EDWARD SMITH (A Short Story)

andikan1 (59)in STEEM NIGERIA • 3 years ago

'Eureka!' Edward shouted excitedly after successfully writing another episode to his uncompleted novel. The particular story for this episode had been tugging the nerves in his head for quite a while and it had caused him more aches than pleasure. For him, conjuring what to write was a difficult part on its own but actually penning out what he really has on his mind was the most difficult part. He knew what to write is a difficult task but how to write is more difficult for him.

He had written this particular episode five times before but at the end of each, he had to throw the sheets he had scribbled it on into the trash because the words didn't accurately capture the pictures and scenarios in his mind.

But now, he was glad he had got it at the sixth trial. He sighed heavily, dropped the sheets and his pen on the table. He shook his body wildly, dancing to no audible beat but to the one in his head. He dragged his feet amateurishly in imitation to Michael Jackson’s moonwalk dance in joy to his just completed episode.

He wished he could show someone, anyone, just for someone to read it and share in his happiness. He had had the feeling, even before he started the novel, that the novel will be a bestseller. That was at least what he hoped for, though as at then he didn't really know how he would go about writing the story nor the twists nor the suspense, characters, words and everything that would make up the novel. But he had a strong feeling that it would be a ground breaking novel. A bestseller.

Though for now he wasn't writing all for the money. No, he wasn't. However, he wouldn't mind if the money starts pouring in. But what he really wanted now was readership. For people to read and give their opinions on his work. Whether good or bad, he believed this would help him more for now.

'Get the readership first and glories will be inevitable', he said to himself, repeating his writing mantra for the zillionth time for that day.

After a moment of jubilation, Edward paused to summarize the just completed episode to himself, 'Tonia has been caught in a the trap set for her by her sister's fiancé, Kamilu, while her sister, Kate, is busy selling her body to men to safe the two lives in her life from following her footsteps in life.'

He paused to allow the episode sank into his mind. 'I have to create an escape route for Tonia.' He thought. 'I have to or should I make her fall to the trap? Okay, I will make her fall and even make her seems to have been waiting for the opportunity to get laid by Kamilu.' Edward told himself. 'But how will I write this so perfectly?' He asked himself.

Gradually, Edward’s excitement was replaced. It was overshadowed by what are to be done. He told himself he still had a long way to go and he knew he was still very far from concluding his writing not to think of the great task of editing, re-editing and re-editing the work.

Almost instantly, he got dispirited by things he couldn’t really explain. Perhaps the thought of the several hurdles he still had to overcome dampened his hope. Or the doubt that his work might not be accepted or appreciated by readers which would shatter his dream. Or the knowledge that the world is filled with countless better writers than him. The sudden depression weighed him down. It seemed to scare him until he resolved to stop writing.

Again, for the sixth time he grabbed the manuscript of the just completed episode he had written, he rumpled the sheets and tossed them into the dustbin.

'I'm done writing. I am not so good at it after all.' He said to himself. 'I will take my time and start to think of something better to do with my life.' He concluded before leaving the room to wander off.

Hours later, he saw his neighbour's baby tearing off the manuscript he had thrown away. He stared at the baby for a while, looked away and motioned to head for his room. But suddenly, he stopped, turned, went to the baby, and snatched all the pieces of his manuscript from the baby. He couldn't bear seeing his work being maltreated like that by someone else. He preferred doing it himself.

He looked at the baby whose face was now distorted and was almost closed to crying. Edward didn't care; in fact, he thought the baby deserves punishment for tearing up his manuscript. So, he gave it one. Edward smiled, paused, then suddenly shone his eyes weirdly at the baby in a way that seemed his eyeballs would fall out of his eye sockets, and then he started turning his eyeballs while he also pulled out his tongue at the baby. His face looked terrifying. The helpless scared baby violently opened its mouth and released a deafening wail as tears rolled down its cheeks.

Edward quickly ran inside before the baby's mother could show up. He was contented that he had made the baby pay for tearing up his manuscript. Indoor, he straightened the rumpled and torn pieces on his desk, got a transparent cellotape and taped the pieces together.

Afterwards, he read the whole episode again. He was amazed at how well he had weaved each word together. He couldn't believe he was the writer. It read perfect than he had thought he could ever write. He was happy.

'I have to continue.' He told himself. He went to his drawer, pulled out the whole manuscript and skimmed through it again.

All Kate wants is to be their messiah. She is not bordered about the gossips and insults people throw at her. All she wants is the best for the two people that matter in her life: Tonia, her sister; and Kamilu, her fiancé. She doesn't mind losing her dignity for them to gain theirs. To her, it makes perfect sense. To her, it is better for her to lose whatever she has to lose for them to gain whatever they have to than for her to choose to struggle to live a descent life with a very low income that wouldn't be able to sustain her not to talk of the two people she cares for. Which would be tantamount to living a non-dignified life for them all.

