He KIlled His Girlfriend

"I'd love you forever..." were the words that fought their way hard out of my trembling lips into Sandra's failing ears as I stuck Grandma's rusty blade into her stomach in our tight embrace, sniffing the life I cherished more than my very own out of her until there was nothing but her quaking body to behold that quiet night, out in a field that had gotten used to witnessing our acts of love under the canopy of the many bamboo trees illuminated often by tiny peeping rays of silvery light from the moon high in the sky above.

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I watched her gasp and groan for breath and in pains as I slashed the blade deeper into her stomach until I felt I had caught her intestines, the crystal beauty in her eyes losing its place to blood the red of palm oil. Her eyes questioned me, I felt them pierce mine in the silvery darkness seeking answers to questions she couldn't ask, yet I knew all of those questions, I could read them just staring at her.
"I'd lo..ve you for...ever too b..u...t... " she managed to whisper.
"But what?"
"B..u...t..." her lips twitched violently with streams of blood escaping her mouth, drowning the other words she meant to say but had taken to wherever her soul was headed.
She was still in my arms, the softness of her body gave way to a stiffness that was soon accompanied by an heaviness. Reality visited my hardened mind that very moment, I had taken Sandra's life in a flash of soul-felt anger.
"But what? Sandra! You cannot do this to me baby. I'm sorry...I didn't mean to...Get up baby!!!"

Sandra - or what was left of her rightly put - lay on motionlessly and noiselessly on the dry brownish harmattan grass that had sent its greenish relative packing that Monday evening late in the January of 2017. Everything had seemed so right until now when everything seemed so wrong. I was right to have slipped Grandma's rusty blade up in my jacket; I was right to have lured and led her on to the open field; I was right to have stuck the blade deep in her. I was right, until watching her slip away from life into death proved me wrong. The ringing of her phone opened my mind up to the possibility of being caught 'though something else caught my attention - the intro of J Holiday's "BED" which was her ringtone, our lovemaking tune those moments of blissful lovemaking after one of our many fights. Tear-falls of regret and remorse flowed out of my eyes violently, dribbling its was through the contours of my face on to Sandra's lifeless body.
Get up baby! We can start all over again. Give us another chance. P.l..e...a....s.....e...... "

Nothing happened. I wanted Sandra to do something, to say something. I wanted her to get up and hug me real tight and kiss me real good and reassure me we can start all over again. She did nothing. Sandra said nothing. But there were a lot of things to say, and stories to be told. A story like...

I met Sandra when she was just 16 at a tarry night in one of the many new churches my town is 'infested' with. She wasn't the prettiest I had seen that night honestly. There was nothing really spectacular about her yet there was something about her. There was something about the fire in her eyes,something in the way she carried herself walking the length of the church towards the pulpit; there was something about her gait which pronounced the fruits beneath her gown, something that pushed me to never let her slip away from my eyes.

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I felt my 'third leg' stir - the familiar stir when it just wants to walk into a prospective wet 'cave'. If Dear God ever punished believers who'd erred in the course of services, I would have either had my eyes plucked off away from me for staring at Sandra's luscious frame, or my 'third leg' burned by fire from the Bible I had used to conceal it's stiffness. I saw her in everything in that service, even the big round glasses on the Pastor's face looked more like the round flesh on her chest. Then service was over and she scribbled her number on a little paper I tore from the back page of my dog-eared Bible. Weeks later, we had scribbled our names in the hearts of each other after series of chats late into the night baring our secrets and late calls digging into our lives.

...... _{to be continued}