The Hit

They say one is not yet dead if the sound is heard, what use is life if you can see its end? 

Differing thoughts ran through his mind. A Map of an unknown world was being drawn on the floor, it freely flowed, fluid like Tai Chi movements on canvas. It wasn’t the sexy he had come to adore on his woman’s lips, nor the gorgeous he saw in his mother’s rose chintz gown. It was a pool of his blood, a map of death. 

Oh, that faultless woman, where had she gone wrong? Where in her ethics did she not teach well?  He remembers the strokes, the 12 on his bare back. “Tunde, I love you, ” she’d  say; “But you won’t hold a Gun someday, not on my life”. Her prophesy was fulfilled. He never held a gun as long as she lived. That wonderful woman passed away couple of years back under circumstances that are still sketchy in his thoughts.

He feels his fingers go cold, stiff and numb. His heart beat hastened, then began to slow as the seconds passed by, each getting shorter as the interval between heart beats grew farther apart, just like his mother’s ethics had departed from him. 
“Ibro, I get this hit wey dey confirm, 700k easy for us to share.”

“700k, for where?” “Where this info come from? ”

“I been dey gist with Garba when him mention say him oga go withdraw money for share for them boys whey help am beat that opposition man.” 

“Nice one, the kind brockage wey dis change era don put man pikin for, I no mind any kind package now fah.”

As Tunde listened to Ibro and Dolapo converse making no bother to involve him, a surge of hot blood sprang up his throat. A need for adventure. He had joined the gang not long ago and isn’t due for such big projects. It did not matter that he was always there to help put the plans together for them.

“Guys, I want to go out today, I need the high.”

He takes in another breathe, laboured as it is, blood and air splash out off his chest, he should be dead by now if the bullet had passed just an inch lower through his heart, he probably would have started his judgement, with angel Gabriel bringing in his book of wrongs,  that is, if those stories his mother told were true or probably, just passed away into nothingness, a dark abyss of the unknown. Which ever would be prefered, saved from this moment of pain. 
No one knows how it went wrong, the sirens were heard, a husky voice had spoken into a megaphone or whatever Nigerian police use to make announcement and from there, panic set in.
“Ibro, did you set us up?” Kunle had asked in the frenzy. 
“Me? Which kine yarn be this? Why I come dey hold gun with wuna?  abi na so I foolish reach?”
“My children, just drop your gun and surrender.”
“Shut up old woman!” Kunle had commanded. 
“Your end is here, surrender and face the mus…”
Her sentence ended mid way as Kunle, in his “Let-The-Bullet-Talk” mood fired a shot. 
“Guy, if today is the day I die, I won’t go down alone.’  Four more shots were fired, two children and a housemaid.

He tried to move a limb but the weight of his own appendage could not be bared. His sights got blurred and just as he was about to give up the ghost he heard his name.

Kunle! Kunle!! The voice initially sounding from a distance was now close by. 

Kunle!!! That was when it flashed across his face.  Light. 

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A letter to Her, from Me

Lying on my bed with so much I could do; notes to study for tests, novels to read for leisure, food to cook for lunch, I am not lost for what to do and even the time I think I have, might not be enough to accomplish all these. I could blab on and on about more things I could be doing this afternoon, but sometimes, the mind only has one thing it would rather be doing asides which, nothing else can satisfy.
Yesterday, as I sat on that chair staring at you, I was captivated by your smile; the way your lips curved, like Cupid’s bow, shooting a quiver at my heart; the upper lip marked with a beauty mark on each half, the faint on the left and the evident, that one on the right. I stared into your eyes, drowning in their power to stop time. YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.
I marvelled at your intellect, I can’t outright say how, but I saw your willingness to learn and amass information. Few things, only few things attract me more to ladies, and that’s not all.
I remember the first day I actually came to see you, that day your cohort studied on what not to give in a relationship. Now, I’m not in any way as innocent as I should be. I have known women, maybe more than a few, and I wasn’t planning for a ‘sexless-ba-touching’ relationship when next I dated. Somehow, I had given up on finding a woman who still held on to such ageless morals and virtues. Maybe I felt undeserving of such a woman but you guys brought back to my attention; there are those set apart – who refuse to eat of the ‘King’s table’ but are better nourished.
This is still not all but it touches the three things I look out for in people, In women; The Body, The Mind, and The Spirit… In no particular order.
I don’t believe there is one person fashioned by the creator for each and everyone of us, or to have success in a relationship, a family, we must find and connect to that one. I don’t believe people fall in love or out of love, God is not an accident. I do believe though, that we Love, a decision we can make or not. I believe we are created thus.
I can’t describe sufficiently how I long to hear your voice, that tiny treble musical in every note. Your captivating voice.

I’d love to kiss you. Whatever follows should be fun and I can’t say I never thought of the various possibilities, but I will respect you, whatever your decision – the best wine takes time and I am willing to wait for that perfection –  this is assuming I am lucky enough to have the conversation go that far.

I decided that first day I came to see you. I want to open up my heart to you, to give you my all if you welcome me. I would like to date you, and hope it doesn’t end there if you are willing… Only if you are willing.
I decide to Love you.
I realise opening our hearts to Love is a hard task. It opens us up, makes us feel vulnerable with neither armour nor shield, yet, that I would like to dare ask of you. “Open up your heart, welcome me.
You’ve said you want to take your time, that I respect. You don’t want to go into yet another mistake, that I understand. You believe you’d know the one when you see him, so I’m tempted to just be cowed and probably never show you this writing, wait for that love angel to show you a picture of me as I pretend I’m contented being your friend, wanting nothing more. That may save my head from another No, the two alphabets of rejection that makes some feel ‘Not Good Enough’ as maybe, just maybe you feel nothing for me…

…. But I won’t, I didn’t, I just showed you.