Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction
Toluwani Babatunde By Toluwani Babatunde
The Two Halves
It began as a whispering in the air. The day had been beautiful and the sky had been like a dome of plasma blue. The clouds reminded me of floating cotton balls under the skies aflame with the setting sun. But now the moon seemed to cast an evil shade of grey on everything around me. It added a wicked glamour to a perfect scene. All these droplets turned into an endless song of droplets crashing on the road, rooftops and the window panes around me; just like an old radio coming to life. With the soft of music of the droplets of rain only interrupted by the occasional footsteps, I found myself walking along an empty street, only accompanied by the darkness and the fog. They were omnipresent observers carefully following my every step. I didn’t know where the guy was heading but I followed him anyway. KILL HIM, KILL HIM- the voice kept urging me to. But there was another voice as well. But he kept on contradicting the other one. It was tearing me in a half! One half was convincing me that I will regret this, that this was wrong, a crime in fact. But the other side the sweet, smooth, conniving voice kept going on and on about how easy it would be to slit his throat, how beautiful it would be to see the blood gushing out of his throat in a steady stream, his life juts seeping from his body.
My feet seemed to move on their own accord, dragging me towards the man in front of me and I didn’t fight it. I let it pull me along, closer and closer towards him until I could not hold back my urge any longer and I pounced on him spinning him around preparing to devour my prey whole, which was when I saw it. His face. The scar that had hideously marked his face forever. The crooked smile that always seemed to know more than everyone else. The face of a man I had prayed never to see again. The person I never wanted to cross in this world or the next. It was …
I woke up to the florescent lights burning my eyes and the condensation forming and dripping down my face. It made its way to my mouth where I could taste the bittersweet taste of my salty sweat.
I brought my hand up to my face to wipe my brow of my sweat and I could feel that it had left something on my forehead. So I focused my attention on my hands as I tried to get adjusted to the glaring lights and I couldn’t believe my eyes. My hands were baptised with blood, again. My heart started to beat dangerously fast as if it were trying escape from the confinements of my rib cage as I realised what I had done. Millions of thoughts and questions flew through my head but not one stayed long enough for me to address I, other than the fact that this was not my blood. Then I felt it, underneath my hand, by my side, I could feel the squish of flesh and blood oozing from between my fingertips. Then it dawned on me who it was. It was him. The man straight from my nightmares.
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