HOW AN ORDINARY DAY WENT TO HELL (PART 3)

This is the final part of my story on how a normal average day became a tale fit for fiction.

The first part looked at how I hooked up with my friends and decided to help a strange girl get to her destination and how I found myself at the police station. You can read it here; Part 1.

The second part tells of how I fell in with vigilantes, got a short lift and trekked to a church where I hid from the police. You can read it here; Part 2.

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MY STORY CONTINUES...

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_{Photo by Atharva Tulsi on Unsplash.}

The rain came down like little lead pellets on my skin, one fat drop at a time. I banged away at the gate. I could see men and women from the distance, calling down fire and brimstone on enemies, telling God to destroy their enemies, as I gradually grew wetter. I checked the road but the policemen were still there. Time was 11:20pm.

I sat by the gate, a small concrete shade hanging over my head, my only protection from the rain. I unbottuned my shirt and hid the bag within, close to my skin. I was worried about getting the laptop wet and having to explain to my boss, the how and why it happened.

The rain increased in intensity and soon the shade was not enough to protect me from the elements. The wind whipped the rain against my face and cold crept beneath my shirt into my bones. Then suddenly the rain stopped. I stepped out to see, but the policemen were gone. It was 12:15am

I waited for some minutes, just to be sure that the road was clear, and after several mosquito bites, before I walked back on to the road. I could not understand why no one opened up for me at the church. Did they not hear me above the sound of their prayers? I will never know.

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I began my trek home for I had concluded that it was impossible to get a lift by that time of the morning. Besides, I didn't want to be used as an experiment by nefarious folks who creep the roads at night.

My home is located at Evbuotubu, if you know your way around Benin city. To walk down from Ring Road to Ekenwan Road is now small feat but here I was walking from Ring Road, except for the short lift, to Evbuotubu by 12am in the morning. I was scared, wet and tired. The alcohol fumes had faded off by this time, so Dutch courage was out of the question.

I trekked on quietly, my eyes wide, searching every shade, shadow and darkness, my bag still hidden inside my shirt. In that manner I got to the junction to my part of town. The length of road from then on was a scarred, depressed, broken piece of infrastructure and several portholes full with dirty water blinked in front of me.

I stepped on the road and started down carefully. The asphalt parts were chipped off in several places and the sand there was slippery with the rain water, so I moved carefully. Despite this, I slipped and fell into a puddle, and had my sandals and jeans soaked with mud to just below my knees.

_{Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash.}

I got up, cursing under my breath. I looked for a cleaner puddle and tried to wipe the mud off with rain water. After several tries, I gave up as I wasn't seeing too clearly. I therefore continued my trek down the road, my trouser flapping on my skin like old, wet tarpaulin.

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At the end of the road is a market and after that market the asphalt ended. All that was left from that point onwards was a red mess of mud, puddles, erosion and silent watchful darkness. I stared at the market, wishing i could find a shop that would accommodate me until morning proper but it was not to be.

No sooner had I expressed the thought, a mad man or a drunkard, I will never know, appeared out of the shadows of the market, weaving towards me. He had not seen me and I had no intention for he and me to interact in any form. I was alone and I didn't know what he had on him or what he was capable of doing, so I walked really fast into the market, passed a stall and let the darkness swallow me.

Slowly and steadily, I trekked on, until the silence became comfortable, the throb of my weary feet became a distant feeling, and I sank into my thoughts. As I took a turn into another muddy street, in that instant, a boy appeared from the corner.

He was a young boy. No older than 12 or 13 years old. He looked at me, licked his lips and turned away. We passed each other on that muddy road, at about 1am in the early hours of dawn, strangers, never to meet again. I turned back to look at him as he walked into the darkness some distance away, and wondered at what would make a boy his age be out by that time, in that cold and wet. I pondered on this until I got to my street.

I found my way to my father's house and knocked on my room window. My younger brother @damiansessence answered me from within and came to open the door for me. He asked me what had happened and I shook my head, too weak to speak. I peeled off my dirty clothes, entered the bathroom and cleaned myself off, fell on my bed and slept.

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The next morning, I called my friends and told them what had happened the night before. They had laughed and sympathized as guys are prone to do and they said I should have called any of them to come and pick me up from Ring Road. I shook my head. They all said they would have come to pick me up from where I got stranded but we will never know if they truly would have now would we? After all, if they were so mobile why didn't they take the girl home in the first place, you feel me?

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When I left for work on that day, I didn't know what the fates had in store for me, I didn't know that I would tell from Ring road to my home, go to the police station, seat beside a church and watch a solitary little boy walk by in the early morning. I knew nothing.

We all make plans everyday but do we truly have control over what the day will bring? Can we really control the events in our lives. I will live that with you as you start your day or end it as the case may be. Stay safe and have a fun weekend.

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THE END

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_{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.

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art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics