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Mama Ifeoma’s buka bench.
He was writing a poem that day. His biro was half-dead, and his shirt had a hole in the armpit. He looked up just once and saw her.
Faith Tari.
Fine babe. Light-skinned. Calabar smile. Fierce eyes like she could slap sense into anybody and still make you fall in love.
She sat beside him like they’d known each other since primary school.
“You dey always write like say na you alone dey suffer heartbreak,” she teased. He laughed. Nervously. “At least pen no dey lie.”
“Me I no like poets,” she added. “Dem dey sweet for mouth, but na lie lie full their ink.”
He wanted to reply sharp, but her laugh stopped his words. Loud and real.
From that day, she became a constant.
His safe place. His only joy in Ajegunle.
PRESENT DAY
Achilles froze.
The shadow that fell across the dim laptop screen didn’t belong to any café boy or street customer. It was heavier. Familiar.
“Guy… you no dey fear?” the voice asked.
He turned.
Shins wire.
Cap low, face partly covered in dust and beard. Leaner than Achilles remembered. Same steely eyes. Same cigarette breath.
Achilles stood slowly, unsure.
“Na really you?”
“Na me.”
“I think say dem kill you.”
“Dem try.” He smiled with one corner of his mouth. “But death no get my time yet.”
Shina saw the file opened on Achilles laptop, “guy if you sabi Wetin better for you, dispose this laptop and forget about it” - shina said
1 Hour Later
Unknown number called.
Achilles ignored it. Then a text followed:
“Your curiosity go soon bury you. REDSISTEM would be the last you would see.”
Another text came instantly:
“But we no go kill you yet. We want you to feel something first, so can beg for the gift of death.”
Seconds later, another message, this time with an image.
His hands began to shake before he even opened it.
Tari.
Tied to a chair. Lip busted. Hair messed. Eyes swollen but awake.
Behind her, a faded wall with graffiti: “OJU-ORO. PRAY & FAST DELIVERANCE ROOM.”
That was when his throat closed up.
His first instinct was to scream. But no tears came.
But this one cut deep.
Tari.
His girl.
His only peace in a world that never gave him rest.
Taken.
Because of him?
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE
“I should’ve destroyed that laptop. I should’ve never opened that folder. But now… I have no choice.”
“What should I do ”
He stood up from the chair. Shut the laptop. Slipped the flash into his pocket. Pushed the door open.
The sun outside didn’t even feel warm. Everything just felt dry. Cold. Dirty.
Mama Ifeoma’s buka bench.
He was writing a poem that day. His biro was half-dead, and his shirt had a hole in the armpit. He looked up just once and saw her.
Faith Tari.
Fine babe. Light-skinned. Calabar smile. Fierce eyes like she could slap sense into anybody and still make you fall in love.
She sat beside him like they’d known each other since primary school.
“You dey always write like say na you alone dey suffer heartbreak,” she teased. He laughed. Nervously. “At least pen no dey lie.”
“Me I no like poets,” she added. “Dem dey sweet for mouth, but na lie lie full their ink.”
He wanted to reply sharp, but her laugh stopped his words. Loud and real.
From that day, she became a constant.
His safe place. His only joy in Ajegunle.
PRESENT DAY
Achilles froze.
The shadow that fell across the dim laptop screen didn’t belong to any café boy or street customer. It was heavier. Familiar.
“Guy… you no dey fear?” the voice asked.
He turned.
Shins wire.
Cap low, face partly covered in dust and beard. Leaner than Achilles remembered. Same steely eyes. Same cigarette breath.
Achilles stood slowly, unsure.
“Na really you?”
“Na me.”
“I think say dem kill you.”
“Dem try.” He smiled with one corner of his mouth. “But death no get my time yet.”
Shina saw the file opened on Achilles laptop, “guy if you sabi Wetin better for you, dispose this laptop and forget about it” - shina said
1 Hour Later
Unknown number called.
Achilles ignored it. Then a text followed:
“Your curiosity go soon bury you. REDSISTEM would be the last you would see.”
Another text came instantly:
“But we no go kill you yet. We want you to feel something first, so can beg for the gift of death.”
Seconds later, another message, this time with an image.
His hands began to shake before he even opened it.
Tari.
Tied to a chair. Lip busted. Hair messed. Eyes swollen but awake.
Behind her, a faded wall with graffiti: “OJU-ORO. PRAY & FAST DELIVERANCE ROOM.”
That was when his throat closed up.
His first instinct was to scream. But no tears came.
But this one cut deep.
Tari.
His girl.
His only peace in a world that never gave him rest.
Taken.
Because of him?
INTERNAL MONOLOGUE
“I should’ve destroyed that laptop. I should’ve never opened that folder. But now… I have no choice.”
“What should I do ”
He stood up from the chair. Shut the laptop. Slipped the flash into his pocket. Pushed the door open.
The sun outside didn’t even feel warm. Everything just felt dry. Cold. Dirty.
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