African Stories
// 27 February 2020
Reborn Dark Fiction

If you were asked, how would you like to die? What would be your answer?

Yes…. Answer me! Or does the question frighten you? Have you ever given it a thought? How would you die, I mean. By accident in that brand new car of yours? Or by some viral disease, by drowning? Suicide? Gunshot or poisoning?

Give it a thought. Imagine yourself dangling on a noose. Imagine life trapped at the base of your throat. Imagine your car rolling over a bridge and sinking in the sea. Imagine water flooding your lungs. Imagine it bursting through your nose. Can you hear the sound of your cough? Can you feel your arms crashing in the waves?

Imagine. No… Don’t shut your mind. Free your mind. Death will meet you someday. Be prepared for options.

Or better, consider this a heaven’s chance. A chance to choose your exit. A chance to decide your fate. A chance to win.

For me, I would die holding my wheels. My fingers caressing the diamond studded jewels embedded in the leathered steering casing. I will die screaming. Crashing from side to side, slamming my head against the wind screen.

I will die dramatically. The echoes of my screams, the crashing of shattering glass, the music of my pounding heart– a befitting orchestra urging me into the world beyond. I fall into a hollow, endless tunnel, darkness scream at me. I burn till my flesh melt from my bones, silence echo in my ears. Time stands still.

I keep falling, shattering a barrier. Bursting through into light. I smell blood. I hear cries. My cries. I feel hands pulling at my head, drawing me from between a woman’s thighs.

I feel my legs kicking in the air. It didn’t feel like mine. It’s not muscled and toned. No, It is tiny, smeared with blood.

I feel a scissor reaching for my navel. It’s now a long rope that extends beyond the woman’s thighs. It looked like the umbilical cord drawing we saw in biology textbooks.

“Mrs Ojeme, your baby….” a man in a white lab coat say, a smile shinning in his eyes as he hands me over to the dark skinned woman lying on the bed.

“My boy! My son!” She says, pressing her cold lips on my forehead. A muddle of sweat glued on her face.

She looked nothing like my mother.

“Welcome to the world” she says before pushing a swollen nipple into my mouth.


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