ you answered
‘I hope I won’t join the clique of those boring boys?’
‘No. you won’t’
There was not much to say that night. You told her how you had graduated from Cambridge two years ago, how you had returned home to manage your family business and how uninterested you are in everything around you and then you told her how it all changed when she walked into the supermarket.
‘Change?’ she asked, bemused
‘Yes. I like you and I really want to see you again’
Before you said goodbye, you fixed a meeting. She told you her dad never stays at home and that her mom never comes back until late in the evening.
‘Does that mean I can come see you at home?’
‘Yes’ she replied. ‘But buy chicken when you are coming’ she teased.
In her voice, in the manner she picked her words; you had sensed a blazing desire, a want.
Before you slept, after you had said a long hearty goodbye to her, you rolled and twisted and turned in ecstasy.
‘She really likes me’ you said aloud to yourself.
The day you met her again, at her house, she was much more beautiful. Her hair, long and flowing and her dark leggings excited you. She slammed close the door as you entered and she pointed to a cushion. The house itself was warm; you liked the polished marbled floor, the array of colourful ceilings, the sweet music of Celine Dion playing on TV and the way everything seems to fit into each other.
‘Hope you like my house?’ she asked
‘I do’ you replied
She dashed into a room and when she returned, she brought with her fried potatoes chips and bottled water.
‘This is for you’ she said.
‘I am not going to eat it alone’
‘Then who are you going to share it with?
‘You of course’
‘You will have to feed me by force’
‘At your service’ you said and bowed.
When she saw you moving towards her with a slice of potato chip, she jumped from her seat and started to weave her way through the cushion sets. You were not ready to let her go and you chased after her, twisting and turning the chairs and then you grabbed her, your pounding chest pressed on her, feeling her warmth.
‘I caught you’
You cheated. You jumped over the cushion’ she said with a smile as she grabbed the potato from you.
Then you are back on the cushion, this time around on the big one. She was seated by your side and you told her how beautiful she looks. It was becoming more and more easy. She was always listening to you; she blush when you say things and she seem to have found pleasure in smiling at you.
‘How old are you?’ you asked
‘I am sixteen’ she answered.
‘You are still a baby’
‘I am not a baby’ she retorted.
‘So if you are not a baby, have you had a kiss before?’
‘No’ she replied,
‘Ha-Ha. You are a baby’
‘I don’t want to be a baby anymore’
‘What’
‘I don’t want to be a baby’
Soon there was no space between you. You had moved closer to her and her to you. She was shaky, a bit ruffled and she looked at you as your mouth came closer to hers. At first, she tasted of chips and spice. Then you pinned her lip, the lower one first, sucking it to yourself, slowly, in no rush. Then the upper one, you felt its glossiness and then she stopped.
‘Is this right?’ she asked
‘I think so’ you answered
she placed her head on your chest and you weaved through her hair, you told her sweet words, words you had learnt from years of encounters with girls. You told her how she is the best thing that had happened to you and how you are never going to hurt her.
‘I really do love you’ you said
And she cried and cried at the strange feeling, the weakening feeling of love.
‘I love you too’ she replied and she let you kiss her again.

this is good bro...but it is flawed. you are talented but you haven't being able to appeal to the talent...first you said they are girls, then you said they are abiku. then also at first you sounded like a child who loves her mum and later you don't care. many contradictions...the story didn't flow and you kept interrupting the fun. you are good though....but u need to improve to be really good.

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