LarrySun:
THE JOURNEY TO A THOUSAND FLASH

Flash 23: Spiral (Part 2)

Steve's death was a mysterious one. He had died from a gunshot wound to the head. I knew because I saw it happen - the horror had played itself right in front of me. My older self had appeared and killed my best friend. I vividly remember that the killer was wearing the same digital wristwatch we wore.

But the bullet was not found. That was the post-mortem report. It seemed like the bullet had either dissolved or it simply disappeared.

No one believed me when I said that Steve had been killed by the future me. They all thought I was so traumatised by my friend's death that my brain formed a fantastic explanation. There was no witness, I was the only one who saw the tragedy. Steve could not back my claim because - well - he's dead. I killed him, but no one believed me. The gun was nowhere to be found, and the bullet had simply evaporated - yet, Steve remained dead.

It eventually dawned on me that the tragedy I witnessed meant that the time-travel we planned to create was a success. Steve and I had made a pact that we would return to that moment. Nothing about the pact suggested that one of us was going to kill the other - but I had killed my only friend. There must be an explanation for that, and I planned to get to the bottom of it.

To arrive at the ultimate truth, I would have to create time travel. I knew that it was possible, so I worked towards it. I told no one about my plans, for I knew, once again, they would laugh at me. The only person who wouldn't mock me was Steve, my best friend. I decided to honour him by always wearing the digital wristwatch.

I chose to study physics and personally majored on 'the physics of time' - theoretical physics, or call it spacetime, if you will. I welcomed every material I could put my hands on. With the knowledge from textbooks Steve and I had plowed through over the years, achieving my goal was not as impossible as it was supposed to pose on the ordinary mind. I understood the concept of tachyon application. But I admit, the knowledge took its toll on me. No one told me that trying to create time travel would have its side-effects, not only on my psychology but also on my physiology. In trying to create a faster-than-light object that would help me achieve my goal, I met with an accident that damn near claimed my life. The tachyon I discovered was rubic-like; it was too much. All I needed was a tiny particle. I have studied physics enough to understand that making use of the entire tachyon at once would create a black hole big enough to swallow itself - and you know what that means, don't you? The entire earth would shrink into this hole.

What I was doing was dangerous. If the government knew, I would be locked away in a cell for the rest of my life. Hell, I might even be executed on the charge of terrorism. That is why I chose to carry out all my experimentation in the little basement I had built for myself over the years.

The tachyon was so solid that it could not be broken. No hammer or mallet had been fashioned strong enough to break a tachyon - because tachyons were not yet supposed to exist. Indeed, it's a compound no scientist has been able to form. Even Gerald Feinberg only hinted upon the possibility of its existence - he had never seen it created, but I digress.

To get the particle I needed from the tachyon I had created, I would have to make use of a laser. It wasn't the best instrument to use and I knew I ran the risk of causing fatality, but I knew of no other way. Besides, I knew I wasn't going to die; if I was, I wouldn't have appeared and killed my friend.

My safety gears were already properly donned as I brought the laser down to the tachyon. Oh, did it cause a great explosion! Thankfully, the basement was under a cabin in the woods, and the quake the explosion caused could only travel much. But I was highly fortunate. I wasn't supposed to survive such an explosion. The shock threw me off my feet and I landed many yards away. My safety gears were shattered. When I took off what was left of the suit and helmet, I was bleeding in the face. I managed to treat the would and looked in the mirror, there was an ugly gash on my face - I was beginning to look like the monster that had shot my friend.

But I didn't want to be a monster. My mission was to find the monster itself, myself. It seemed mildly confusing. But that man was the only person who could give me the reason for killing Steve.

The explosion did a lot of damage, but I got what I wanted. The tachyon had exploded into pieces. I was able to get the particles I wanted. I salvaged what I could from the destruction and built another basement. The mission must continue - I had come too far to back off now.

So, with the particle, I was able to create a little portal in my little basement. That was my first breakthrough. With the portal, I was able to, within a few seconds, get a brief glance of a different time, a different period. At that point, I had no idea whether the portal I created was the gateway to the past, or the future. The duration was too brief for me to make an accurate assessment. The portal had closed almost as briefly as it had opened. But I was glad that I was finally making a headway. In most of the books I read, I often came across a single philosophy - Physics holds the secrets of the universe. Whoever came up with that could never be more right. With the knowledge of physics and the application of some formulae I propounded, I was able to make possible what the best scientists of the world could only imagine. To say that I was proud of myself was a vicious understatement. But there was still a lot of work to do, a lot of stuff to achieve - I had to stay focus.

