Friday, 30 September 2016



I was having a moment of tranquil on the balcony of my castle. One of my damsels was playing the violin. The other one was prickling my neck with the tail end of a soft feather. The other one was washing my feet in a basin of warm water. my concubines were beautifying the bedroom in preparation for my coming. Right besides my plush fleet of cars, was the unclothed stripper on duty. Her sitting apparatus dangled in the air as she delightfully swirled and twirled down the tall greasy shaft.

My throat suddenly throttled! followed by a dry cough and a migrane. I immediately ordered for a cold bottle of wine. It was brought within the snap of my fingers. Just as I popped the wine out of the bottle, my late wife appeared from the gate. She was running like an antelope. She was breathing heavily in the white robe she was buried with a month ago. She heaved and shrugged her hands in a manner likely to imply that I should not drink the wine. But how could I not drink something that that came from such a beautiful bottle? I ignored her as usual. Just the way I used to do when she was alive. I drank the wine with impunity. I took one gulp of it and felt dizzy at once. My eyesight started deteriorating. Everyone I lived with in the castle left me marooned. They left and did not look back. The more I tried crying for help, the more I kept losing my voice. I finally took a deep breath and passed out on the floor.

When I woke up, the first thing I saw was John’s dead body.

John is my roommate. We share the same bed. We sleep beneath the same blanket. We eat from the same plate. When we buy nicotine, we turn it into liquid, mix it with cocaine, and use the same syringe to spew it into our veins. We even esteem and make love to the same woman. (Her name is Adoyo.) Adoyo loves it when we make love to her without protection. She loves it more when I’m the first one to go in before John. That’s what she usually says while faking her orgasm. In order for us to make love to Adoyo, we must first buy a certain amount of nicotine from her. She has never parted her legs to make ends meet for free. Not at all.

“Had I not injected my veins with nicotine, I would have stopped John from hanging himself on the suicidal strands.”

 I told myself.

All houseflies had flown from the sewer when they sniffed John’s demise. They held a jovial gathering in our house by merrily marauding around his sagging corpse. I was shuttered. Shock shook every part of my body. I started deliberating on taking away my life. I couldn’t stand the melancholy of living in our deprived excuse of a house without John. I shared a lot with him. Now that he had decided to die, I also thought it would be wise to share the death with him.

At the end of my deliberation, I noticed a piece of paper that kept whirling on the floor. It was John’s suicide note. In it, was an expression of the depression he felt when he found out that he was HIV positive. He believed that he had gotten it from Adoyo. Adoyo our girlfriend. The suicide note made my heart to hop a bit. Reading it made me feel like I was an inescapable casualty. A fire of rage bubbled blood in my belly. I smoked thirty sticks of marijuana and sharpened my dagger. I then went straight up to Adoyo’s house and stormed in. I was geared up to reconstruct her body with deep cuts. But Adoyo was holding a gun in her hands. 
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