THE LEAP 3 (Final)

PART 3

(Short Story)

by Ubah Ikechukwu Anthony

He knows he has made a decision and there is no time to change his mind on it. He is a Thief.

“Thief! Thief! Thief! Onye oshi!” she exclaims, staggering and dragging slowly on the tip of her high heeled shoes, one hand behind her head, the other pointing at Akubuike. He is terrified. He knows he must run as fast as his legs can carry him, and he did.

“Shove the bag my my jersey, cross into the next street which leads to the market, blend in and mingle with the crowd.” This is all he his brain can produce at the moment. He is finding it hard to think with the noise from within his ribs. All he hears are the pounding in his chest and the sound of his heavy pant.

People sieve out of shut doors, street corners, eateries and raced after him "Ole! Ole!!; some jump down from slow moving and stationary danfo buses, some from their motorbikes, some from their shops and some just simply turned around and joined the chase. A mob was born.

He has seen this several time before, and he knows how most of this brewing tale ends. He starts to run even faster. The grounds he has against his victim is quickly being eaten into by the hunters filtering from  every direction, and even directly opposite him. It feels like everything is against him, and tears start to form. Terrified and confused, he makes a quick the left turn into the open gate of an old white two-story building, straight to the back of the compound, up and over the fence he swiftly went, into the compound behind which shared a common wall, zooming out the through the open the front gate into the less bust street. He continued pacing, still latching the bag onto his aching right hand.

The tremor behind him has ceased. No one is in sight. Relieved, he toss himself in hiding, by the refuse dump near the St. Theresa‘s Church. The dung hill is guided by an old dwarf wall. there he lay steadily, trying to quiet down the heavy thuds on his chest and loud pant. he stays alert sitting patiently, gasping for air. 

Shortly his breath stabilized, he sits up and listens carefully, everywhere is calm, and so sign of anyone in site. Hurriedly he opens up the bad and empties the content in the debris, quickly running his fingers through. There is in total, two hundred and fifty five Naira(N255) in every denomination, makeup kits, an old squeezed up Ankara wrapper, pieces of paper and some dirty tissue papers. His eyes dim, and his face melts in disgust, “Bi*ch!!!” he shouts, tossing the bag his left. He cleans his forehead and springs to his feet to survey the terrain.

“There he is!” A little boy shouts, pointing at him, “He’s here, he’s here.” 

Akubuike momentarily freezes in shock, placcing his right hand over his mouth, guarding his own mouth in bid to gesture the Young man to be silent. Fruitless, the mob reappears. He jumps out from hiding and takes to his heels,wishing he can turn round and talk to the angry cavalry, he will explain to them why the chase isn’t worth it. It’s only a wish, now all he can do is run, run for his dear life.

His strides are swift, and his body sailing fast in the wind. He has lost his sense of direction, and no longer feels in control of his speed and body. It feels like a brake-less car racing down a steep, and all you can do was control the wheels. But this isn’t a slop, and he was in no car. His fear fuels him, he felt levitated, only the tip of his toes touch the ground, the wind slapped his face and the earth once again trembles under his feet. The ground moves under his feet like a sheet being swept under him, the world moved so fast under his feet like an automated Thread mill. He doesn’t feel his own movement, object and images raced towards him at top speed, all he can do is hop left to right to avoid a head-on collision.

He is unable to maintain speed; weakness starts to anchors him. His ears remain constantly threatened by the whooshing sounds of; metals, pieces of wood, rocks and blades hurled or swung at him by the chasing pack, landing on his back, or flying over his head. His head has been struck by a rock but he staggers on, his back hurts so badly, another sharp pain from a blow he just received, probably an iron rod etching into his ribs. They are close, very close- everyone wants a piece of this wretched thief.

In front of him, the figure of dark and sickly six-year-old girl crying in the middle of the narrow street Ikem Street pops up straight ahead his, rapidly magnifying as he raced towards her. He a sense pity swings in,

“She might be crushed by this stampede,” he thinks to himself. Attending a sharp right turn into Nike road created a huge momentum pulling his heavy mass down, crashing on his face.

He is drained, a few yards from the Mili-Ocha Bridge. Hopeless and exhausted he submits himself to the dusty earth, planting his face down and placing both hands on top of his dusty blooded head, expecting what comes next. 

It is common knowledge that the louts and jobless residents in this part of town who made up the mob, sees these types of  opportunities to maim and pass jungle bad eggs, as a media to and cleans themselves of the frustration heaped upon them by their government and politicians, thus transferring aggression on someone else. It is neither a written nor a stated custom, but it is secretly embedded in every one of them. The chance has presented itself yet again. Akubuike is now too tired to speak, lifeless and void of thoughts he lay, the sound of pounding and shuffling feet quickly turns into kicks on his side, and stamps on his head. A thick cloud of dust envelops them. Blows, chains, Lashes, rocks and metals clattered against each other all over Akubuike as the charging crowd descends on him, pounded the life out of him. His body is now drenched with his own blood and sweat, his back is now bare as hands dragged him in every direction, and scourged. 

It feels warm and wet on the outside, but inside, Akubuike can fell the cold hand of death romancing his body.

“Mama mu o”, he screamed, “Ije ije ije m”. He screams again, as his lost voice reappears. A kick in the mouth and his voice is lost again, same as his two front teeth. 

Now he doesn’t feel the pains any more, he sees himself being stuck, but it feels numb all through. He can think again. Think of nothing more than his life through. He had never stolen anything before and the news of his death and the reason surrounding it will kill his mother. Ije’s dreams, and his father’s health, his dreams, these seem to worried him more than his looming death. 

A large man from the crowd steps forward and halts the rest of the raging mob. 

“it’s ok, it’s ok, that’s enough” he shouts with his hands wide open. The crowed obeys.  With one badly damaged eye, and the swollen second eye, Akubuike turns his blooded face to catch a glimpse of the fat man with the brown barrette. 

“Bring the tires” the man continues. 

Aku slowly places his head back on the ground where it was, breathing out a cloth of blood heavily though his nostrils, creating raising a small haze which the breeze flushes onto his face, and he remains motionless, eyes shots, trembling in periodic jerks. He shots is eye and slips into darkness.

Two tires drops over his heads and a gallon of petrol is emptied all over his lifeless. The irritating smell of the volatile fluid pulls him back to light. A section of the crowd starts chants victory songs and dancing in excitement, others with their hands and just stand watching, other who are uncomfortable to watch just spit on him and walk out.

The blood-soaked Akubuike starts making soft movements, he knows he will be dead shortly, and he worries about shame this will bring upon his poor family. He whispers a little prayer to the wind, dipping his fingers deep into the warm dust and clenched the earth in his bloody hands. The burning match is dropped, his entire body is clothed in flame. He jumps to his knees and to then to his feet, dashing through the awestruck cluster of heads watching him. He takes three quick steps, and with a smile of his battered face and flame for clothing, he makes The Lead like an Olympic athlete over the bridge barrier, dropping over twenty meters down into the rocky base of the Mmili-ocha stream. There he hopes the stream will wash his shame and sins along with it.

Fin