Confessions of a dead man 4

Hello good people. Thank you for reading this series, It ends next week. Enjoy!

 

 

 

I wanted to let her go but I was enjoying the dominating effect I had on her at the moment. I did not plan for her to die though. I was just going to let her go at that last second away from death. I liked the way she was jerking her body in a frantic effort to be free of me.

She was drenched with sweat and so was I. It was the most exciting moment of my life when I saw her eyes roll in her head and noticed her resistance was reducing. I suddenly let her go and she fell to her knee, coughing and dragging in air from both her nostrils and mouth. I gave her time to recover and when she did, the first thing she did was to smile.

Now I know I am a terrible person and felt no remorse for what I did, but this reaction I received from Kike was so unexpected.

She then spoke. “I liked that.”

“Really? Were you not scared you could have died?”

“I was, at the beginning. Towards the end I liked it- it was… I can’t explain it… like I was flying.”

I looked at her with disgust, hissed and folded my arms. I did not like that she liked it. No! I was supposed to be the predator and her, the prey, now it seemed I just assisted her in discovering one more thing she liked.

Anyway, I went to a Government Secondary school very far from home (courtesy of my father) and of course that meant I was in the boarding school. The old man had heard testimonies of how dull students had terrific turn- around and shed the skin of dullness the came to the school with. So it was imperative that I went there since I always took pleasure in settling at the bottom of the class at the end of terms. It was a mixed school and if I had known the man would take me there, I would have planned with Kike to attend the same school- she always chose her school herself and her parents consented always.

I got my match in the third week as a fresh student in Junior Secondary School One (J.S.S. 1) when one of the boys in Senior S. S. 2 called me and in one word, molested me while his friends watched. I was not one prone to cry, scream or plead and I didn’t do any while undergoing the ordeal. This displeased the seniors and they took turns with me. I must admit I was sore and pained but I was strong enough not to cry. They said it was because I was proving hard that they did what they did- they wanted to know my breaking point and then threatened to kill me if I ever told another soul.

This letter is not to bore you about the things I went through in that school. I want to tell you the things I did that made them sentence me to death by hanging. The things that I did, that did not just start in the Secondary school, but had been building up since when I was with Flora and then Kike.

I became a schadenfreude.

I had dacryphilia- not the nice one that gets you sympathy from people. It was the violent type, very forceful.

I had imbibed the attitude of pouring my anger or misfortune on another person; most preferably a weaker one. That was why I picked on the insecure, short albino girl in my class- Rita. I did not even ask for her consent the first time I took her to the ‘corner’ and raped her when we were in J.S.S.3. I actually lured her there- I had my ways. Her tears gave me joy and woke something within me that I was quick to explore. You see, the ‘corner’ was that place where teachers either did not know about or just forgot that they knew about. Though known by all students, only those who really dared could summon up courage to go there. It was a sacred place dedicated to evil deeds only and the scariest truth that the students all believed was that the place was kind of sound proof. What better place for the senior boys who molested me to do their deeds with confidence. And what better place to hear Rita cry, rape her and sternly warn her against telling anyone (I always used the method I mastered with Flora- suffocation).

By now I know you are wishing me so many bad things: especially death. Sorry to burst your bubble, I am already dead for you to be reading this letter. I am not remorseful of the things I did to Rita- less I forget, she was my victim till we left Secondary school. I don’t know why she never told anyone, I don’t know why girls are so scared to say they were raped. Well I am not a girl and it worked well for me anyway, so I was grateful.

My father paid my way into a private University with my almost-good O’ level results and special center JAMB result. Despite that I told him I did not want to further my education- that is if you want to call it education for me. He did not even listen to me and never stopped comparing me to my elder brother who apparently sapped all the brains in my mother’s womb. My father made it a point of duty to abuse me, compare me with others, recount the amount of money he had spent- no, wasted on me so far and remind me of how I was making him look bad before his friends at every given opportunity.

I went to school eager to continue the only thing that made me happy- that made life meaningful to me. It was so easy for me as the tall and handsome son of a rich man that I was; girls were naturally around me. It was a crime though to be seen with a girl in an uncompromising position in my school; one must never be caught hugging a girl for too long let alone kissing one.

I had to find means of making myself happy. I had to see someone cry to remain sane. 

 

 

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Image culled from google

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7,000 reasons your uniqueness may be plagiarism

I could not enjoy this fact alone. Had to share with you.

Lark & Bloom

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I live in America where there is a continual conversation about one’s individuality. We love to take tests to see what our strengths and skills are. Shelves are full of books to help us discover our unique composition and  how to capitalize on it.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for self-awareness. According to Myers Briggs I am an ENTP, which pretty much nails me. Knowing who we are is essential to understanding what we were made to do and how we were made to do it, but it is also where the problem comes in.

What is the problem?

I think we are each put on this earth to accomplish a certain task. You can call it what you want – destiny, mission or calling. I believe that our being here serves a purpose and that we are each divinely made to see that accomplished. My own belief…

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Tale of a fellow 7

And here I am again saying sorry for not posting this yesterday. My network service provider just hates me. Still it is not an excuse- I am so sorry.

