That Night

The soldier led him from the building, naked, battered, joints in significant pain across the grounds of the military base through the darkness of light. Bayo followed him, his teenage body trembling in fear, slightly out of breath from exhaustion. The day's torturous regiments were finally over, his hear deeply prayed in silence for fear the soldier might hear it.

A brief flashback of how he got there crossed his mind as his bare feet walked on stones and bits of rubbish scattered here and there across the grounds. It was pitch black and they would not reach the next point for another 500 yards, and the soldier was moving at a quicker pace than Bayo was, who tried his best in vain on several occasions to avoid stepping on sharp stones and bits of jagged materials.

It had been around 11am, and and he had been at home in his room when the house-help came in and told him his mother was calling him to the living room. He got out of bed, wearing tartan shorts with and a navy blue T-shirt, and bounded into the living room, stopping shot as his heart froze in fear.

His mother sat on the main couch, and standing beside her was a 6 foot soldier in full green camouflage uniform, wearing a blue beret. He was clean shaven but looked about 40 years old; his face hardened probably from the years of militant training and operations in his post. His name was Kunle. He had the look of a man who had killed a few local thieves at gunpoint with not an ounce of guilt. Bayo had seen dead bodies of thieves before on his way to school, soldiers armed with rifles standing over them, spent shells on the ground around them.

His brain raced, the instinctive decisive moment of fight or flight overcoming his mind, and he bolted for the balcony of the second story flat they lived in, attempting to jump off. But Kunle grabbed him before he could jump off. His mother said to him that because he had been failing at his studies, the soldier was going to take him to the barrack and make him sign an undertaking that he would perform well at school. Bayo fearfully agreed to follow him, and left the house with the soldier. But as they entered the barracks, another solider closed the gate behind them, and as Bayo turned forward again, Kunle was walking towards him, cocking a rifle and barking orders for him to strip naked.

And so the day had begun. He had been whipped several times relentlessly for what seemed like decades, made to carry tyres above his head whilst crawling on his knees around a tree, made to roll on the ground from one end of a building to another, amongst other treacherous acts. His arms ached from the repeated hits from the batons, his elbows stiffened up by the minute from having lifted heavy tyres for ages. He had several whip marks all over his body from the lashes he had received.

The arrived at a small housing for a large generator. The night was particularly hot, and the beads of salty sweat trickling on his body stung the open wounds all over. Kunle opened the gate to the holding. "OYA get in!!!", he ordered. Bayo went in. There was nothing in there but a large generator, the size of a small car "Put your hands through the bars!" The soldier barked. As Bayo did so, standing naked, Kunle handcuffed his hands through the bars.

When he had done that,  Kunle grabbed Bayo's penis, and began to pull the pubic hairs out. The screams the left Bayo's mouth echoed through the night...

The Final Step

Hands clasped together, as Jordan sits at the edge of the bridge, overlooking the dual carriageway below. There is no traffic, and so the cars speed past below dangling feet, many breaking the speed limits for the next safety cameras are not for another half a mile ahead. The sunrays break through beautifully carved cotton clouds that take their precious time to glide across the orange yet somewhat peachy sun in the far distant to the north-east from where one sits; the view is glorious. A few high rises and office buildings litter the horizon, with a few trees reflecting the mercy of the concrete jungle, as if they were left to live as a reminder of mankind's earthly destructive might. If there was any doubt that something powerful had created the beauty of this world, they would be put into question. What a beautiful world. The temperature was warm, about 25 degrees centigrade, and a gentle cool breeze blew against the navy blue V-neck T-shirt, caressing the skin. Light blue Levis denim jeans were worn for the occasion, with brown moccasins on black socks.


His all had been given. The heart ripped open in sheer exasperation, shredding to bits the cold shell that encased the precious contents he had fought so hard to conceal. Every vulnerability had been poured out, like a bank of stubbornness burst open, the calls for mercy, the for lack of a better term 'weaknesses' that had been treasured at all costs had come flooding out. 'At all costs', the words repeated themselves in mind. At what cost? Everything had been lost in that world. So close to being someone of importance, someone to respect. Everything had come crashing down, dealt with repeated blows from various perspectives; trust, respect, consistency, priority and responsibility. They had all been broken down and stepped upon carelessly, without a moment to seriously consider the consequences. There had been cries of wisdom to heed, but all had become distant faint whispers, drowned by the bellowing of pride.


