YOU HAVE KILLED BEFORE ( Not a one-time murderer)

YOU HAVE KILLED BEFORE ( Not a one-time murderer)

“And the winner is…” Dr. Yewande ignores the mounting pressure in our chests and sucks from his strawed tea flask.

I scan the room and notice the bowed heads of some, tightly closed eyes of others, while a few appear nonchalant and indifferent. You think it’s a visa lottery? Well, it isn’t, but my heart keeps pounding against my chest, and I feel a dryness in my throat.

”God, please, let it be us,” I silently pray. Not because I need the money. Besides, if we win, we’ll split it equally among ourselves. I am reciting, “I shall be the head and not the tail “ because I need to prove something—want to show them I am the kind of studious student that always wins. I want to shove it in the faces of my friends that, even if I haven’t discovered myself yet, for now, my academics are what I do best.

“The winner is… Group 1!” Dr. Yewande announces and looks my way with an approving smile that says, “ I am super proud of you, daughter.” Perhaps I don’t need to make any statement at all.

As the group leader, I walk up to the front with my clicking heels, strike a peace-sign pose for a picture to remind them that it’s not that deep, and blow kisses to my precious group members.

“Yes, we deserve it. I’m not gonna lie,” I mutter under my breath, taking a deep breath and feeling thankful.

I hear murmurs from here and there , and my gut tells me the subject is me, and me! But who cares?!

I try to settle down for the closing speech of my group secretary after the heated moment, and ping! My phone lights up, and without thinking, I rush out like Cinderella in a Disney movie.

“Whatever goes up, must come down.” They say it’s the law of gravity, but I strongly disagree. What’s the probability that what goes up won’t come down and crush me? Or what’s the assurance that I’ll get back what I threw up, or that what’s up there will come back to me?

I’d rather keep it in my hands, in my care. At least ain’t using it to play games of chance. Insecurity is a bastard! I repeat, feeling insecure can make you lose everything, especially when you’re the most vulnerable one in whatever relationship you are in with somebody or somebodies.

“Taiwo, Omo mi, they have taken me to the police station. The people I owe money. Don’t look for me. I love you, Ayinke.” I am reading this for the hundredth time.

I feel sweat forming on my shaved head, a sharp pain throbbing in my ankle, and I’m panting like I’m being chased by a lost local dog. I kick off my shoes, pull out my Crocs, and run like a crazy lady in a blue puffed Cinderelly dress.

Unfortunately, I’m the kind of daughter who seeks solace outside of home because, at home, it’s war. And I thought being in school would be better? Jinx me, please! Imagine having one support system that holds your life in their hands. My mum is that. Tracing back to when I was younger, the anxiety that hit me and my mind was enough to create a heart attack. Most times , I wish she wouldn’t leave us , but she surely needed to in order to make ends meet. She would say , “Taiwo, take care of Kehinde and Junior. I am coming, you hear?” Not until past ten at night before she’d come round.

At age five, I grew up early enough. When she was out, Junior would cry, and I’d feel like running away. All this weight, and Mummy T bears them alone? I too fear the day she might abandon us , or what if something happens to her, what would I do then?

Whenever she didn’t come early, my heart began to tour the universe, creating hideous images that I knew might not be true but could be, because I knew and am still aware that : The world isn’t fair.

Still not convinced that you have killed someone somehow, YOU HAVE!

“Mummy, what’s happening?” “What police station did they take you to? “ “Where are you?” “Don’t keep me hanging, please… “ “Please, answer me!”

Then I resume to calling and calling, but there’s no answer. My feet suddenly feel heavy, but I manage to drag myself to the bathroom. I splash water on my face, glare at the mirror, and start to cry painfully because I can see the kind of huge responsibility that’s about to welcome me. Where do I start from? I’m only fifteen, for Christ’s sake. Who do I know?

My hands shake uncontrollably, and I sob silently. Thankfully, there’s no one else in any of the stalls. Saliva drips from my mouth, I scratch my neck with my long nails, beat my hand against my head. I feel another vibration in my palm. Mummy T. “Hello, hello,” I say, panicking. “Where is my—“ “So, you love me this much? Ha, Taiwo! A se o tí e le? It was just a test,” She says, laughing in between every speech. I hang up. I grip my chest, jerking so many times, holding the washing basin so tightly that my blood flow stops. All this, a test? I laugh maniacally. Oh , well, What if I had died? Just what if I had maybe a seizure or a panic attack or anything? Would this still be funny, a light-hearted issue?

Dear reader, pranks are a different level of jokes. They aren’t comedy! They’re destructive, especially to your loved ones. Please, desist from being a murderer.

Now tell me, are you guilty or not🙂?

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