#11 SIN CHRONICLES: HELL IS HERE

_{Photo by Astro Nick on Unsplash.}

SCENE ONE

---

The sun sinks behind the curtain of the night. The chill fills up the vacuum left by the sun's heat quickly and the girl shivers. She removes her bag strap from her left shoulder and transfers it to the right one, her eyes fix on the darkening length of the road. She is eating her nails again.

The evening breeze blows the taste and stink of the massive dump site that sits across the road, directly opposite the girl, into her face. She wrinkles her nose and scrapes her shoe on the asphalt as if to move away from the smell then she hears the sound of a car engine.

She juts out her chin and rolls her shoulders. She draws the bag strap higher and hugs it closer to herself. She watch the car eat the distance towards her. It is possible that adrenaline is pumping through out her body as she stands, waiting but we can not read minds or speculate on body operations either.

A single drop of sweat trickles from the bottom of the weave on her head, down the side of her face, then rolls to her chin. It hangs there for a minute as if debating on whether to fall or stay on the chin. The law of gravity wins and the sweat drops to the asphalt. The car slows down before the girl.

She walks to the car window and looks in. The man inside the car does not smile.

"Do you have it?" the man asks.
The girl tosses the bag into the car. The man opens it and looks inside, then he raises his eyes and looks at the girl.

"Did you look inside?" he asks, his suspicion a lethal thing. He eyes her hands.

The girl shakes her head, hides her bands behind her and moves her weight from her right to her left foot. Her nails scratch absently on a small sore on her neck. If the pain is sweet for her, is open for speculation. Her eyes glint in the darkness, watching the man.

The man nods then he brings out a small envelope which he hands over to the girl. The girl's hands snatch at it and quickly opens it. She peers inside, then she looks up at the man. She closes the envelope, turns and walks away. The man watch her leave, a curious expression on his face.

---

HELL IS HERE; AN INTERLUDE

---

When life leaves,
And fear breeds anguish,
And pain lives within,
Then hell is here.

When laughter becomes an echo,
Loneliness becomes a friend,
And silence becomes the only words,
You hear,
Then hell is here.

When memories are stifled somehow
And time is a slow poison
Eating into skin, flesh, bone, spirit,
When dreams become faint, blurry images,
Then hell is here.

---

SCENE TWO

---

A phone rings. The night settles like an old towel on the earth, strings of dewy cobwebs shine like tiny pearls from tree to tree, the evening breeze sweeps an empty pockmarked street silently and the girl watch a gate.

She brings out the phone from her right jeans pocket and look at the screen. Her shoulders drop like a boulder has been placed on them. She stares at the phone as it rings in the silent street. After some time it stops to ring. She sighs and return the phone back into her pocket. Immediately, it rings again. She raises her eyes to the heavens and shakes her head.

Her eyes seeks the gate again, her left hand hides within her left jeans pocket, rubbing the crinkling face of the envelope. She digs her right shoe into the dirt and ignores the phone. The ringing stops. She waits.

_{Photo by Zack Guinta on Unsplash.}

The phone rings for the third time. The girl curses under her breath, draws out the phone and picks the call.

"Bukky, where are you? Will you not come home?" a sad voice asks.

The girl says nothing.

"Okay you do not want to talk. Just tell me where you are. Your father will send the driver to pick you up."

The girl says nothing.

"Please tell me. We miss you, we love you. Bukky please, say you will come home. Whatever issues you are facing, we will face it together, please. You could go back to the States, if you want. You can go anywhere you choose. You are all I have, darling."

The girl says nothing but a sad tear glimmers on the edge of her right eyelid as if questioning the height of the drop from her eyes to the ground. The girl blinks and the tears fall. She sobs silently for a minute, then she draws in air, long and hard and exhales slow and shaky. She ends the call.

She sighs, walks across the road to the gate that she has been watching and knocks twice. A peephole opens and two eyes peer at her. The eyes blink and the peephole closes. The gate bolt screams in the night, as it is pulled out, then the gate swings open.

"Mama the mama! You don show? Anything for your boy? I know say as you enter so, everywhere go good o. Mamalistic mama! Authentic mama! Any other mama na counterfeit. Abeg give chance for babe wey sabi." the young man at gate greets the girl, singing her praises.

