The Thinking Man sculpture at Musée Rodin in Paris

The Thinking Man sculpture at Musée Rodin in Paris (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I quickened my pace, my heart in my mouth, the winter wind slashed my cheeks into shreds as involuntary tears slipped down my cold cheeks. I dread passing through that horrible alley but I’ve got no choice, none of my friends were going my way, so I had to walk home alone.

I clenched and unclenched my fists and trod on, my heels making a tapping danceable sound. At first, I thought it was my mind but the whispering got louder and louder.

”I shouldn’t have gone, I shouldn’t have gone,” I kept repeating under my breath, at the same time casting surreptitious glances behind me, trying to ignore the deadly whispers in my head. I don’t want to show my fear though it was all over me, its slimy hands rests on my soul with ease.

It was insanely cold and I was scantily dressed for that time of the year. I hugged myself and trudged on, mad with myself for my stubbornness. I was almost out of what I perceived was ‘the danger zone’ when three men appeared out of nowhere, standing a few paces from me, their faces were hidden with their hoods.

They were breathing heavily but I noticed something unusual about them, they seemed to hiss like snakes. the hair at the nape of my neck stood on end but I was ready to fight to the death.

I knew it, I saw this coming, I thought bitterly, my stomach in knots, but strangely enough, I was not afraid. Everything happened so quickly that I barely remembered the details.

The men defied gravity as they flew into me while my arms and legs did the rest, my taekwondo training had not been in vain, all thanks to my mom.

In less than twenty seconds, it was over.

I didn’t wait to see if the men were okay before I took to my heels. When I got home, I crept up to my room and wept bitterly.

I was wasting my time, I could have died easily and would have become another statistic. I glanced at my watch, it was one o’clock in the morning, I knew my mum would be fuming and she had every right to.

I finally managed to sleep because I was so exhausted, barely half an hour later, I was rudely woken up when I felt a cold hand on  my shoulder and the whispering began again. I propped myself up on one elbow while I used the other hand to switch my bedside lamb on and the three men I thought I’d beaten were standing calmly against my door, in my room, I could feel their eyes boring into mine.

How did they get in? I should have called the police after I managed to get away, I thought frantically and this time around, I was afraid. My parents’ room was next door and if I scream, I am sure they would be in my room within minutes but do I have the time to do that?

My time was running out, I could feel it deep within my soul. My life flashed before my eyes in seconds and I wished I had listened to my mum. She had warned me to use my time well.

What should I do?

NP: I wrote this at the spur of a moment, it’s a short story. Would love your feedbacks!


Circle Of Life

Talkin' About Life and Death

Talkin’ About Life and Death (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A very good friend of mine lost her younger brother yesterday to the cold hands of death at the age of 35, which brought the poignant topic of death shrilly to my subconscious mind this evening.

Yes, we don’t like talking about IT but it’s all around us. I mean, we are born, we grow old with all our aspirations and we wither and die. Simple as!

But there is a catch. Death is not an end in itself, it’s a beginning, I believe firmly in life after death because I am a Christian but what about people who don’t? What is their hope?

My motto in life is ‘live life to the full and spread the love, don’t pile up hatred, you’ll be the one to stink and believe in yourself. Once there’s a will, there will be a WAY!’

My mind is still reeling from the news and my heart bleeds for my friend but the die is cast and the deed is done. The grim ripper’s done his worst, he can’t do more than that!

Borrowing the words of Mofasa in Lion King, ‘It’s just the circle of life’

Adieu Ambrose!