Moonlight

It was Chinenye’s idea for the both of you to use the looming hulk of a building behind the university zoo. Chinenye was daring like that. Always one to do the unthinkable, this feisty girlfriend of yours.

You dreaded the moonlit darkness. “I don’t think we should be outside at this time of the night, Chi.”

“God, this boy. You’re such a chicken, sebi you know?” Chinenye was bundling her short braids into a hairnet. She stood close to the railed edge of the departmental building’s walls, the sombre moonlight transmuting her slender figure with the softest radiance. She glowed.

Maybe you were afraid, a little. But you wanted to be inside with the other students who had come for night class, you wanted to share in the condensed warmth and odors of a room thickened with bodies, some awake and reading or chattering, some snoring softly, dreaming. Exams were fast approaching, and besides, “We can fuck as much as we want later, when we go back home in the morning. Chinenye, please.” You were whispering now, because a group of boys had just come out of the hall, laughing and talking.

Chinenye sauntered over to you, and leaned into your chest. You could smell the faintness of bubblegum on her breath, the flowery scent of her Cam Spirits. Her softness pressed through layers of thick wool and into you. “Why can’t you just give me this, enh? Cheta? If you’re scared, don’t worry. I’ll protect you.” She glanced at the loud boys. “Or I’ll call them to be our bodyguards.” She nuzzled your neck, her breath warm on your skin. Your body tingled, shivered. And sure enough, an erection followed. Her fingers held your engorged response. She laughed at you, a high, sparkling sound. One of the boys turned.

You were grateful for the darkness.

“Fuck,” you groaned. Chinenye always won.

While she went in to find someone who’d keep an eye on your belongings, you paced the corridor. One of the boys who’d come out earlier now sat on the flat edge of the wall. The others had gone back into the hall. A tiny orange circle glowed near his face.

Chinenye reappeared. “Let’s go.” As you both walked away, her hand in yours, the familiar tang of burnt marijuana struck your nose. You sniffed, and turned, trying to see the face of the weed smoker, but Chinenye was dragging your arm.

It was about 11:29 PM.

“That boy was smoking weed.”

Chinenye stared at you. “Which boy?”

You were both crossing the grounds next to the Faculty Hall. A slight wind rustled the leaves and the low grass, bending and shaking them, filling the night with eerie whispers. Branches creaked. Looking up, the moon’s dull luminescence seemed a bit ominous to you. The stars, as always, were innumerable.

“One of those boys that stood outside with us na. You didn’t see them?”

“I don’t understand. Which boys kwanu?”

“Like three of them. They came outside after we did.”

“Oh, oh. Wait. Those guys?”

“Yes.”

“They were smoking?”

You sighed, exasperated. “Chinenye. One. Of. Them. Was. Smoking. Weed.”

She laughed, startling the night with that clear sparkle of sound. Your neck swiveled this way and that. You felt someone, or something, was watching from the trees.

“You should have asked him for a joint na. Enh? It’s been long since I’ve had some good weed sef.” Chinenye sighed and draped a limp hand over your shoulder. She mimicked the drag and exhale of smoking, her fingers holding an imaginary blunt. You smiled, in spite of yourself.

Ahead, Abuja Building loomed, forlorn and silent.

***

Shrouded in darkness, the building echoed and swallowed your footfalls, as you walked deeper into it. Chinenye giggled. “Dude, this place is creepy as fuck. Woah.”

You couldn’t agree more. Straining your eyes to see through the thick shadows, you failed to suppress the involuntary shivers rippling through your body. Chinenye put on the flashlight of her Android phone, and you followed suit. Bright as they were, the combined circles of white light paled within the enormous blackness of the building, this reticent behemoth of marble and stone.

“Where are we going to?” you whispered. You disliked the way your voice shook, sounding like a child’s. Any desires you recently harbored were now slightly rattled.

“The back. It’s close.” Chinenye’s assured tone irked you. You’d never probed her past before, but now, you couldn’t help wondering, just how many times she’d come here, how many lovers she must have led on…

As if she had heard your thoughts, Chinenye laughed, and you winced, wishing she’d be quiet a bit. “Everyone knows that Abuja Building is where it all goes down at night.” She whispered, conspiratorially. “I once saw a used condom in the bush outside sef.”

