Fortune in Failure- Another story( Because stories can make and stories can mar) Our first job was our last. That was it. We were trained to kill and to die. Success meant you killed and you died. Failure meant you did not kill not but you died. Kabiru had received his own share of horrible, demolishing consumption of bomb. I saw fear, so intense, in his eye that afternoon he set out for his mission. He was successful, a matry- his bones shattered into numerous pieces. Allahu Akbar was that parody that rented the air when we heard that he consumed 300 people with himself. And the following day was my turn. All the agonies in this world froze my intestine. 3:30pm. The circuit beneath my Ijab prickled me into my innermost. Do not attract attention. Do not stand back. The paradise is for the brave. Sule X told me with a voice that persisted long after it was uttered. I headed straight to the INEC office, with distress, fear and bravery alternating in my head. That night Kabiru came into my dream. He dressed in white overall. His lips were bigger and head rectangular. He had no ears and only one leg. He spoke without moving his lips. He spoke English, which he could not when he was alive. I did not understand him. But I knew he missed me. I felt his loneliness. He laughed and was shedding blood from his nostrils. As I entered into the INEC office, gelatinous with panic, my skin felt as if it had unripped from my bones. I saw a beggar at the entrance. She had five small children of the same heights. At least 500 people were inside waiting to collect their voters card. The beeping sound in my Ijab became more frequent, more audible. It was any moment from then that the whole office would crumble into nothingness, that the beggar and her children would vanish into thin air, that the crowd would be decomposed into aggregate of skeletal masses. A throng of palpitation froze my legs. I stood motionless, my eyes tightened into my skull. It was time. Beeping. Faster. And then silence. I heard a sound different from bomblast. The police rod banged on my head. I fell to the ground. They defused the bomb at just a second before the finale. Kirikiri prison 1972.
Posted on: Tue, 20 Jan 2015 09:41:31 +0000
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