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And to our fellow…

 

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The family Izy was working with comprised of the father, mother and four children- three boys and a girl. They all loved Izy: the boys even gave him clothes regularly. And when it came to food, Izy was served on time, with permission to request for more from the cook if he was not satisfied. Everything was going on well for Izy and he made sure not to misuse the privilege he had.

So far, Izy had learnt that his boss had two brothers- the younger was married while the older was not. And his boss’ wife was an only child.

One Sunday, there was a loud knock on the gate at about noon. Izy came out of his little apartment just by the gate and asked who it was. The reply was another hard knock. Izy checked through a small hole in the gate but could not see anyone- they were apparently hiding.

“Who is there?” he asked again.

“Open this gate now,” came the harsh reply from a male voice.

Izy had to be careful, so he asked, “Please who do you want to see?”

“Your oga!”

Then the man started shouting for the gate to be opened.

Mr. Fred- Izy’s boss- came out of the house hurriedly and walked to the gate without any word to Izy as he unlocked the gate and opened it.

A tall dark man walked in as if he owned the place. He looked Mr Fred over once then diverted his look to the boy who refused to open the gate for him.

“You have employed another one so soon? I don’t like this one either. Did you not tell him that I was coming and he had to have the gate opened at the first knock?”

Izy was confused. No one told him anything of sort.

Mr. Fred smiled and answered, “Brother, it is not his fault. I didn’t tell him because he does not know you and could have opened the gate to someone else, thinking it was you. God forbid evil.”

The visitor just walked towards the house, saying nothing.

Mr. Fred tapped Izy on the shoulder. “That’s my elder brother. He is a little difficult to relate with but I can assure you he is not all that bad.”

Izy sighed and nodded in response.

“My younger brother is also coming. We want to have a little brothers’ meeting. Don’t worry ,he is not as difficult as ‘Uncle’ over there.”

After his boss went into the house, Izy began to think that there was something so familiar about ‘Uncle’ though he couldn’t place it; so he just forgot about it

Almost an hour later there was a honk outside the gate and Izy already guessed who it was. He opened the gate wide so the red car could come in. as the car passed by him, he smiled to greet the driver of the car.

“Good aftern-“ he stopped, shocked.

In the car sat Iya Zacchaeus’ husband. The man recognised him too because he stopped the car immediately and frowned. After parking the car he went straight inside shouting about how his brother could employ such homeless rogue who had the effrontery to destroy their New Year party.

Inside the house Iya Zacchaeus’ husband ranted about how Izy was the one who destroyed the New Year party that Mr Fred and his family could not attend. He therefore needed that the boy be sent away.

‘Uncle’, who was at the New Year party, but did not see Izy there, also concurred to sending the boy away. They did not like him, so he had to go.

Mr Fred however said he liked the boy and their reasons were not good enough be so cruel. Moreover, his children and wife liked him too- the kids never liked the former gate keepers.

 

Later in the evening

 

Izy was sitting on a blue chair in front of his little apartment by the gate when ‘Uncle’ walked up to him with fury written all over his face, his fists were clenched too.

Izy stood up.

‘Uncle’ looked behind him to be sure there was no one else but the two of them. When he was sure they were alone he looked Izy in the eyes.

He did not shout as Izy expected. He merely whispered. “No wonder I hated you the minute I saw you. You this stupid boy!”

What had he done this time? Was there no peace in this world for him? What was this man talking about again? Izy was confused.

The man moved closer to the boy. “You riffraff! So you were the one that took the gold that I kept in that school.”

“Sir?”

“My nephews just told me about some of your escapades- obviously the ones you told them; how the security men took my gold- the gold I almost got killed to acquire.”

Right then, Mr Fred and his younger brother walked out of the house talking and laughing loudly. Immediately, ‘Uncle’ straightened, turned to face his brothers and smiled.

 

 

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Tale of a fellow 6

I hope you have so far not been bored by this tale? I just want to say thank you for taking time out to read. You are well appreciated. All grammatical errors (lol) I apologise for. And no, today is not the last day. I just wanted to say THANK YOU.

 

Back to Izy…

 

 

First there was complete silence.

In a split second the little girl screamed, holding her mouth and jaw in her two hands as she ran towards her mother who was among the women cooking. Then one of the two women who put the pot of soup at the corner ran to where the soup was, to check the extent of damage the water had caused. She let out a scream.

“Who brought this stupid boy here? The soup is ruined.”

Izy stood up from the floor where he fell and simply said, “I am so sorry. I will leave now.”

Or what more was there to say? Or do?

What worse thing could happen again on the first day of a year? This was definitely a sign of things to come. Izy thought all sort of things as he walked out of the gate. He did not bother looking for Iya Zacchaeus to collect his money. He had been abashed enough for the day. He felt really bad and did not mean for any of those things to have happened.

His shirt was a bit wet, so he was trying to squeeze out some of the water when he heard footsteps behind him. The sound told him the person was walking fast towards him. He looked back just as Iya Zacchaeus reached him; she put something squeezed in his right hand and without a word turned to leave. He checked his hand and saw a thousand Naira note.