Your flashlight fell upon a tiny puddle of water, formed from an overhead leakage. Rounding a corner, Chinenye went up the stairs, and you followed, shivering. There and then, you silently swore that not even the greatest sex in the world would be enough to bring you back to this desolate place. Never.

You came up onto the second floor, huffing. The air here was lighter, and your eyes found the hallway easier to place. Moonbeams fell in definite angles through the gaps of the open wall. You recognized the marble-granite benches, jutting out from the walls. Not a single soul was in sight. It was just you and-

Chinenye kissed you, without warning, her lips latching on to yours with a pink, sweet tenderness. You tasted bubblegum and mints, smelt her perfume. You squeezed her soft back and she moaned a deep pleasured release. She held your pulsing hardness, your fullness of blood and muscle and want. She held you, and you ached to be inside her.

She pushed you and you fell, sitting, on the cold hard bench. Your phones clattered, dropped quickly, and in the muted light of their screens, Chinenye’s face glowed, the need in her eyes recognizing yours, merging. Just when you were rising and falling to the sensual motions of her mouth, a full beam of light hit your shut eyes.

Someone was pointing a flashlight.

“Shit, shit.” Chinenye got off you and staggered to a stand. You hastily zipped up your trousers. The white light moved with the slow stride of its holder, growing fatter and brighter with each measured step. Another student? A security guard patrolling? You hoped so. You had heard of people getting robbed here sometimes.

God, let it just be a student.

Chinenye sidled next to you, coughing, rubbing the sides of her mouth. The light stopped a few inches from where you both sat, trying to put up a casual, guiltless picture.

Chinenye hissed. “Why is this person pointing his torch at us na? Haba.” You shushed her.

The man was tall, bearded, and buffy, due to the thickness of his cardigan. He fixed the light to your faces, as a superior would do to juniors caught red-handed in a naughty act. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rough, like something that had gone through the crushing wheels of a machine and still came out whole. “Wetin una dey do for here? Hmm? Una no get house?”

You could smell the lazy tang of weed on this guy’s breath, and for some vague reason, this set off a tiny alarm in your mind that quickly petered off.

Your heart began to still. You could see a way out. There was nothing to be afraid of. This was just another student, a bit of an oversabi. You laughed weakly, even though your voice came out thin and reedy. “We just dey chill, guy. We just dey chill. How far you na?”

Chinenye hissed, and put her hands up as a shield from the harsh light. “Dude, stop pointing your torch like that na. You want to blind us?”

It happened fast. The light swung in an arc and the sound that followed was of plastic crashing into bone. Chinenye screamed, holding her head.

You were dazed. Everything felt surreal, like reality had morphed into a bizarre, ludicrous dream. Chinenye was sobbing.

The tall man fumed, his face hard and contorted, eyes widened. “Na me you dey talk to like dat? Enh? You dey mad?” He moved closer and you sprang up, alarmed. Something was unfurling inside you, something hot and wild.

“Guy wetin de work you na? Why you go hit am like dat?” Are you mad?” You shoved the tall bastard, or tried to, at least. It was like pushing against a brick wall. He shoved you, and your knees buckled. You hit the floor hard.

Chinenye was telling you to stop, stop, stop, let’s just go but you were so angry you just wanted to hit this bastard, this piece of shit-

He pulled out a pistol. The world froze. You were staring at him, staring at the barrel of that thing. Your mouth was dry.

“I go blow you now, guy. Try me make I change am for you. I be your mate?”

Chinenye was going, “Jesus, Jesus. Oh, God. Please. We’re sorry, we’re so sorry, sir.” For the first time since you knew her, she was scared. Genuinely terrified.

The guy swung his arm in a short, sweeping motion, and it seemed his voice had thickened, when he spoke. “In fact, bring una phones. Now! You wan make I blow you? You wan die? Give me those phones!”

You stood up, feeling stupid, defeated, and bereft. Chinenye handed your phones to the guy, whimpering, and you watched her as if you were a thousand metres away. Your body was pounding a familiar rhythm. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear. Fear.