So, she doesn't mind being their sacrificial lamb because it pleases her more for her sister and fiancé to be persons of high standing in life even if it requires her to be a prostitute. She doesn’t mind. She cares less about dignity in life. To her, struggling to live life alone is a cumbersome task not to talk of the impossible task of living such life with dignity.

To hell with dignity when survival matters. Where was dignity in life when her home was invaded in the middle of the night by assassins who murdered her father, mother and other two siblings all because her father, a renowned barrister, was fighting for dignity? Where was dignity when a Mrs. Ekpe suddenly showed up from the dust with a will claiming her father willed all his property to her — his wife? Where was dignity when her very father's partner who she had taken as a father disvirgined her all in the name of a down payment for him to represent her in court against the woman who claimed her father's property? Where was dignity all this while? Where?

To her, dignity is nothing! It doesn't exist. It is just like God. Both of them do not exist. They never do. Though she used to believe in them but that was long time ago, that was during the good old days before that same God hindered her from dying peacefully with her parents the night they were assassinated. Instead, that wicked God had spared her life to sheer misery and agony by making her and her sister leave the house that very day for their boarding school. She doesn't believe in them. Both dignity and God. They are mere human conjectures for some filthy excuses in life. They are all illusions...

Edward was satisfied with what he read.

'It is time to link up the whole story together because it seems it is reaching its climax. I have to start thinking of an ending.' Edward thought.

He thought about the characters that need to reap the repercussions of their actions. He highlighted characters' names such as Kamilu; Tonia; Barr. Legba, Kate's father's Partner; Mrs Ekpe, the woman that claims Kate's father's properties; Kate's pimp who had cheated her ...

He also thought about Kate's fate. 'Should he make Kate a well-to-do person at the end of the novel or should he make her suffer more for all the indecency she had engaged herself in in her past?' Edward asked himself.

He thought Kate too deserves some punishment for choosing a wrong choice in life. He thought her pitiable situation did not justify her wrong choice. He thought she could have made a right decent choice in her life just like the few people Edward had known to have been in a similar situation as Kate's. Besides, Edward thought if Kate lived a happy life at the end it might make his novel seems an advocate of immorality and decadence which he didn't want.

'But everything in life does not always go justified.' Edward reminded himself. After a little pondering, he resolved to make Kate live a happy life at the end of his novel as compensation for her pains and not as a prize for her indecency.

Edward made some jottings in his note on this and on how each character ending will be.

He skimmed through the whole manuscript again and scanned through the storyline in his head. He discovered some loopholes such as incoherent time and age frame, illogical events, unrealistic situations... He jotted them down in his note. He also discovered some twists he hadn't resolved. He jotted them down too.

He thought of the character that had sent assassins to Kate's family. He hasn’t revealed who it was. He played on making the character Barr. Legba.

'If it turns out as Barr. Legba, it will be better because the readers wouldn't have expected it.' He decided. 'Surprising readers is the heart of good writing, predictable writings are as good as no writing.' he told himself.

He jotted this too.

Satisfied, he checked his drawer, got some new sheets and sat to write another episode. But nothing came. He paused for a while then stood up to get a sachet of cold water to clear the entangled thoughts in his head. After gulping the whole water, he went back to his desk and picked his pen. He tried to write again but no word came. He paused. He stared at the blank sheets. He felt blanker at head than the blank sheets.

Again, he tried to write but it turned out same as before, nothing came. He sighed. He rested his back against the chair and stared morosely at the ceiling, deep in thought. Deep in blank thought.

He paused, thought of listening to music. It sometimes helps him to write but he didn’t stand up. He wasn’t in the mood to listen to anything. He thought of going into smoking. Cigarette or weed. Or even drinking. Alcohol, gins and the likes. He had heard they give inspiration. He knew a hand full of writers who are into them.

Again, he paused. Pondered. Thought. Sighed. Yet his mind remained stark blank.

Unexpectedly, words started fighting in his head, fighting to coagulate from his head into the sheets. And all of a sudden, the words came. They came full in sentences and paragraphs. The whole episode came wholly in words. It seemed he had got it. He quickly picked up his pen to pour them out but again nothing came out of his pen.

Frustrated! Embittered! Disappointed! Dispirited! Angered!

He shoved the whole manuscript, new sheets, his note and pen into the drawer then threw himself face down into the bed. He grabbed a pillow and covered his head with it.