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"I
love you, Deronke!" He said as he got close to the dining table. His eyes
were moist, and veins stood out on his face, neck and arms. I wondered how long
he had been crying, shedding angry, bitter tears for a love lost. I wondered
how long he had kept those words buried in his heart. The words that he now
poured on me.
I
let the slice of bread and the bread knife in my hands drop. His words were
definitely stronger, more metallic than the clanging sound the bread knife made
as it fell on the plastic tray I was using to eat my breakfast of bread, butter
and tea. I stared at him with my mouth agape as if wanting to swallow the words
that dropped into the air from his mouth.
"You
what?"
"I
love you with the whole of my heart! I think of you everyday. Your smiles. The
sunshine in your eyes. The redness of your lips. I just love you the way you
are."
"Since
when, you fool!?"
"From
the day I met you as my mud-mate. The day we used to bathe with sand. The day
you used to be the police and I used to be the thief. The day I used to be the
husband and you the wife. The day of nascent laughter and childish glory. I
have loved you from the sunrise of childhood..."
I
had known Debayo for twenty years. I had loved that boy who tickled me, chased
me about as my tiny legs ran in circles. I had loved that boy who defended me
from bullies. That quiet but bold boy who held my hands to school and also to
church. That boy that made people call us husband and wife. He was my dream
husband before I met Richard. I had waited for Debayo to confess his love to
me, and to even propose to me. But he seemed to be comfortable with us just
being friends. Mere friends!
So
when Richard came with flattering lights, I succumbed to him. I agreed to be
his girlfriend, and Debayo saw nothing wrong with that. He often told me how
Richard and I were a perfect match. He even advised me on how to treat Richard
the right way, the way a guy wants to be treated.
Three
years of meeting Richard, he proposed to me. The next day was my wedding day,
and this fool, my bestfriend, my poet, whose words made my bones to float in
the air, stood before me, proclaiming his love.
"Why
didn't you tell me before now? I have always loved you. You are such a big
fool!"
"I'm
very sorry, Deronke. I have been a big fool. But my foolishness ends today.
Come with me, my love. Let us run away from here and begin a new life."
He
came closer, begging me to offer him my hands. I just stood still, looking at
him. He moved closer, grabbed my face and kissed me like we were going to die
after kissing. I stretched my hands gently, grabbed the bread knife and plunged
it into his stomach.
"YOU!
ARE! A! BIG! FOOL!" Each word was punctuated with a stab into his stomach.
His blood washed my hands and feet. I sat, placed him on a seat next to me.
Then, I placed his head on my lap, and stroked his hair, singing a dirge for a
love lost, a heart broken.
Written By: Samuel Oluwatobi Olatunji
Samuel
Oluwatobi Olatunji is a freelance writer and editor. He has been published in a
number of journals, magazines, anthologies and blogs such as Black Heart Magazine, Black Communion (Poets
of the New African Poets), Rolling Thunder Quarterly, Footmarks: Poems on One
Hundred Years of Nigeria's Nationhood, Rivers
Poets Journal and so on. He is the co-editor of The Rape of Death: An Anthology of Poems. Currently, he is studying
English at University of Lagos, Nigeria. You can follow him on Twitter:
@SooPoetika
Keep updated, follow on Twitter and Instagram with @iamposhkid. You can also join other readers by subscribing to my BBM Channel for instant updates. Simply search for "Akin's Corner"
I think that you are a good writer with a great talent. The harder that you work at the craft of writing and finding your own unique style and technique of writing you will finally realise that no longer are you an apprentice but you are a master at what you are doing. I see already that you have built up a considerable amount of places where you have been published. This is very good. Other people can also see that you are very gifted. Writers write with a passion. Great writers are very sensitive individuals to the world, nature and the environment around them. Gifted writers sometimes feel very lonely as if the world doesn't really understand them. As if they don't fit in and their writing is sometimes ridiculed for not fitting in with the rules of the literary establishment. Do not worry about this. I am sure you must have come across people who have both loved your writing and sat their fuming filled with critique. I loved on the other hand your style of writing because I was gripped early on into the story and read it in one sitting. At the end I was left quite breathless and emotional. This is good. It is what all the gifted, sensitive writers want from their readers and their audience who also have the same sensitivity that they have. It is good for the reader to be or rather become emotional. I wish you the best of luck with your future literary endeavours. Never give up. Why quit this game when you are already streets ahead?
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