Jealous Gore And The Victim

A Fragile Dawn

The apartment, vast and silent, swallowed the last remnants of my frantic energy. Stripped of the familiar, suffocating chaos, I felt a peculiar blend of apprehension and an intoxicating sense of possibility. My father had whisked me away, a sudden, merciful a*******n from a life that had become a relentless torment. Now, cut off from everything I’d ever known, ostracized by whispers that followed even here, my own stubborn will to survive became my compass.

The first few days were a blur of nervous solitude. Every shadow seemed to stretch, twisting into the familiar sneering faces of my family. The world outside felt vast and indifferent, a daunting expanse where I was utterly alone. Yet, in that profound isolation, unexpected glimmers of kindness began to pierce the gloom. A neighbor, seeing my haunted eyes, offered a warm plate of food. A police officer, his uniform a stark contrast to my internal turmoil, spoke with a gentle, protective tone. Each small gesture was a revelation, a whispered truth that empathy still existed, even in the face of the cruelty I’d known.

Still, the whispers pursued me, a phantom chorus of accusations that clawed at my self-worth. In the suffocating darkness of night, my mind became a battleground. Useless. Ugly. Evil. Their words, ingrained deep, threatened to consume me. I grappled with the daunting prospect of rebuilding a shattered identity, of understanding where I, Salama, fit in this vast, indifferent world.

But with each compassionate glance, each unexpected act of support, a new strength bloomed. Those who saw beyond the surface, who recognized the raw resilience beneath my fractured exterior, became my anchors. I found the courage to confront the demons that lurked within, the shadows of a past that had sought to define me. With every step towards healing, towards self-acceptance, I felt the shackles of their labels loosen.

My journey stretched before me, a labyrinth of fear, judgment, and the elusive promise of redemption. In the face of such overwhelming adversity, I was discovering the transformative power of resilience, the quiet strength of compassion, and the profound liberation of self-discovery. Each breath I took was a reclaiming of my dignity, each thought a defiant reclaiming of my voice. I was becoming a symbol, not just to myself, but to the world, a testament to the enduring human spirit’s capacity to transcend despair and find hope.

I am Salama, sixteen years old, from a city that once felt like a cage. My dream, a beacon in the darkest hours, is to become a Doctor. I am a science student, and despite everything, the best in my class. This is my final year, SS3, the threshold of the West Africa Examination Council (WAEC), and I am ready. Or rather, my mind is ready. My heart, however, is a landscape of jagged edges, teetering on the precipice of despair, whispering of suicide. My mother, the architect of so much of my pain, saw me as a selfish, portentous figure, a constant puzzle in her personal war. Nothing about me, no effort, no success, ever impressed her. Nothing I did ever seemed to make her happy.

The full moon, a luminous disc, hung so close to the balcony it felt within grasp, casting the night in an ethereal glow. But for me, it was a sleepless canvas for depression and anxiety. The dead of night, usually a time for rest, instead exhaled a sweet, insidious whisper into my ear, urging me towards the widespread stone patio behind the new apartment. Jump, it hissed.

My gaze drifted to the ceiling fan, its silent blades a grim invitation. There was a room on the second floor, a quiet space in this Diamond Estate, near Jubilee Lake, where a fan waited. And I, with a dead rope in my mind's eye, imagined the noose.

I sat on the African native ottoman, the rich fabric cool beneath my fingers, but restlessness soon drove me to the floor. My heart hammered, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs. Desperate for distraction, I picked up a charcoal stick and began to paint on the large board opposite my bed. The LED light hummed to life, bathing the room in a soft glow, and I yanked the window curtains wide open, letting the moonlight spill in. The night was a canvas, and I, a solitary figure, was losing myself in creation when my phone, resting on the bedside table, suddenly blared.

Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through me. Who would call at this ungodly hour? My steps were hesitant, heavy, but I moved towards the bed, my heart thudding. The screen illuminated a single name: Dad.

