ON THE NIGHT OF MY DEATH
On the night of my death or so I thought was the longest night of my life. My sister can be amazing but sometimes she can nag and make you wish you were the elder. Can’t recall which of her numerous task I failed to do before running away from home to avoid any confrontation.
I boarded a BRT bus with the intention of visiting my brother in Ikeja. Beside me was an elderly woman and a boy, the latter constantly smiled at me but I didn't return the love. Rather, I put my headphone on and played fun's carry on. All of sudden a gang of three sprang up from behind flaunting their weapons and demanding money from the passengers. I was spotted by a member of the gang while trying to hide my wallet. They took turn in hitting me and I was made to collect money from other passengers while I was been pushed around. Getting to my seat, the little boy's water bottle rolled across and I stepped on and fell towards a member of the gang. Another gang member behind me thought I lunched for his partner’s weapon; he shot me twice on my back. It blacked out.
I woke up, it was just a dream. Now my headphone is playing Dolly Parton's coat of many colours. The little boy smiled at me and now I smiled back. The same series of event happened except this time I didn't try to outsmart the gang by hiding my wallet but I offered to help collect the money from the passengers only if they promised not to hurt anybody, surprisingly they agreed. On getting to my seat no water bottled rolled across and this time I didn't fall I lunched for a members weapon shot two of them before the third fired shots to my chest then he jumped out of the moving bus. It blacked out once again, I woke up it was another dream. This time I was under my bed at home meaning that I never left home, I was hiding from my sister all this while.
MY SUBMISSION; what is certain in life is death, however, how we die and what we do before is the unknown. In my first dream I ignored the innocent child who showed affection towards me like most of us do to those who seem less important in our lives. Ann Landers once wrote "keep in mind that the true measure of an individual is how he treats a person who can do him absolutely no good". The question that comes to mind is, what sort of man I'm I? And when death came, it struck me like a loser.
In my second dream, I didn't just try to outsmart the gang for my own good but that of all. At the end when I died, I took two of the perverts along. We all can't be modern day heroes but what we can be is to as good as we can be. Say those little words to people to make them feel loved, simply be nice. Our lives could be a lot easier if we did little things to help one another. It begins with you