5 V

But regardless, he became my light, the light at the end of my literal tunnel, he became my sun in the always bleak looking Nemesis. My obsession rendered me useless at everything but at worshipping the floors he walked on, it made me his minion, his servant, his zombie. He reveled in the power he had over me, and he did use it, violently

Days went on as they always did, till one, in our usual one sided conversations and amidst the amalgam of sounds surrounding us, I heard "What crime did you commit to get here?" I ceased, vacating my perfumed mind to look, to listen, to seperate the bird-sweet vibe from the words, and actually take his words in. " What did you say?" flashing his kilowatt smile, his ever verdant smile lighting his eyes with a playful glint, he said, " I've known you for a week and three days, and I'm yet to get the most relevant information from you. What felony did you commit to get here? Cause as far as I know, Nemesis is deemed as being equivalent to or worse than death. We are forced to relinquish our comforts in civilised society and forced to grovel for food in a dump, exposed to so many factors which could lead to an extremely disastrous death. So, what crime did you commit to deserve a fate worse than death?" I halted, shook my head, blinked, then getting my bearings "What do you mean? I was dumped here by my parents when I was just a toddler." The expression on his face said so many things, but the most dominant one seemed to mock me, to classify me as an idiot, with all the conviction that I was born with a hole in my brain. Then, he said, "That is impossible, we are outcasts, dumped here based on the degree of our crimes, and if I'm correct, you are of a town with way better facilities, your crimes weren't as outrageous as ours. And if you actually try to look at anything else aside from me, this part in which we reside is the dump of a dump of another dump. So, be honest, we here, we're all sickos, what did you do?" I gazed at him, puzzled, wondering, and as I thought hard, and long, his words began to echo in my head, echoes, echoes which triggered something. Then, I heard it, an exhale, a sob, the sound of a wail forcing its way out from something, someone, not me, but close to me, and soon, it ceased to hold its anguish back, it grew louder and louder. And soon enough, its origin ceased to be a mystery, for I saw it, I was no longer removed from the setting, I had assumed a role. And before me, a woman crouched on the floor, her pure white chemise stripped of its innocence, marred with blood, her hands, hair, skin, flawless skin, dented with blood. Her head bowed started a snail like rise, accompanied by the rest of her upper body, finally, her bloodshot eyes rested on me, cold, feral, inhumane eyes, rested on me, bleached of all personality, an empty host, her hatred filled gaze rested on me, the only audience present to witness her melancholy, so, I waited, waited for her voice, and for some reason, regardless of the state of her person, I expected a voice, a silky voice, one which had the ability to lull its listener to a beautiful slumber, yet, and to my greatest disappointment, her voiced matched the theme, hollow, angry and scratchy, laced with an unnatural fear, yet, the pride and oozing confidence I had attributed to her, stuck with her. "How dare you? You could have shot her, stabbed her, for goodness sake, you could have even poisoned her, but no, you hacked her head off with a saw." No, that could not be right, so, my gaze moved from her face to my hands, hands that suddenly felt sticky, a kind of sticky mud could never give. My eyes rested on my hands, but I felt her confidence wither, wilt in my presence, then, I felt an emotion radiate from the beauty who resided in my presence, an emotion my host seemed to be so conversant with, hate and disgust, an emotion that consumed the woman of fair skin. My eyes were on my hands, but I had blanched out, too busy taking in the hatred, but then, my eyes focused, and for once in my life, I was unsure about myself, for my hands held the unforgiveable. A brand new saw, adorned with a beautiful royal blue handle, beautifully complimented by the blood which lay on it, slipping of the blade to settle on my foot. My voice, breathy and tired, "Adanna", her name was familiar, too familiar, and with that thought, emotions surfaced, emotions I hadn't felt for a long time, the confusion, a great confusion. I would never, could never, but Nne's words said otherwise, but I would never even.