You saw him put them in the pocket of his baggy jeans, all those movies, apps, contacts, songs, messages and memories. Your final year project, too. Going, going…

“Please, let us go. Please, sir.” The way Chinenye was crying, begging, it did something to your heart of hearts. And you knew, right there, in the pale gaze of the moon and the hurtful silence, that you’d never wake up from this nightmare. That it would always haunt you.

“Get out from here. Run. Or I’ll shoot you. I said, run! Bastards.”

Chinenye was already moving, dragging you, crying, and you turned away, feeling things roil inside you, things you wouldn’t have a name for.

You could have gone. You could have held her on the way to the beginning of days that would be marred by shame and needling regrets. You’d have gotten a new phone, and time would have healed the wounds of now. But, something of yours was broken. Broken, and going off with the triumphant stride of that vile animal.

So you turned, and you saw that he was walking away, already done with it all. “What are you doing, Cheta? Wait. Oh my goodness,” Chinenye gasped.

You ran. You were a hurtling force, screaming, craving blood and the thing that had been taken from you, that was more than just a phone.

He heard you move, and everything slowed, down to this moment where you had the sensation of jumping off a cliff, where he pulled out his gun and aimed at you, the moon bearing witness.

But, this story was never about you in the first place. You might disagree; after all, you’re probably about to die. And that’s alright. But, Iraq. Not his real name, let’s be serious. He was born Emeka Maduekwe Ofodile, to the worst parents anyone could be cursed with a whoring mother, and an abusive father in a dried-up village. Iraq; he earned that name. He could be sharp or cunning or brave whenever the need arose. And there was a gritty meanness to the way he won his fights, and took his share of a world that spat on him, treated him like shit. He was a rugged bastard, a true brawler. And about thirty minutes ago, he saw an opportunity. He had come out of a futile attempt to read for one of those courses that’d kept him in Nsukka for years. Not that he particularly cared for academics. He just needed the cover of it, the benefits of a prolonged studentship. He heard the girl first, her laughter, as he shared a joint with his guys outside the stifling hall. He watched her walk away with the thin boy, noticed their sleek Android phones, saw them head for the darkened building. And he waited, waited until the time was right. Then, he followed them, the ganja keeping his mind level and loose. It would be nothing, he knew. He had taken phones from students before, with practiced ease. This was the first time he’d be alone, but his targets were wimps, mere kids. Easy prey. He wouldn’t need to use the gun; he’d never. It was locally made, and cheap. Still, it was loaded. In case someone would be dense enough to require persuasion.

This has been his story, right from the time Chinenye laughed so loudly at your initial hesitations, just outside the hall. He’s the one about to shoot you now, Cheta. A bullet into your roaring heart. Just a second. To end your run of two decades.

But, the gun has been rusty for so long, from neglect, and underuse. The hammer is too tight, and in need of oiling. The firing pin too, is not set right. Everything is all wrong. So, Iraq will move the trigger, and things will struggle to work as expected. You will falter, eyes shut tight, as if a bullet is nothing but a blinding flash. You will be ready.

But, Iraq is not ready. And when the gun backfires, that condensed shell of shrapnel will explode in his face, and burrow into his right eye, stopping before his brain.

You gasp, stunned. Chinenye is screaming. The man on the ground is twitching, the hole in his face squirting blood, the life in him leaving, leaving in the wan square of moonlight.

That sound, that thunder of a miracle, will always echo in your mind, till your final days. Will you ever stop telling people about it?

But now, you quickly take back your phones, and run to Chinenye, not quite believing, not yet grasping the fullness of all that has just happened. You will both reach safety, and by the time people come out to be awed, and to wonder what may have been, you will be steadying your breath, dazed. Alive. And the thing in you, that you almost lost to Iraq, will be back in your heart, fluttering, home.

This is your story now.

Sima Essien won the OkadaBooks Campus Writing Challenge, in 2018, for his short story, “All Your Colours.” He is currently doing his first degree in English and Literary Studies at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. He writes to keep his sanity, and loves comic-book superheroes.