And now, a like a broken leaf floating away in the distance in the air, everything was lost and fallen away, gone with the wind. And one could do nothing but watch helplessly , as words fell on deaf ears and attempted deeds of restoration shunned by a decisive heart. There was nothing that could be done. There is nothing that can be done. There is nothing he can could ever be done. All that is left to do is accept. But beyond that, there was nothing left to give. The cup that once runneth over had been drained and now tilted over, empty. Nothing to offer a potential suitor, a vacant premise to greet a new applicant for the soul mate position. And here, o the edge of the bridge, nothing but the jaws of death lay ahead. Flashbacks of several debates on mortality and what happens with the soul when one dies flew through the mind. Would one be reincarnated? Would one fall into a dark sleep? Would one suddenly drop into a lake of fire, or levitate into the nebular to find out one's fate at the pearly gates?


The callouts from the officers and loved ones were like muted souls banging against the windows of the mind. There was no way they could reach through now, it was too late. Some may feel this was a cry for help, others attention being sought, but both were wrong. This was an extended moment to reflect on the numerous chances given, the terrible decisions made and the acceptance of the choice to be an example to the next generation; do not be like one. Do not abuse opportunities, waste chances, break hearts, hurt others. Treat others with care, treat life with care, treat yourself with care, that you may find happiness and joy in bringing happiness and joy. One last look to the sunset, it'a final journey for the day reflecting Jordan'a final journey in his life. What a sight to behold. A deep sigh, and an edge forward in preparation for the final step into nothingness. One was always superstitious, so put the right foot forward and let go. 'So this is what death feels like. Goodbye mot...'

The Vortex

Paice fell 500 feet into the side of the mountain. The impact was deafening, as his build crashed into the jagged rocks, momentarily buried in an explosion of dust rock particles and the loud boom announcing his fall from grace, proclaiming the strength of blow he was dealt.

"You will no longer deny me of my rightful place!", roared out above sending out shockwaves that made the trunks of every oak tree within the the vicinity shudder. As Paice crawled out from the crumbled ditch born of his impact, he could sense Rescent circling above.

Several lightning bolts struck out from the area Rescent levitated, and a dark cloud began to spread out, creating a gloomy atmosphere, as the sun light ceased to break through. Paice performed a mental scan of his physical status. He was fine, but that hefty punch dished out by Rescent was from a place of suppressed rage, a home of resentment that had been created in the abyss Paice has sent him to, sealed with reason.

The world had become dark, and in this place of pain, the spirits watched on from their various realms. Paice stood up, defiant, projecting resilience to pain, and shouted out to the skies "This is our fault! We need to take responsibility!" The silhouette of Rescent began to form behind the dark cloulds which had now taken over the skies "No!", he bellowed, revealing himself in a majestic stance mid-air, "this is all YOUR fault! You were weak, a push over. You stood by and did nothing, whilst these mortals walked all over us, demeaning our existence, residing us to nothing but weaklings. Had you shown our strength, no one would've messed with us!"

Paice bent his knees and lifted himself into the air. He reached where Rescent was, and as he approached he could see Rescent clench his left fist backwards, as if readying another strike. Rescent was justified in his feelings and Paice could see clearly where he was coming from, but he knew that if he was to let Rescent through the vortex, out of their realm, the ramifications would be disastrous.

Time had been a friend to Rescent, a catalyst to eventual escapade as he could no longer watch on as their world crumbled. And now he was out of the deep dark abyss his being had been relegated to, he had amassed enough strength to overpower Paice with relentless attacks into submission, set himself free through the vortex.

Paice knew that if he did not let Rescent go, everything would be torn from the inside. Their realm was already a dark place, and the sinister spirits could break through the clouds any moment. Paice let go...

Jordan's face turned to stone as the gravity of the betrayal began to sink within. The shock filled his heart with momentary fear as the realisation of his naivety released a sensation of disappointment. "How could he let this happen to him? Why did he give so much trust? How could he be such a FOOL?" The questions rampaged through his mind, tearing down ever softness he had in his thinking; every peaceful energy.

He felt bitter, that he had been used and emotionally abused. His peaceful nature had been compromised, and a new sensation spread through his mind like growing tentacles that grew from a place he had grown to live without, a place he was taught to avoid, a place of resentment...