It was imperative that I tried to create more time for the portal to stay open. If the portal could remain open long enough, I could locate my villainous self from the future, bring him back to the present through the open portal, question him about why he did what he did, then decide whether to let him go, or kill him for killing my friend. But how would I be able to kill my future self? Wouldn't that be creating a kind of paradox on itself? Well, when the moment came, I would find out.

But I had no intention of killing my future self anyway. I didn't want to become a murderer like him. I had to be a better person than him. There must be a very good reason for killing my friend. Something must have gone wrong. Perhaps my future self had gone insane from creating a time travel, and he had only gone to the past to eliminate the only person in the world who had allow the seed of madness to germinate in my mind. For it was only Steve who had shared my belief about time travel when others had dismissed me as a stupid child. Maybe my future self believed that he would regain his sanity when he killed Steve. It's ridiculous, I know; but that's the only plausible explanation I could come up with. My future self was in the best position to explain, I must find him.

No matter how much I tried, the portal could only stay open for a few seconds. Apparently, I wasn't psychologically equipped enough to solve that problem. I would have to work with what I had. Trying to make it better would only result in a waste of time. I had to channel my attention to something else - something more pertinent: the location of myself.

Locating him was the most challenging aspect of everything. Apparently, my future self didn't want to be found. Somehow, he knew I was searching for him; he probably also knew my intention - that was why he chose to elude me.

It was hard setting up the portal and directing it to where he was in the future. I would only see him for a brief moment and the portal would close. I couldn't jump into the portal to join him because I knew that I would be trapped in his world. I had used half of all the particles of the tachyon. In that future, the tachyon had been long exhausted - so there wouldn't be a way to bring myself back to the present, and two versions of myself in the same universe would only result in chaos - I couldn't allow that to happen. The only thing I could do was bring him from the future through the portal before it closed. Then when I had got the information I needed, I would open the portal again and send him back to the future he belonged. It was a way of setting back the book to the shelf it belongs. If the wrong book is in the wrong shelf, there will be a wrong data in the catalogue. And if the catalogue is affected, then the entire library is in jeopardy. I sincerely hope you understand my metaphor. Anyways, the person I searched for didn't want to be found.

I was in a quagmire.

At a point, I thought about quickly reaching a hand through the portal into the future, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into the present. But that would do no good either. First and foremost, I often saw various versions of him in various timelines. It often took a while to find the right version - the version wearing the same digital wristwatch I had on. Steve had been wearing the same type the day the bastard killed him. Even then, pulling him in would not be easy, especially within the few seconds available. He was more experienced than me. Whatever thought I was conceiving now, he had most definitely conceived it. He was me. He knew my thoughts, my plans.

There's a huge gap between the present and the future. The portal is the only communicating door between these two entities. Perhaps I should say 'between the future and the past', for, in a way, there's nothing like the present. In a different timeline, the present is either the past or the future. In my future self's timeline, my time was the past. His past self was hunting him, and he was running for his life.

When the portal is open, you can reach through it and take something from the future. Let's say you take an orange from the basket of fruits from the future and you replace the orange with a banana from your own timeline. As long as the portal remains open, the orange you took would be in your hand and the banana in the future basket. But as soon as the portal closes, the orange in your hand will disappear - it will return to the future it belongs, and instead, it's the banana you will see in the distance of your arm's length in the future timeline, only a hand would appear from nowhere and pick an orange, replacing it with a banana. When the portal closes, the banana will disappear from the basket - because it's in the wrong timeline. It's a simple analogy when you think deeply about it. It's imperative that you understand this analogy. I understood it too late; you shouldn't make the same mistake I did.

He continued to elude me. No matter what method I used, he was always a few steps ahead of me. He was like a grandmaster and I a rookie chess player - he knew my every move before I made them. Once, he had spoken directly to me before the portal closed again.

"Stop this!" he said, "Only you can correct the error."

He wasn't making sense to me. And the fact that he was telling me to stop only meant that I was closing in on him. It was only a matter of time before I caught him.

But it wasn't as I thought. It dawned on me that there was no way I would be able to easily catch him, especially with my bare hands. There was only one solution. I would need to immobilise him if I was going to catch him. An idea occurred to me and I embraced it without thinking twice. If I didn't want him to continue eluding me, all I had to do was get a gun and shoot him in the leg. By doing that, I would be able to drag him to my timeline and squeeze the question out of him.

Of course when I drag him through the portal, he would disappear back to the future as soon as the portal closed, but he would still be in my little basement, only invisible. But as soon as I got the portal open again, I would be able to see him. No matter how many times I set the portal up, I would make him confess, even if it meant that I would have to torture him. I was ready to expend the rest of the particle on getting to the truth - why he killed my friend.

