Hey, sorry it’s been long. Medical school sucks. Not like that you creeps, but yeah it sucks… For those still waiting on my Ogbunabali sequel, please be patient. I don’t want to rush the night killer, I love my sleep too much. He will speak when he wants. All I do is write when & what he tells me. Till then, here’s a spur of the moment tale. I hope you can appreciate the bleakness of it. If not, your loss really. Comments always welcome, as usual.
I am a murderer. I do not slay with swords or knives. I do not punctuate the lives of others with a bullet-like full stop. I do not suffocate their lives with an iron grip or beneath clear or muddy waters. I kill by being me.
I slay by cutting through their air with the nicest of words and snuggest of embraces. I punctuate their lives not with a full stop but with the warmest of touches like the swiftest comma. I suffocate their lives by hanging my fears around their necks, dragging them to the farthest reaches of despair because I can. I kill by being me.
I fear I have murdered something that could have been great. How? I let my fear rule me. And that is my greatest flaw. I am a slave to my fears. Break free? How? All I have ever known is fear. What is courage or bravery? What use are your words if they do nothing to spark a fire deep within? I have taken the dreams of another, choked them with my fears and now I am walking away.
Tears? I am weeping? What does it mean? To weep now when it seems way too late. I have destroyed a good thing. Taken away the happiness of a person, a fellow human being like myself. Don’t we all deserve to be happy? Isn’t a real, true and pure smile in the destiny of every single member of the human race? Why have I snatched what belongs to another? Who am I? What have I done?
I don’t know who I am. I know not this figure staring at me from beneath these still waters as I sit beside this river of my flowing tears. I know not the owner of the blank red eyes staring back at me. I know not the owner of the lips that sit so callously on that face so scarred from bites of rage. At this point I know absolutely nothing. I know not when I’d have my own life ruined but I think I deserve it. In all my ignorance, I can claim to know one thing: I. Am. Not. A. Good. Person.