 

Same day- Two hours later

 

Izy was satisfied belly- wise after visiting one of the few canteens that was open for business on New Year’s Day. He felt good after all the drama at Iya Zacchaeus’ family house. It was like a dream to actually have held that amount of money in his hand, but he couldn’t have held it forever- he had to eat.

Strolling satisfactorily, he smiled at some children dressed in their Sunday best- or rather- New Year clothes, shook his head at a young couple he saw canoodling in a car and he even said hello to a teenage boy who carried a tray of food from one house to another with his little sister tagging along.

Izy did not want anything to bother him at all, so he did not think of night time and how or where he was going to sleep. He just walked on slowly, drawing in the different food aromas as he went.

Then he saw a big house, painted white, with lovely flowers planted by the fence. He moved closer to see what was written on a sign hanging by the gate.

“BEWARE OF DOGS”

Just below that sign there was another one.

“Gatekeeper URGENTLY needed”

After reading both out loud, he smiled and began to walk away. He was humming a song his guardian used sing to her children (about becoming rich in the future) as he kept on strolling. One day, he thought, he would also own a big house like that one- no, a bigger house, he would also be able to employ a lot of people. He would not only employ them, he would also help them make their life better and treat them as relatives. At least, it would keep some of them off the streets…

Izy stopped in his tracks.

Keep them off the streets. Keep him off the street.

What was he thinking? There was an opportunity for him to get off the streets.

He turned abruptly and walked back to the house, stood in front of the gate and  re-read the words on the second sign.

URGENTLY. That meant quickly right? As soon as possible.

But, what if they already got someone and maybe forgot to put the sign away.

There was no harm in trying anyway. The worse that could happen is for him to be informed that he was not what they expected, or that they already had someone.

So he knocked on the gate and waited. Almost immediately a man opened the gate and asked what he wanted.

Smiling, Izy answered, “I saw the sign you put out here and I want to apply.”

“Really? We just put that up this afternoon. We were not expecting anyone to show up so soon.”

Izy was invited into the compound and told to sit on a bench beside the gate.

Thirty minutes later Izy had a job with provided accommodation, free daily feeding (twice in a day) and all he had to do was open and close the gate.

 

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Confessions of a dead man 2

 

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Image culled from Google

 

 

 

 

 

Okay okay, I know that you must be eager by now to hear all those wicked things I said I had done and even the so wicked thing I know this letter will do.

You have to pardon me though for taking so much of your time. I know there are so many other things that you would have otherwise been doing. I just wanted to be sure that I had your attention fully before I got down to business.

So, now that it seems you are alert and eager to read my deeds, I shall proceed.

My name is Jay and I was twenty-two at the time of this confession. My best colour was white (when I was little) then it changed to red; because of my profession. I had an elder brother- he was the genius in the family, the one who loved school, home works, the one who got excellent grades, the one who was a standard for me (according to my parents).

It all started in my primary school; the sixth school in two years. You see, my parents first thought I was unintelligent because of the schools’ inability to handle me, so they changed my school as often as they would. But they later realised that I was a sorry case. School was just not my thing; we didn’t just agree. So in that my sixth school I usually sat beside a girl- Flora- she was scrawny looking ( she was from a poor home) and always stayed in the classroom during break, reading one book or the other. After I had stayed in the school for about a month, I decided to share my money with her since I had more than I needed. Then one day I realised I was cheating myself- how could I give and not receive in return? I decided then that she would allow me copy the answers to our home work from her. She agreed and we were both happy. My parents did not change my school again because I was doing better (thanks to their money and to Flora).
So in Primary six it suddenly dawned on me that I wanted more- more than copying from her home works, class works and tests. I wanted more.
When we resumed, Flora came back with small mounds of breasts on her chest, I had wanted to touch them; just to know how it felt. I had seen my mum and dad do some funny things to each other several times and I used to see romantic scenes in movies (my parents actually never told me to close my eyes at times like that- they thought I was too dumb to understand). I might have failed tests and exams but I had a very sharp mind that detected and had interest for bad things. This was how I knew- if it was bad I fell in love with it and understood it, but if it was good I never got to understand or like it.

That was how I confronted Flora and told her about the new development; I wanted to touch her breasts in exchange for my money. No more copying.

She refused.

I stopped sharing my money with her.

But after a week she came to me and agreed to my terms. When I eventually touched the breasts, it was a good feel, but I did not like it. She just stood there like a rock, eyes looking at the toilet ceiling. But I was not going to change my mind and go back to copying, I was having fun been able to control Flora.

We continued everyday at break until one day when my father came home and decided that the school was already getting bad, since I was scoring poorly once again. So he changed my school during the first week of the second term in Primary six.

I was so mad at him. Just when I had a ground in the school and so many ideas were pullulating in my head for Flora and I- I was already getting tired of the touching-breast-through-uniform routine. I wanted more because I had increased the amount I gave her at break. Then the old man decided to change school for me! 

It was that anger that I carried with me into the new school which was more expensive and filled with spoiled kids. In that my new school I discovered myself, discovered my idiosyncrasies. And that propelled me into my future.

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