After many, many years of devotion to the cause, I left the basement to go find a gun. It took me a week to finally get a pistol from the 'Black Market'. It cost me a little fortune, but I didn't mind. When I returned to my basement, everything was as I had left it, except a few birds that flew off as soon as I stepped in. I wondered what birds were doing in a basement, and how they got in. They must have flown in through the slit in the roof.

I set up the portal again and tried to locate myself in a future timeline. I knew enough about him to locate the particular version I sought - the one wearing the digital wristwatch. When I saw the arm and identified the wristwatch, I got into action immediately. I only had a few seconds before the portal closed. I would step into the portal, shoot him and quickly step back before it closed on me. That was the plan.

As soon as I saw the wristwatch, I knew exactly where his legs would be. He would try to jump as he had always done. I had already calculated the angle of his movement. My finger was on the trigger as I stepped into the portal. Within a split second, I shot where I knew his legs were going to be.

But I had been wrong. The portal had taken me to a different timeline, to a different version of me, the younger me - the one in the past. The arm with the wristwatch I was seeing wasn't mine, it was Steve's. And where I thought the legs would be was where Steve's head was.

I shot Steve in the head and stepped back before the portal closed. When I realised my mistake, it was too late. When the portal closed, I saw the bullet lodged on the wall of the basement. But the damage had already been done. The bullet had killed Steve in the past timeline.

Now I understood everything. My future self had tried to warn me but I didn't listen. Without a doubt, my younger self would attempt to track me down, and he would end up making the same mistake I did. I thought about correcting the error. I should take off the wristwatch, but somehow, the watch seemed to be the only thing keeping me alive. If I took it off, the pattern might change, rather than my younger self shooting me in the legs, rather than shooting Steve in the head - he might shoot me in the head instead. That's what my quantum calculation revealed to me. And if my younger self killed me, what would happen to the timelines? There would be chaos. I had no choice - I must keep wearing the wristwatch. The cycle would have to continue indefinitely - I must keep eluding my younger self, and Steve would keep dying.

Now that leaves me wondering how many times Steve has been killed, and how many versions of my future and younger selves are out there.

But most importantly, how many versions of this story have been written?

THE END

©Larry Sun, September 2020

Tolulopefinest:


Larrysun want to make me run mad mehn. This story looks like Engineering mathematics. I've read this 10 times now and I couldn't still understand this. Oluwa o who will now break this down for me abeg ?

Khriztarl:
Tochukwu, odikwa risky o.
you are even bearing my name and serving diety. SMH. Make God epp you.

LarrySun:
***

"I saw Rikat again last night," Aishat told Doctor Hassan again.

"Oh come on, Aishat! Are the drugs I've been giving not working?"

"I'm telling you! I saw her."

"Ghosts don't exist. They've never been! All you've been seeing are simply illusions. They're not real."

"You see them only when you don't know they are dead," Aishat murmured.

"What did you say?"

"Oh, never mind. I just remember what a woman told me in the market."

"I think you need to return to your room."

Aishat looked sad. "I just want to be believed. I want someone to know that it's not hallucinations. Ghosts really exist."

"I can't believe what's not real."

"I want you to follow me to my room," she said, "If you still don't believe me, I'll agree that I've been hallucinating."

"What's in your room?"

"Just follow me. It'll only take a few seconds."

Aishat led the way. The doctor followed reluctantly. "This better be worth my time."

They walked through the corridor. When they arrived at the door of her room, Aishat asked the doctor to open the door.

"What's behind the door?"

"Just open, Doctor. You'll find out."

Doctor Hassan slowly turned the knob and pushed the door in. He shrank back in horror at what he saw.

Aishat smiled and said, "Do you believe me now?"

"This is impossible!" He was slowly backing away from the room, and also away from Aishat.

He wanted to look away, but he could not. He was staring into the room. Aishat was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, her head was rested on the table. There was blood oozing from her temple where she had shot herself. The gun was lying on the floor and her dead eyes stared at the entrance.

"You - you are a ghost!" Doctor Hassan said in shaky voice.

"Yes, I am, Doctor. Unfortunately, I had to kill myself to make you believe."

"You're a ghost, Aishat! You killed yourself!"

He collapsed to the ground.

"I told you ghosts exist but you didn't believe me. Now that I have convinced you, I need to go and visit my family for the last time, before they hear the news about my death."

"Your family?" Hassan asked, his face registered further surprise.

"Yes, my parents and my two kids. I told you about my husband. I told you he died."

"But your parents are dead, Aishat. They've been dead for long. And you are not married. You have no husband, no kids."

"What are you talking about?"

"You've been in this hospital for two years. We've been taking care of you."

"You're saying nonsense, Doctor. I only came here a couple of weeks ago."

"No, that's the drugs. The drugs made you think you walked in here on your own, but you didn't. You've been here for years. The drugs reshaped your mind, Aishat. You were the first test subject for the drugs. Apparently, they've been putting various ideas in your head."