"Hello, Salamualaikum." My voice emerged as a strangled, disturbed sound, a kind of spasmodic dysphonia I couldn't mask. The pretense I usually wore when speaking to him, the cheerful facade, had shattered.

"Waalaikum salam, how are you?" His voice, gentle and familiar, was a balm.

"Fine, sir," I managed, though the words were thick with melancholy.

"You are not fine, dear. What's happening?"

The dam broke. Hot, bitter tears streamed down my face, and I choked on my attempt to explain.

"Sorry, dear. I understand, please stop crying." His voice was laced with a deep, pitying concern. "I called to inform you that I will be returning home tomorrow. I sent some drivers ahead with some cars I bought. I've been trying to reach you all, and the network wasn't good until now. I got some gifts for you, and when I return home tomorrow, you can explain everything to me. I'm really sorry on behalf of their silly ways. I promise you something great, something you will live forever to appreciate. And I hope you are better now?"

A wave of relief, a fragile buoyancy, lifted some of the crushing weight. My tears subsided. "I will be fine, sir," I whispered, compassion blooming in my chest at his tenderness.

"Promise me you will."

I hesitated, the lie catching in my throat, but then, a reluctant promise, a fragile hope: "Yes, sir, I promise."

"That's a good girl. Just know that I love you… I will forward you the drivers' numbers to direct them."

"Okay, sir, thank you."

"You're welcome, dear. Bye..."

The call ended, and a deep, shuddering sigh escaped me.

I started to explore the apartment, a new territory to claim, searching for the room that would offer respite, a place to finally lay my head. But as I ventured deeper, a prickle of unease turned into a cold dread. Some rooms were unkempt, thick with dust, as if untouched for years. And then I saw them: horrifying bloodstains on the walls, a stark, violent contrast to the pristine facade of other areas. A bone-deep chill permeated the air.

Something is profoundly wrong here, my anxious mind screamed. Does Dad know? He should have checked everywhere before buying this house. The thought spiraled, fueling my growing panic.

Then, a sanctuary. Another room on the first floor, untouched by the grime and gore, looked like a slice of heaven. "I guess here is the best place for me to lay my head tonight," I murmured, a desperate hope blooming. I rarely slept comfortably, never watched movies before bed, the constant anxiety a buzzing companion. Perhaps tonight, that would change.

I lay down, the whisper of the AC a lullaby, the fan a gentle breeze. I switched off the lights, plunging the room into comforting darkness, and pulled the soft, fragrant duvet high around me. My hand instinctively reached for my phone, a final check, and as I scrolled, the memories of the policemen, the fresh sting of family troubles, washed over me. The thoughts, a chaotic jumble, slowly lulled me into a chilling nightmare.

The world around me warped, the clock on my phone speeding forward until it screamed 2:40 AM. My eyes snapped open, wide with terror. High-pitched, muffled voices, a squeaky, unsettling noise, scraped at the edges of my hearing. Shadows writhed and stretched, moving towards me, coalescing into a grotesque, kinky board with a wild, monstrous human score. I was no longer in bed. I was on a vast desert, and gigantic scorpions and rattlesnakes, their bodies writhing, were swarming, all coming for me.

I began to run, my legs pumping, but I remained rooted to the spot, a horrifying, stagnant illusion of motion. It was as if I were tied down, my frantic efforts futile. They drew closer, their grotesque forms filling my vision. Then, a woman materialized on a black shore, bathed in blood, and her followers appeared beside her, surrounding me with their awful, predatory gazes. They approached, their horrifying eyes fixed on me.

Terror seized me, rendering me helpless. I couldn’t save myself. Desperate, I spun around, and there, in the distance, a wooden house. Hope, a fragile spark, ignited. I puffed, exhaling a desperate breath, and suddenly, I could move. I ran, a frantic sprint towards the house. The door was open, an inviting maw, and I burst inside in a sweaty haste, their grasping hands almost catching me. I slammed the door shut, my breath ragged.

