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. 




Image culled from google

4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Emeka
    Nov 29, 2013 @ 20:04:06

    That’s nice one dear…You were curel though. lolz



  2. phoyinmartins
    Dec 02, 2013 @ 06:56:12

    Oh boi see film…… had to take a peep into my lexicon for that malicious thingy;
    French: joie maligne
    German: Schadenfreude
    Italian: gioia maligna
    Russian: злорадство
    Spanish: alegría maligna….some are born devils I suppose. That “Albino girl” should be Ada for Rita is a short black ghen in our class *shines teeth* above all Nice writeup(getting conclusive)



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