"I don't believe you! That's a lie!"

"You killed yourself, Aishat! You killed yourself!"

Then suddenly, the main door of the hospital burst open and Aishat saw her mother and father rush in, they were each carrying her kids.

"Mama! Papa!" Aishat called.

Her father walked towards her. "We've been searching around for you for days, Aishat. What are you doing here?"

"He told me you're dead."

Her father frowned. "Dead? Who has been telling you that nonsense?"

"Him, Doctor Hassan," she pointed at the man lying on the floor.

Her father's eyes followed her gaze. "I'm not seeing anyone there."

"There he is - he lying down there!" Aishat pointed again.

"There's no one there, my daughter," Aishat's mother said.

Aishat was confused.

"Who are you talking to, Aishat?" Doctor Hassan asked.

"My parents," she replied him.

"Where are they?"

"They're standing here! Can't you see them?"

The doctor sat erect. "Aishat, there's no one there."

"Here they are! My mom and dad! They're carrying my kids!"

"I told you. Your parents are dead. You never had any kid. You were never married."

"Aishat, who are you talking to?" her father asked.

"The doctor! Doctor Hassan! There he is!" She was weeping now. "Can't you see him?"

"There's no one here. There's no one in this hospital, Aishat! This building is deserted. It has been deserted for three years. Something happened in this hospital three years ago. Someone with a strange virus was brought in. Her virus killed everyone in the hospital. All the doctors, nurses and patients died. This building is haunted, it's haunted by their ghosts."

"That's impossible!"

"It's the truth, my daughter. We have to get out of here now. This place is evil."

"I thought you don't believe in ghosts," Aishat said.

"That's the rumour. If there are really ghosts here, then you must be seeing them. Only you see ghosts."

Aishat turned to the doctor. "You're a ghost, aren't you?"

"Me? Ghost? Who is telling you that? Aishat, don't believe whatever they're telling you! They're the ghosts, your parents. If they're not ghosts, they're not supposed to see you. You're now a ghost, remember? You killed yourself. They are dead, that's why they could see you. They've been dead for long. It's the drugs messing with your head."

She was very confused. She didn't know who to believe.

"Papa, mama! I'm a ghost."

Her parents stared at each other. "Ghost? How come? Is it the doctor that told you that? Don't believe him! He's lying to you! You're not a ghost! You're a living human being!"

"Look at the room," she said.

Her parents peeked into the room.

"What are we supposed to see?" her father asked.

"Are you not seeing who is in the room?"

"There's no one in the room, Aishat," her mother said.

"My daughter, we have to leave now," said her father, "Your husband is waiting."

Aishat frowned. "My husband?"

"Yes, he's waiting for you at home."

"Abdul is alive?"

"He's alive and well," said her mother.

Aishat shook her head. "That's not true. Abdul died in a car accident two years ago."

"Of course not! You were both together living happily until you suddenly left home. You left him and your kids. We'd been searching for you for over two weeks. Oh! Look at how thin you are!" Her mother started weeping. To Aishat, she sounded like the weeping Rikat.

"Whatever they may be telling you is a lie," said Doctor Hassan. "Do not listen to them. You have no parents. No family."

Aishat walked towards the doctor and bent before him. "You may be right. I don't know who to believe anymore. Maybe it's really the drugs messing with my head. Maybe not. I find it hard to believe you just like I'm finding it hard to believe them too. But most importantly, I can't believe myself anymore. To them, I'm a living person. To you, I'm a ghost. To me, I don't know who I am anymore. I remember shooting myself in the head. You can see my corpse. I can see my corpse, but they can't. Maybe they're really not ghosts, but then again, they say Abdul is alive. I know for a fact that my husband is dead. Maybe they're really ghosts. They can't see you, and you can't see them either. They tell me you're dead, you tell me they're dead. A ghost I met in the market sometimes ago told me that living people could only see ghosts if they don't know they are dead. If they do, the living will never see the dead. They know you're dead, that's why they can't see you. You know they're dead, that's why you can't see them. Maybe I never met any ghost at the market. Maybe it's all the drugs. Maybe both of you are ghosts, maybe that's why you can both communicate with me. Maybe Rikat didn't shoot herself. Maybe she really brought a virus into this hospital. Maybe all the nurses, doctors and patients of this hospital are ghosts. There are a lot of maybes. I wish this was just a bad dream. I wish to wake up right now from this nightmare. Unfortunately, it's not a dream. It's my reality. Am I a ghost or not? I can't even tell.

"I must pick a side. I choose to pick my family. Even in death, family is everything. If it's the drug messing with my mind, at least I won't be taking them again. Eventually, their effects will wear off and I'd know the truth. For now, I go with my family."

