Scripted

That was the last picture Jidenna had of his wife. The picture looking so calm, but for the darkness which she rode into, with birds of prey hovering about for what would be their dinner.

He blamed himself till his dying day.

Nobody understood why, but I do. This is what happened.

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They didn’t listen, they didn’t believe.

The Christians said the priest was simply being devilish and reminded him that old things were passed away since they now had a church in Al’ili.

The youths said Al’ili was slowly turning into a city, and the priest should cease his talks of what the gods said. Such practices were not heard of in the big cities they wanted their land to fully turn into.

The old believed, but were too old to move. Besides they knew nowhere else to go, and some of them were ready to embrace death and join their mates who had long gone to the other side.

Nneka also believed. She had dreamt to that effect three times, and her dreams always came true. She told her husband, but Jidenna would hear nothing of it, forbidding her from telling the church leadership, lest they be accused of holding on to the devilish beliefs of the priest and his shrine.

The dreams were dreadful, and though Nneka never got to see their end, she knew it wouldn’t end well. But the lack of a proper ending was not the only thing wrong with the dream, only she couldn’t place her finger on what else was wrong.

On the last day of her life, Nneka left very early in the morning to the farm.

After toiling hard, she left shortly after noon, hoping to get home early, so she could return back to the farm in the evening to do some more farming. She was close to the village when she felt the hot wind, and knew immediately that it was the fulfillment of her dreams.

Even as she cycled to where she knew her husband would be with the rest of the survivors, she saw herself playing out the script from her dreams and realized almost immediately what other thing had been wrong with the dream; her children were absent.

Before anyone could hold her back, she sped on towards what used to be Al’ili. It looked so dark and menacing, but it was as though she couldn’t control herself; as though she was acting out a script. She finally understood why she never got the end of the dream. The end was her death.

Ignoring Jidenna’s call, she wondered why the dog stood so still and didn’t look scared. She wondered why the electric power was still on. She wondered if she would see her children before her death. She wondered why there were so many birds hovering over the darkness. She wondered what death would feel like.

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That was the last picture Jidenna had of his wife, but that was not the first time he saw the picture. You see, even before Nneka told Jidenna of her dreams, Jidenna had had some of his, and while Nneka saw most part of the dream but not the end, Jidenna saw not just dream as told him by Nneka, he saw it play out to the end.

He knew Nneka was to die, and he had hoped that she would remain at the farm until the evening.

He rejected the message sent to him by the gods and that’s why he blamed himself for Nneka’s death.

You may wonder who I am, and how I know so much, well that was no ordinary dog standing and watching, that was me, the priest whose message they ignored.

I saw it all.

Actually, I wrote the script.

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I wrote this for a contest some time ago, but I didn't win. The challenge was to write any story inspired by the picture.

This is the product.