2017 AMAB/HBF Flash Fiction Competition | Shortlisted Story - The Last Man Standing By Deborah Oluniran | The Arts-Muse Fair
The Last Man Standing by Deborah Oluniran
2am, December 2050
"Come back quick, husband. It
seems the baby wants to join us for Christmas." Ibidun would
calmly say
with a smile in her voice
"I'll be home soon. Five minutes,
tops."
He would jump down from the plane; it
would still be here tomorrow.
He would only have to walk down the
street before he would find a car he could loan for the night.
He would be wearing a polo shirt,
3-quarter shorts and a smile, which would turn to a scowl soon.
Nigeria, security would be tight. He
would jog across the road and almost run into a police van.
They would hit the
break hard and park.
"I'm sorry, I'm in haste."
he would try to hurry on but a strong hand would hold him back.
"You almost got us killed. You
didn't look at the road before crossing.
"Are you a terrorist, or a
thief?" the other officer would say, looking at his tennis and Rolex,
tasting doubt in his own mouth.
"You’ll have to come with us to
the station, sir.”
"What?"
"For questioning."
"But I don't have time. My
wife...."
"It's
nothing; just routine procedure."
*****
2:43
"Can I go
now? My wife needs me..."
"No, you can
rest here."
"Wife. I
have one too and she needs me but I'm here."
"We have
cells for #45,000 I think that's the least."
"Do you want
AC, tiled floor? Anything."
He would swallow
whatever smart ass comment he was going to make, he would also try to
pretend
that renting out cells to suspects was normal but this was Nigeria, still
developing after
80 years.
His phone would
vibrate again. Eighteen missed calls.
“Take all my
money. Just let me go, my wife is in Labour."
They would take
offense and accuse him of bribery and scowl at the wad of dollars on the table.
"Dollar has
no use here. We only collect naira notes."
He would beg them
to allow him go home and return in the morning but they would stare
at him as
if he had asked what their bra sizes are.
"This is
actually legal?" He would wave his hands encompassingly.
"Yes sir. We
treat you like a suspect, you're not a criminal. Yet. You're our guest
here."
Ironically, they
would lead him to a small bench outside and make him sleep there, cuffed
to the chair, since he couldn't pay for any of the executive cells.
*****
He would wake up
in the morning with chest pain and rheumatism. They would return his jacket and
phones to him. They would also make the mistake of slipping a sheet of paper to
him.
"Statement,
sir."
He would be too
broken to protest. He would not know whether Ibidun survived last night or
not.
He would gladly
take the pen and pour out his pain.
"Did you
maybe go through my papers? The experiments and all that is in that folder? My
phones?" He would ask with a voice devoid of emotion.
"I glanced
through. But you have not proved it yet. Dude thinks his emotions while he
writes his stories literally affect the characters, more so if he uses non
fictional character."
"That's the
theory."
They would laugh
and shake their heads. They would pat their big tummies and hit each other
hard
on the back as they laugh
"Are you
afraid of death, officers?' He would ask them. The reception would be getting
crowded by now. Officers would come to change shifts with those that had night
duties.
They would laugh
again, this time banging their fists on the table and closing their eyes tight
in
excitement.
Ibikunle would
smile. His legs would hurt and breathing would be laborious but his heart would
ache most.
He would write.
"If it
works, you'll die first. It will start as a mild cough until you can no longer
breath. Ten
minutes later, you'll join him..I'll count 1 to 19 and we'll
start."
And he would
start counting.
*****
December 23 2060
Ibikunle would be sitting in a tiny cell with not enough legroom.
His legs would be hanging on either sides of the bench as he thought. The steaming
plate of fried rice and chicken they served him today would be left untouched.
When one would be in the kind of situation Ibikunle is now, one would find food
unattractive.
Tomorrow would make it 10 years since he has been here. He would
have missed 10 of Dunni's birthday, if she lived. They would still not allow
him contact home. Ibidun; He would not be able to tell if she was all right or
not. They would consider him dangerous and unstable and keep him away from
'home.' What breaks a man faster than loneliness? It's not good for man to be
alone. He would have been feeling alone since the night he touched down.
*****
He would run mad today and they would have to knock him out and
bind him with chains. He could survive not seeing his family; they couldn't
take them away from his heart. He could bear not eating. What is food? He could
bear almost anything but he couldn't bear this one thing.
*****
Two weeks later,
He would be in his cell, gradually disappearing. The muscles on
his shoulder would shoot out, almost reaching his chin. He would scratch his
hair and pull off a handful. He would sometimes dust freckles of his skin from
his shorts
They took the last sheet of paper he hid in his boxers. They would
think they have won but right there, under the bench, would hide tiny markings
here and there. Little wonder, whenever the guards came to check on him, he
would not stand up.
They would not kill him or starve him. They would want him to
expire; disappear into the cell. He would be smarter; he would write a story
for himself with his own blood.
Comments
Post a Comment
We love to hear from you, share your comment/views. Thanks