She stood up and said,"Goodbye, Doctor Hassan."

The doctor watched her as she stepped out of the door. She was walking out alone.

The End

©Larry Sun, September 2020

Odoogu:



You Only Live Once.
everybody knows it.
am really surprised you don't. no offence intended.

LarrySun:
THE JOURNEY TO A THOUSAND FLASH

For you, Amazon

Flash 33: Bleeding Heart

Bayo had been in love with Nneka since he and his mother moved into the neighbourhood seven years ago. At that time, he was only thirteen years old, and Nneka was ten. He had kept this feeling bottled up within him all these years.

Due to his condition, Bayo hardly left the house; so he had no friends. His mother was his only friend. Most times, he would only watch Nneka from the window of his room as she sold newspapers to passersby across the street. Nneka's father was a vendor but she often helped him to sell the papers while he ran other errands.

Then just before his twentieth birthday, Bayo's mother encouraged him to go talk to Nneka.

“If you love someone, tell the person. Falling in love is not a crime,” she would encourage him.

“I don't know if she would love me back, mama.” His voice was always soft. His mother always called him her angel from above.

“You cannot know until you find out,” she responded, “She's not going to walk in here and tell you she loves you. I don't even think she knows you exist.”

“It's not safe out there. The doctor said I shouldn't trek any long distance, and that I have to always stay indoors.”

“It's just across the street, my angel. Just walk up to her and introduce yourself. You should start by becoming her friend.”

“Are you sure it's safe, mother?”

His mother hesitated. She thought deeply about the question before answering. Finally, she decided that her son's happiness was more important than anything else.

“It's perfectly safe.”

Bayo smiled and said, “Okay, mother. I will visit her tomorrow.”

His heart was beating fast from the prospect of talking to Nneka for the first time in ten years. He looked through the window and saw her selling papers across the street as usual. His smile broadened.

Bayo spent most of his days sitting by his window and watching people walk up and down the street. He knew everyone who lived in the neighbourhood but none of them knew him. Although he had seen many young girls who lived in the street, none of them was as pretty as Nneka. She was not only pretty, she was also hardworking and decent. Bayo knew that Nneka was the perfect girl for him.

The following afternoon, Bayo dressed up, took some money and stepped out of the house. This was the first time he would leave the house since he had been diagnosed. As he climbed down the steps of the front door, his mother watched him from the window. It felt weird to Bayo that he just decided to speak to Nneka now after seven years.
He carefully looked both sides of the road before crossing it. Sometimes the traffic could be quite busy. Many people had been hit by speeding cars. Bayo had witnessed many casualties from his window.

For the past twenty-four hours, Bayo had been rehearsing what he was going to tell Nneka. His mother had told him to take things slowly by first establishing friendship with her, and that was exactly what he planned to do. But he found himself tongue-tied when she stood before him.

“How may I help you?” she asked pleasantly, giving him a smile that warmed him to the depth of his stomach.

“I-I-I-” he stuttered helplessly.

“Would you like to buy a paper?” she asked, still smiling.

Bayo nodded vigorously. He dipped his hand in his pocket and brought out a currency note. He handed it to her. The girl collected the money, spread it out on her palm, folded it and kept it in her pouch. She did everything meticulously as Bayo watched, still tongue-tied. She picked a paper from the stand.

“I’ll go and wrap it for you,” she said and disappeared into the shop before Bayo would say anything, not like he could say anything anyway.

She returned a few minutes later with the newspaper safely wrapped in nylon. She handed it to him. “Here you are,” she said, her bright eyes complimenting her smile. “Thanks for your patronage.”

Bayo accepted the paper, stayed for a few seconds. He wanted to say something to her but his tongue would not allow him any speech. Disappointed in himself, he turned around and walked away.

"Did you tell her?" his mother asked excitedly as he stepped into the house, but the expression on his face answered her question.

"I can't do it. I don't have the courage."

His mother placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "Do not beat yourself up. You can always try again another time. Eventually you'll be able to speak to her."

But Bayo could not. He kept going there to buy a newspaper he was never going to read, and Nneka always wrapped the paper in nylon before handing it to him.

"Have a great day," she would say brightly. "I hope to see you again. Thanks for your patronage."

After about a week, Bayo discovered that Nneka had a boyfriend. His name was Moses. Clearly, Moses was not as tongue-tied as Bayo. He had walked up to her and told her he liked her, and both Moses and Nneka had started a relationship.

