Skip to main content

Man's Extinction? | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu


They're here. God! They've found you!


To run or hide? Your limbs needs no deliberation. You sprint off. Light's speed. Breathless!

Their vision is based on movement. You're spotted. They give chase. Hot chase. Relentless!

'Run!' You hear your mother's voice echoing from wherever.
You are startled. You halt. Turn around. No human in sight.

'Keep running, son!' 

You shiver. Your hair is erect like an excited phallus. They're fast, too fast. they're catching up. You could feel their hands ripping your flesh apart.

Turn and fight or hide? A rush of adrenaline. You turn. Their yellow eyes pierce your biceps. Your courage deflates. You turn.

You sprint.

'Hide' The voice is still. 

You stop on your tracks. Your heart drumming like hard rock beats. You don't trust this new voice. You can't deduce the owner. Your memory hurries to search past voices registered in it's index. You feel fragmented. No face to match the voice.

'H. I. D. E.' This time... calm. Soothing. Still. Slow.

There's a pile of rubble you can squeeze under. A metal object glints faintly. You sneak in. You obey the voice. You trust the voice. Laboured breathes. You would throw up. You make to stand and run.

'Stay down' The voice assures. 

Your muscles relax. Your ever racing limbs are lazy instantly. But your heart Usian Bolts 100km per second. It beats so loudly, you're sure they'll hear. An hour passes.

'Turn around. Scan'

You raise your head a little bit and glance around like a scared chicken haunted by skeletal hawks. They're gone. Stealthy, you creep out. Blood is smeared on the streets. You are tired. You weep. Tears stream down your cheeks. You're utterly alone.

Are you the last one left? You wonder.

No single soul left. 
No sound. 
No... You carry on.

Exhausted, you stumble down, one dark alley after another. Everything is miserable. You come across a door slightly ajar. You feel terrible. Terrified. 

'Go inside' The still voice whispers again. 

You are startled. You glide in. Tip-toe. A foul-smelling torrent of hot air slams the door shut behind you.

You hear their voices. Goblins. You freeze on a spot. Heart racing. Limbs heavy. 

You say your last prayer. 'I die here, father receive my spirit'

Like a storm of bees, they swarm on you. Heart ripped off. You watch in agony as they munch your heart. Blood dripping. Life ebbing.

Their lidless yellow eyes are the last thing you see.

Goblins chatter fill the hall. 

Erie silence.

Mother Mary couldn't save her baby. Man's extinct. 

Earth has no survivor. No saviour.

#Pengician #SSA


Enjoyed reading? Commenting is now easy. I introduced Facebook Comment feature. Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

shy, a poem

bashful, timid, quiet.  shy If anyone you know has used these terms to describe you, you're probably a bit shy. Everyone feels that way once in a while. Shyness and social anxiety are common, no matter how old you are. There is one myth about social anxiety and social anxiety disorder that I would like to dispel. The myth says that social anxiety is just exaggerated shyness. This myth encourages the idea that anxious people are merely weak-willed pushovers. It is partially because of this myth, I think, that well-intentioned people offer the relevant but insensitive and patronizing advice like, “Don’t worry about it!” , “Just do it” and “Face your fears.”  Thinking on all these, I wrote this poem: shy when a shy person speaks, it's like music from guitar strings. when a shy person smiles, it’s like the sun coming out when a shy person steps out it's like the uncommon visit of gods when a shy person reclines it feels like moon eloped from night when a shy person is 'i

Dustbin And Drafts - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 142: DUSTBIN AND DRAFTS He was the night sky, She was a star, Always together, Never one. He wrote what he felt for her of how her twinkles light up his dark. But they never get to her. One more note was added in his drafts. Fragrant pens and beautiful poems Pink papers and artistic handwriting. She wrote about the beauty in his black of how they make her twinkles shine. but they never got to him. Only the dustbin knows how much she loves him - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends.  Thank you!

For Leah Shabiru - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 136: FOR LEAH SHABIRU I can't find the words right To describe Leah's plight. I hope this little piece of mine Awakens our voiceless unconcern. Does she feel giddy? Does she still cry? Does she look out the window and heave a sigh? How long shall this gravity Hold her down to these rascals? I know she kicks but in vain I know she whispers prayers to her God Or maybe she now doubts his existence. Does she wish her breathe be gone? But she's just a teenager Who dreamt of leaving her deadbeat town One day she went to chase dreams The next she was never found Sunrise and sunset have come and gone and Leah is still in the devil's lair. You and I, we eat, we sleep She's not our own, we care not a bit Until same fate cross our path Trample our wives And rip our hearts Only then shall we realize in Leah died our very soul. - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends