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

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...

Poemify | Haiku Writing

A haiku ( pronounced high-koo ) is short three-line poem that uses sensory language to capture a feeling or image. Haiku poetry was originally developed by Japanese poets. They are often inspired by nature, a moment of beauty, or poignant experience. Before I dive deep, I'd love to say this: I believe some of us here know what haiku is and what 'rules' there be that guide haiku writing. That's beautiful. We are here to learn, unlearn and relearn. So, I'd rather you keep your knowledge aside and learn something new today. Alright? Okay, let's walk over Jericho. Haiku is a Japanese verse in three lines. Line one has 5 syllables, line 2 has 7 syllables and line three has 5 syllables. Haiku is a mood poem and it doesn't use any metaphors or similes. Usually when haiku is taught, poets are only given the restriction of the number of lines and syllables. However, for good haiku poetry, more explanation needs to be given. This lecture is for poets who are willing...

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....