Bayo's heart always ached whenever he sat by the window and watched Moses and Nneka become romantic in her father's newspaper shop. To Bayo, Nneka was happier with Moses, for she always laughed at anything her boyfriend said. She looked genuinely happy and she glowed brighter. It was clear to Bayo that while he was madly in love with Nneka, they were not meant to be together. She had found the love of her life; Moses made her happy and it seemed like she loved him deeply. Besides, there was no future between him and Nneka, Bayo thought. He had a terminal illness and would be dying soon. He only wished his death would not be in vain. If only he could just have a moment of Nneka's love, no matter how brief, then he would die contented. The only person who ever loved him was his mother. The fact that he was dying didn't mean he should not deserve romantic love. Every human being should fall in love; everyone deserved to feel the sweetness of love, for he had read somewhere that nothing compared to loving someone and being equally loved in return. Unfortunately, in his own case, the girl he loved was in love with someone else. His diseased heart bled. Each day he watched Nneka and Moses from the window of his house, tears would roll down his cheeks; the kind of life he wanted for himself and Nneka was what Moses was enjoying. But in the end, when he left the window in the evening to go and sleep, Bayo always found comfort in the fact that Nneka was happy. Even though he was not responsible for them, Bayo always wanted to see the smile and laughter on Nneka's face.

"Why do you keep hurting yourself this way?" Bayo's mother had asked. "You should go and talk to her."

Bayo shook his head. "I can't anymore even if I want to. She already has a boyfriend. She seems really happy."

"You don't know that."

"Actually, I do. She's in love and she's happy. I watch them every day. My heart breaks whenever I do, but I'm glad that she's happy."

His mother sighed and said, "Love does not work that way."

Bayo frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You really love this girl. It will be wrong of you to not tell her, even if she's in love with someone else. You have to let her know how you feel about her regardless. You should give her the freedom to decide who she's really in love with. You may be surprised what her decision would be."

Bayo thought very deeply about this. He wondered if what his mother had just told him was true or she was only giving him hopes.

"Go there tomorrow and tell her how you feel about her."

"I can't. You know I won't be able to say it."

His mother stared at him and shook her head. "You still have a lot to learn, but for now, you can simply improvise."

"Improvise?"

"I noticed that she always goes into the shop to wrap your newspaper in nylon before giving it to you. I wonder why she always does that, but it's an opportunity for you.

" All you need to do is go there with a pen and a small piece of paper. When she leaves you to go and wrap your paper, quickly write what you feel on the paper and slip it among the newspapers on the stand. Make sure you hide it somewhere she won't see it until you have left. Then you can come back to this window and watch her reaction when she discovers the paper. Without talking to her, you will get to know how she feels about you. She might even respond to your note."

Bayo thought that was a brilliant suggestion. He decided to write his thoughts on paper immediately. He would drop it off the next day, just as his mother had suggested.

He got a pen and a piece of paper. On the paper, he wrote the words:

You are always in my heart.
Love,
Bayo.

He read it over again and decided that it was perfect enough. Short words that summed up how he felt about her. He had read somewhere that the shorter the love letter the better. Then as he was about to fold the paper, he added a last detail.

Please call me.

Then he put his phone number under the note.

The following day, he stepped out of the house again and crossed the busy street.

"Hello you," she greeted him warmly. "How are you doing today?"

Bayo tried to smile but he was too nervous. "I'm fine," he replied. "Can I get today's paper, please?"

"Sure, of course."

She picked one of the newspapers on the stand. "Allow me to go and wrap it for you."

"Okay."

She smiled at him and went into the shop. As she disappeared into the shop, Bayo quickly brought out the note from his pocket and hid it between two newspapers.

Then as he waited for the girl to return with the paper, Bayo looked down the road and saw Moses coming towards the shop. Bayo's heart sank on spotting him. This was the only person who always made Nneka happy. Bayo could tell that Moses really loved Nneka. Indeed, the girl deserved someone like Moses, not a dying partner.

He was about to walk away without collecting his paper when he noticed something odd. There was a speeding truck coming behind Moses. Everyone was running away from its path because its brakes had clearly malfunctioned. But Moses was oblivious of this because he had earphones covering his ears, and he was gyrating to whatever music was playing in his head.

Bayo made a split-second decision. Moses would be killed if he was not saved, and his death would devastate Nneka. If Moses died, he might never see the smile and laughter on Nneka's face again. The only way to ensure that Nneka would continue being happy was if Moses was saved, even if that would continue breaking his own heart - but Nneka's happiness was enough for him.

And so Bayo made the decision to rescue Moses. He ran as fast as he could. That was the moment Nneka came out of the shop; she was holding his wrapped newspaper in her hand.

He must reach Moses and push him off the path of the oncoming truck. As he ran, Bayo felt his weak heart get weaker. He was not supposed to run that distance - hell, he was not supposed to run at all. With great effort, he got to Moses at the very last second of impact. He pushed Moses out of the way, but Bayo was too weak to save himself. The truck knocked him down and climbed over him.

His death was instant.

Bayo's mother wailed for days. He was her only son and she had lost him. Everyone who witnessed the tragedy had told her that her son was a hero, an angel. He had died while saving someone else.

She was cleaning the house about a month later when she came across all the newspapers her son had bought. She decided that she'd burn them. They were useless. Bayo did not read them. They were exactly how he he bought them.

She unwrapped one of the newspapers and a small note fell to the floor. She picked it up and read its content.

Why don't you want to talk to me?

She frowned. She didn't understand what she had just read. She picked another paper and unwrapped it too. There was another note in it.

Here's my number again. Please call me.

This was when she understood. Nneka had liked Bayo just as he liked her. But neither of them knew if their feelings were mutual. Bayo's mother unwrapped all the newspapers and saw Nneka's notes to her son. She had been writing to him and hiding it in the newspapers right from the first purchase, but no one knew about it.

The last note almost shattered her.

I don't think I can bear this anymore.

Bayo's mother quickly ran out of the house and crossed the road to the other side of the street. She got to the newspaper shop but only found Nneka's father.

"Good afternoon," she greeted quickly, "Please where is your daughter? I need to speak to her urgently."

"You are the mother of that brave young man who sacrificed his life to save someone else, aren't you?"

"His name is Bayo."

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

"I want to speak with your daughter. It's very urgent."

"Does it have anything to do with the note?"

"You know about the notes?"

He went into the shop and returned with the note Bayo had written to Nneka a month ago.

"I saw this in one of the old newspapers in the store yesterday. I bet your son wrote it."

She nodded impatiently. "Yes, he did. Now call me your daughter."

"You didn't hear?"

"Hear what?"

"My daughter disappeared the day your son died. She has not been seen ever since."

The two single parents comforted each other for their losses. While Bayo died and Nneka was never found, their parents never gave up on life.

They started all over and had a pair of healthy twins - a boy and a girl.

© Larry Sun (LSD)
October 2021

LarrySun:
The Journey to a Thousand Flash

Flash 34: At the Other Side
Specially dedicated to Michael Collins Ajereh

Nkem's ambition was to become a serial killer. It was a strange ambition, one that was unsuitable for public confession; but Nkem appreciated the uniqueness of this ambition - and he planned to do something about it. He had always been fascinated by the idea of death. Of course, the possibility of other people dying thrilled him, as opposed to the possible significant end of his own life.

His first victim was a woman. Nkem was a good-looking and attractive young man, and he had successfully used his charms to lure the poor woman to a dark and lonely corner where he stabbed her multiple times. Then he had dragged her corpse to the unmarked grave he had prepared for her beforehand - this was the start of a promising career as a serial killer. He cleaned up the blood-soaked knife on his victim's lifeless body before returning it to the pocket of the dark-blue denim he donned.

Then just as he was about to push the corpse into the ditch, he looked across the short fence to the other side and saw something that further threatened his already faulty sanity. At the other side of the fence was exactly the same environment as where he stood. There was the same secluded area, the same ditch, and the same weed grew on the ground. It was like the world split into two similar parts, the fence only serving as a dividing portal.

This might not have bothered Nkem so much if the supernatural manifestation had ended there, but something more sinister sufficed - which pleasantly made the self-proclaimed serialist go batshit crazy, and, of course, ushered in his eventual apprehension, and ultimate doom.

At the other side was a familiar person trying to bury a corpse, just like Nkem was. And there was a significant level of similarities between what was going on at that other side and what Nkem was trying to do. Like Nkem, the other figure was trying to push a victim into a ditch, too. Nkem watched as the killer cleaned his knife on his victim's body - just like he had done. In addition, the killer on that side bore a close resemblance with the woman Nkem was trying to bury over here - but the only difference was that the killer was clearly a male; a male who carried the face of the woman Nkem was about to bury.

What finally stole the remaining little sanity left of Nkem was when he looked down at the victim the stranger was trying to bury and saw his own face - but the only difference was that the victim was clearly a female; a female who carried the face of Nkem, the serial killer. The killer looked across at Nkem and gave a dark smile.

Nkem was still screaming when people gathered around and discovered what he had done, but none of the crowd saw the fence, or what was happening at the other side.

LSD
December, 2021
larrysundynasty@gmail.com
+2349061754872

Vulcanheph:

Isn't that Don jazzy's name.?

Vulcanheph:
Damn!!! , That Musa's story is just sad... But ironically it is true, that's how the almajiri system works.

Tolulopefinest:


Wow... really?

LarrySun:
Flash 18: The 98th Victim

Specially dedicated to Ekop Sparo Ayara - a wonderful follower.

