Eighteen O' Five


It was 9:04pm when I checked my wristwatch, everyone was believed to be at the king's palace, dancing to the traditional drums, eating as many stewed meats, and drinking wines while watching the horse riders perform their horse tricks at the 'Onire' festival.

But not me. Not in my white 'danṣiki' that was dreadfully stained with blood. With blood that wasn't mine. My cheeks, palms also had blood on them. I looked no different from a skinner, and that was no way to be seen, at that hour.

Clearly spooked by the mess I had found myself, I ran out of the dark woods with tears scalding from my eyes.

Without being hounded, I ran quickly into the house, slammed the door, had my back against it, and shielded it like someone would kick it open from outside.

After what seemed like seconds, I relieved myself from the door since nobody was actually going to break it open. I curved my back and rested my palms on my knees, panting like I just ran a marathon.

Olamipo was not always interested in festivals or parties, so I was certain I would meet her in her room, sleeping or watching movies. Watching movies most likely.

The better half of me I could talk to about anything. She was the only one that would believe and understand me. Not judge me like most people would. I wouldn't say she was that way because she was my twin, but because she had a good heart.

Olamipo was barely naked when I barged into her room. She sat legs folded on the bed, in her black singlet and panties. Her eyes were focused on the laptop until my rude entry distracted her. She reached for her wrapper immediately, and cover herself with it.

“Mister man! Learn how to knock,” she complained before her eyes paid a good attention to my disastrous look. “Oh my–”

With curiosity, she hopped down from her bed and walked close to the door, where I stood.

“Hey. What happened to you?” She asked slowly and quietly.

I stood in front of her, tongue-tied, looking disconcerted like a homeless kid. I was still in shock. As much as I tried, my body forsook me as it began to quiver. My hands especially. The tears, I couldn't help either.

My reactions weren't helping, they got her more worried. She held me by my shoulders, shook me gently and called for my attention.

“Mide. Calm yourself. Tell me what happened,” she said.

“I didn't do it. I didn't do it.” I finally broke silence with words I wasn't sure should have been the right ones. But I said them anyways.

Okay, I just got her more confused. I could see it on her face. I felt it in her voice. She was scared for me. Scared of whatever thing I got myself involved in. Whatever thing I didn't do.

She raised her brows and held my shoulders firmly again. “You didn't do what?”

Her bathroom door creaked open and someone stepped out before I could give an answer. It was Dorcas. Why was is she here? My heart skipped a beat. I guess hers did too, because she freaked out like she saw a ghost. A ghost with blood on him.

“Jeeez! What the heck? Why do you have–?” Dorcas exclaimed.

Her reaction was enough reason to keep me mute. Having to explain this mess to my sister alone would be easy, no pressure, no feeling insecure. But Dorcas? I wasn't sure how uncomfortable I would get.

“What's she doing here?” I whispered to Olamipo.

“Just girls' night stuff. No biggie. I will tell her to leave now,” she replied at thesame level of my voice before turning to Dorcas.

“Dorcas. I'm sorry but you have to go now. Like now now.”

“Wha– Why na?” Dorcas asked in confusion.

Without having to explain, Olamipo helped with her bag pack and piloted her out of the house since she was resisting, nagging about the disrupted plan. They were going to see a movie together.

When Olamipo returned to the room, I was already seated in one the plastic chairs she had in the corner of her room. The tension in me had already mitigated, but the images from the woods wouldn't stop flashing in my head.

She dragged the second chair from thesame corner and sat infront of me, after she had poured me a cold glass of water which I gulped down in a second.

“Mide please tell me how you got blood all over your clothes,” she pleaded, dragged her chair towards me and placed her warm hands on mine.

I stopped staring at my bare feet when I felt her hands on mine. The way she looked into my eyes gave me the confidence to start talking but.

But, I thought of how much trouble I would be in if my dad ever found out. He wouldn't be happy with me.

“Dad must not know about any of this,” I pleaded.

“What is dad not knowing about?” A voice from the door asked. Not just a voice. Dad's voice.


Danṣiki’– A traditional male dress.

It is just the beginning!



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Edited: 04.08.2020

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