Source: Pexels
On the cusp of the harmattan morning, I woke and rushed to have a glance at the humid weather. But the environment turned out to be somehow drily. "How well things have changed," I thought, putting my chin in my right hand purlicue (the space between the thumb and forefinger), bending the rest of my fingers with their tips facing my neck, and my left hand holding the window frame.
I was lost in the realm of ecocidal thoughts as I stood.
As my mind was held in the sway of this perplexed bewilderment, my eyes wandered looking for what could be a pretty sight. Then I glanced at a spot through the neighbour's window, some few metres from my eyes, and aligned my focus to let the scene have me in its grasp. My apartment is on the second floor of the building just like theirs, and this gave me a leg up to a wider coverage.
My mind told me it was a play, so I was cowed into silence as I watched them gambolled. A couple I meant! I secretly became their staunch spectator thence.
Tee-hee! Blends of chuckles and smiles almost took me off my feet through my window to their apartment. But there I stood in glee thinking I was learning how I should treat my woman when I'm married, and thought they had a delirious time too.
Just then I noticed a slap from Phils, the husband. Argh! My breath gasped. The play turned sour and lost every sliver of fun in my sight.
Jamine was running around like a prey in an attempt to egress from the predator - the fiery husband. But still she didn't shout for help. Maybe she was trying to save her marriage, as always.
I had been hearing about her husband's villainy but didn't witness it till that day.
His series of slaps, hits and blows made me really feel for her but I stood still as I noticed her quite and belligerent gesture. I could've even believed she was dumb if I had not listened to her voice before.
Light gleamed on the tears rolling down her cheeks. I was stucked in limbo at this point, thinking of what to do as I'm allergic to tears.
I wept beneath my chest as she plodded around with a slow heavy gait, just like a toddler, shedding tears like she needed it for a bath. A mixture of pity and sympathy held my mind like glue.
"Leave me alone, leave me alone," she shouted, but only the echoes of her voice answered.
As she struggled to get out of his grasp her blue coat went out of shape, the two buttons went off, and he dragged it off her body leaving her with only a camisole.
She ran around even more looking for where could be a safe harbour. She went to the door but the husband had locked it. He didn't want her to go out, I suppose.
Out of dismay, reality slotted into her mind like a fast spinning wheel. Sadness, anger and pain filled her gut to the brim and sunk her into a contemptuous ditch. She became enraged and furious, and was ready to pick the lam into him.
She glared at Phils with clenched fist and stood unwavered holding a curtain rail she picked behind a couch, with the thought it was enough to save her from the bestial husband.
Her mind was made up to get out of this rut. She was ready to fight for her freedom.
She dared to struck his head with the stick as he approached, but luck made him block with his right hand. Then out of fury he pushed her with unimaginable force. She fell. She hit her spine on a concrete step.
He thought she only slumped. He regretted. And even regretted much more as his eyes witnessed a pool of blood from the lady he claimed he love. He killed her.
Then later that morning news spread around the neighborhood that she died mysteriously. Phils claimed her cause of death was unfathomable.
I have kept it to myself for months while shilly-shallying, and so want to leave such state of flux lest I die living in the guilt of her demise.
I could have been a life saver, but I didn't because I allowed ignorance to run through my veins like oxygenated blood.
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There are proliferating records of domestic violence. Women suffer this fate like they were cursed by nature. But they were not. They are unjustly beaten, battered, molested and raped. Most suffer these in silence with the hope that they end someday. But adversely the sequels become endless. They only live with the hope of surviving another day.
Lets be empathetic, they need us and our supports. Say no to domestic violence and toxic relationship. Don't live in guilt!
#Fiction
© Menyene Ekong