The remains of Joshua Abbey Alabi, a 29-year-old banker, was recovered from the bodies of water at the Ikorodu river. The bullet wound on his chest and the missing left ear is a suggestive of the MO of Sheik - the Ikorodu serial killer who has reportedly killed ninety-seven victims, both male and female alike. Joshua Alabi is the ninety-eighth victim, and his identity was established by the national identity card in his pocket.

The authorities are stumped by the identity of this killer. He has continued to kill and nobody has any idea about who he is. The Sheik is reputed to be one of the smartest criminals in the country. He has successfully killed members and associates of his victims in the same manner, and each victim has been killed on different occasions.

Investigations by the local police reveal that, instead of Sheik to find his victims, it's usually the other way round. The victims always find Sheik.

The body of Joshua Alabi has been deposited in a nearest morgue. If you know the victim, kindly call this number - 050448631295.

***
Joshua Alabi dropped the newspaper as if scalded by it.

"Is this some sick joke?"

He couldn't believe what he just read. The newspaper contained the report of his own death. He had been shot in the chest, his left ear severed and had been dumped in the river. How was that possible? Here he was, hale and hearty. It could have been a different person entirely - that was the only explanation.

But the victim was him. Apart from the fact that the name of the victim was his, Joshua's picture was also boldly printed in the page. Everything matched his profile. His middle name was Abbey. He was twenty-nine years old and also a banker.

This must be some sick twisted situation. The victim was carrying his national ID card. Everything felt unreal. It was impossible for something like this to happen, yet it did happen.

For the rest of the day, Joshua's mind had not been at rest. Soon, people who knew him would begin to call his number just to confirm. He would tell them all he was alive - the information about his death could only be a gigantic mistake. Then he remembered that his phone had been stolen the day before, and he had not retrieved his line. If anyone called him now, his line would not be available.

Joshua decided that he must get to the bottom of this. He would visit the morgue and check the corpse. Something was definitely wrong somewhere.

The following morning, Joshua borrowed his neighbour's phone and dialled the number in the newspaper.

"Hello, my name is Joshua Alabi," he said. "I think there's a confusion in your newspaper report. I'm not dead. I'm alive. You must have got the wrong information."

"Are you playing some kinds of prank?" the recipient asked.

"No, I'm serious. I'm Joshua Alabi. I'm alive."

There was a brief silence at the other end. "Okay, please come over with your national ID card. I'll text you the address. Call me when you get there."

"Um, my phone was stolen yesterday. I'm using a neighbour's phone. I won't be able to call you."

"No problem. Just get to the address by 3 PM. I will be waiting for you. I am Dr Kishe."

The address entered the phone a few minutes after the call. Joshua wrote it down and deleted the SMS before handing the phone back to his owner. He dressed up and left the house.

By 3 PM, he was at the location. Joshua was surprised to see that he was standing in front of a house located close to a railway track. The building didn't look anything like a morgue. There was an old truck a few metres away. He walked slowly to the door and knocked.

The door was opened and a tall man wearing a horn-rimmed pair of glasses appeared. He was smiling at Joshua.

"Hello Mr Joshua. I'm Dr Kishe."

The two men shook hands and Joshua was invited inside.

"I thought I was coming to a morgue," Joshua said as the doctor sat in a chair before him and lit a cigarette.

"Well, technically, you can call this a morgue," the doctor replied jovially.

"So where is the body?" Joshua asked, looking around.

"Oh, you're the body," replied Kishe.

Joshua frowned. "What are you talking about?"

The doctor laughed and said. "You still haven't got it, have you? Look around you. You've been lured here. The report you read about was what is going to happen to you. It hasn't happened, but it's going to happen. You see, I wrote the report and sent it to the newspaper company. In my profession, I deal a lot in Psychology. You, Joshua Alabi, are going to be my ninety-eight victim. I was the person who stole your phone yesterday. It's part of the plan. Everything is going to happen as the report established, as it has always been."

"Who are you?" Joshua asked, confused.

"My name is Tishe," the doctor answered, smiling. "Now unscramble that."

Joshua thought about that and it occurred to him. "You're the Sheik."

The doctor spread his hands proudly, "The one and only Sheik of Ikorodu. You shouldn't have made that call. Now all your family members and associates will make the same call, but your neighbour will die first. With this method, I will never be caught."

A train moved past in the street and a gun suddenly appeared in killer's hand. He shot Joshua in the chest. The gunshot was drowned out by the sound of the train.

By nightfall, Joshua's body would be missing an ear. With the truck outside, Sheik would transport the corpse.

In a few days, the corpse would be fished out of Ikorodu river, his national ID card would be discovered in his pocket.

©Larry Sun, August 2020