But then, a cold dread seized me. The woman in blood was inside the house. I stumbled into the next room, a passage leading down a dark tunnel, an underground compartment. I fell, tumbling into a pit of rattlesnakes, their dry scales brushing against my skin. Drowsily, I struggled, trying to find a safe space, but the woman in blood was there, her hand reaching, about to seize me. A desperate, high-pitched shriek ripped from my throat. I woke up with a jolt, a surge of adrenaline, exactly 8:00 AM, the room bathed in sunlight.

Sunlight, a brilliant, warm embrace, streamed through the window, chasing away the remnants of the nightmare. The room, still unnaturally cold like an ice world, yet somehow fresh and pretty in the morning light, felt like a sanctuary. But despite the warmth of the sun, I was consumed by a bone-deep hunger, an exhaustion that weighed down my limbs, a lingering frustration, and the chilling aftershocks of the trauma.

You didn’t pray before you slept last night, a thought chided me. What about living here, or going back to living with my family? What about running away, disappearing somewhere and never returning? What about suicide? But what would my father feel? What about the promises I made him if I committed suicide? I’m in danger, but I must find ease. My mind reeled, a torrent of chaotic thoughts and questions, until a loud bang on the gate, precisely at 9:00 AM, shattered the silence. The forgotten prayer resurfaced in my mind.

I ignored the insistent banging, a distant annoyance. The bathroom called, a quiet sanctuary. I stepped under the spray, the cool water a soothing balm against my skin, cleansing away the lingering fear. Returning to the prayer mat, a powerful spirit, a new resolve, settled within me. I posted myself in prayer, the rhythmic murmur of my prayers a counterpoint to the persistent banging at the gate. Who’s banging so hard? What if it’s Dad? But Dad has his keys. The thoughts, a restless current, continued to flow even as I knelt. The banging grew more frantic, a crescendo of urgent thumps.

When my prayers were done, I rushed to the gate. Through the peephole, a glimpse of black uniforms confirmed my suspicions. Policemen. I unlatched the gate, revealing Suleiman, his colleagues, and a scattering of curious neighbors.

"Good morning, sir," I greeted him, my voice patient, calm.

Mr. Suleiman's cheerful reply was a welcome contrast to the morning's chaos. "Good morning, how are you? We received some calls from the neighbors that they heard a yelling voice from the compound at midnight and again this morning. We're here to make sure everything is fine. We've been knocking for quite some time, and with no response, we were about to scale the fence to check on you. And then you opened."

"Sorry for keeping you all out here," I said, a blissful expression softening my features. "I woke up late, and I was observing my prayers before coming out. Yes, I unintentionally yelled in the middle of the night and this morning because of an awful nightmare. My apologies for the inconvenience, please forgive me." My voice was humble, sincere.

Suleiman nodded, then continued, "Also, your Dad rang me twice and asked me to check on you because he's been trying to reach you through your phone, and there was no response. Hope you saw the calls?"

A happy sigh escaped me. "Yes, sir, the network was bad last night, but we were able to speak on the phone later on."

"Okay, that's good. These two of my men will stay here to look after you until your Dad returns. Make sure you reach out to your Dad as often as possible, because he was worried about you when he called."

The neighbors, their curiosity satisfied, began to disperse, but a young man, perhaps nineteen or twenty, remained. Suleiman drove off, leaving the two officers standing beside me. We turned to go back inside, and as I lifted my head, my gaze met the young man’s. And then, a strange, dizzying sensation. I felt myself falling, pulled inward, as his voice, soft but clear, cut through the air. "Sorry, excuse me please, sister, what's your name please?"

I paused, puzzled, a brow raised. "Why?" I asked, and the policemen, too, turned to him, their gazes curious.

He was silent for a few seconds, his eyes earnest. Then, a flush creeping up his neck, he blurted, "Sorry, but you are honestly beautiful, and I can't help myself, that's why."

"Okay, thank you," I responded, a dismissive edge in my voice. I turned to enter the compound, the policemen following. The young man remained rooted, watching as we moved inside. I remembered the gate, still ajar, and turned to shut it. He was still there, his gaze unwavering, as the gate clicked shut.

Inside, there was a security guard room by the gateway. I asked one of the officers to stay there and the other to accompany me inside. I offered him a room downstairs, then headed upstairs to my own. Drawn by an inexplicable curiosity, I glided to the window, and there, I saw him. The young man, walking south, disappearing into a nearby house, just a few feet from my own.

No one had ever looked at me like that, with such an open, admiring gaze. My heart, an untamed drum, began to pledge for him.

Who is that young man? Where is he from? Is that their house? Why was he so brave to say that in front of the policemen? What does he do for a living? Was my response okay, or was I rude or arrogant? Maybe I wasn't right in how I responded. But whatever! I owe him nothing. Who asked him to say such a thing to me? He should go to hell if he feels bad about how I responded, I don't care. But wait… Am I that beautiful?

This was insane. I shook my head, my lips twitching. I was talking to myself, questioning and answering, like a fool, all for a simple compliment. A wide, grinning laugh bubbled up from my chest, a joyous, foolish sound.

A sudden urge for a mirror, a full-length one, consumed me. I rushed to the restroom, eager to see this "beauty," forgetting for a moment the large mirror in my main room. What a mad hatter, indeed! The restroom mirror was small, a mere fragment of a reflection, and I craved a full view of myself.

Oh! Yes! I did look good. My light chocolate skin, soft and smooth, with a hint of dimples. My full, straight eyebrows, my long, luscious hair. My lips, naturally pink, the upper vermillion a delightful mix of chocolate and pink, the lower a vibrant rose. My body, full and curvy, yet perfectly proportioned for my height. I was fresh, clean, and my skin, silken to the touch. Outspoken yet shy, patient to an exceptional degree, bold by nature. I spoke and understood English well, an introvert at heart. I was, indeed, on point.

My poor darling self, trying to understand what beauty truly meant, trying to decipher why the young man had uttered such a simple, yet profoundly impactful, truth.

I returned to the main room, and there was the full-length mirror; at this time, I was looking at myself in full shape and turned around to check myself out. Smirked

Foolishly laughing at myself letting the peace hold inside me in a sweet breath I laughed in the mirror, walked towards the mirror, danced in the mirror, talking to myself ridiculously, and this was the moment I realized myself and how fun could be living alone enjoying my company and I strivingly letting go my worries.

Before this time, I had been an insecure shadow, my self-esteem shattered. I hadn't known who I was, how I looked in the eyes of others, because my mother and siblings had relentlessly reminded me how ugly I looked, how disgusting I could be, how evil and how useless. They taunt me with the wrong words and life got messy for me.

I had been hopeless and seemed useless. I didn't believe in myself, but the young man made me feel something special about myself with the kindest words and gestures. And at that time of hurdles, it was the right words I wanted to keep going. I was able to glimpse who I was, and I shaved up to my Queenship crown.

I checked the time, and it was already noon, 12:00 PM, and I hadn't had my breakfast; I forgot to call my Dad and the drivers; I forgot about the Policemen outside and to offer them something to eat. I was captivated by the young man's thoughts, and I was drawing all sorts of useless art out of my head. I starved myself and the security men.

I hastily rushed downstairs in my cool temperament to tender my apologies to the Policemen and I met them chatting about football clubs and players 'Messi and Ronaldo, Barcelona and Madrid bla bla bla.' Which I couldn't comprehend.

"Hello, good afternoon, officers; please, what do you prefer for lunch?" I asked with dignity.

"Good afternoon, sister, please anything. You can prepare anything." They replied intently...

"Sorry for keeping you without offering something to eat. I was busy inside that was why." In a mended manner.

"Oh, no problems." They grinningly responded

Before I started doing anything in the kitchen, I remembered I hadn't called my dad, so I quickly went upstairs to get the phone. I called him twice, but there was no response.