She dips her hand into the envelope, peels away two 500naira notes and gives it to the man. The man jumps up and down, still singing her praises. She says nothing as she steps into the half lit hallway and enters a different world, the only place that now feels like home.

---

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS; ANOTHER INTERLUDE

---

My eyes have seen the shadows
Crawl the flesh of rotting bodies
Dancing like marionettes
In half lit dungeons
Where jailers smile and promise bliss.

My lips have tasted bliss
Made of glass and ash,
Pain hidden within tendrils
Of sweet smoke,
Beautiful blue grey smoke
Curling like a prayer
To the place where God used to be
But nothing is there now,
Just a ceiling stained with old smoke,
Cobwebs and shadows of dying things.

This is a place to die,
To be free, to fly,
To soar above the fear and pain,
The nightmares and the tomorrow
That never seems to come.

---

SCENE THREE

---

Music. Soft tender music like a lover's memory on your skin, like a warm shape carved into the bed sheets after lust had faded, plays in the room as the girl enters. Candle light flickers in the darkness throwing shadows of gyrating bodies and nodding heads on the walls, the ceiling, the floor.

She ignores the eyes that peer at her through the cloud of smoke that hangs in the air. Home was broken, she has accepted that fact. She ignores the stink of old piss, new vomit, marijuana, cigarette and burning plastic.They all seek some kind of peace and salvation like her after all.

_{Photo by Aimee Vogelsang on Unsplash.}

Her eyes are on the man seating on a plastic chair, his leg resting on a stool. The man looks up as she draws near. He folds the page of the novel he is reading into two halves then he closes the book. He does not smile.

She stands before him and stares at him for some seconds. Between them sit a history of the several times they have clashed, unspoken, tortured, relentless until one had given in. The scars of their battles were hidden in their blood, their spirit, their mind. The girl does not smile.

She brings out the envelope and taps on it with her left index finger. The man watch her hands with barely held curiosity. The girl opens it, peels out four 500naira notes and stretch it to the man. The man eyes her outstretched hand and licks his lips then he smiles;

"Bassey get the lady her bag, a pack of Benson, a bottle of water and quiet space." he shouts, at no one in particular.

The girl watch the man as he opens a bag by his side and brings out several small pellets wrapped in nylon. He hands it over to the girl and she nods her head. She turns and sees a young man beckoning on her to follow him.

They walk to a partitioned off space. There are several partitions like this one along the room. Each has a dirty, torn curtain drawn across for privacy. The girl enters and finds a rat eaten chair waiting for her. She sits wearily and drops the nylon pellets beside her.

She stares at her hands, shakes her head then takes the small waist bag, the pack of cigarettes and bottle of water from Bassey. Bassey immediately takes his leave, leaving her alone in the semi-darkness.

She brings out her bong. She is the only one with its kind there. It is pink with her initials carved into the side. It had been a gift, a long time ago, in another place. She drops a pellet into it and picks her gas lighter. She sparks a light and lights it, then she watch the smoke curl. She sucks it into her lungs and let the smoke sit within her, seeking, finding every nerve, every cell, every follicle of hair. She exhale and rest her head on the dirty, sweat stained back of the chair.

A fat cockroach run pass her head and ticks begin to move about, biting, sucking, feeding, off her. She swats a fat fly and scratch at a sore on her knee. She smokes her bong.

After sometime, her eyes go into her and searches out the demons she hides from and she starts to scream. No one comes to her aid. No one is curious. No one chuckles. Nothing happens as she screams then she bursts into tears. The soft tender music plays on, nightmarish shadows crawl the walls, the ceiling and the floor, broken men and women drown in the heat, the sulpuric stink, trying to find heaven, finding hell and nobody bothers to change a thing. Hell is here.

---

THE END

---

_{Hey folks, this is Oskilo's blog and he would love to read your suggestions on how to make this blog better serve you. He would like to know what you, his reader, think of the content so do not forget to leave a comment; you just might have something he needs.}

Peace

©warpedpoetic, 2018.

---

art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics