PITCH-BLACK

Dakore was the friendliest being on earth. She was the only one that spoke to me that year. Our eyes collided while I was reading all alone in the library that evening. She looked at me, turned her eyes sideways and continued with what she was doing. I made sure I didn’t look in that direction till I left. Little did I know, outside the library stood this same tall girl with chubby cheeks and her smile was like heaven opened revealing badly arranged but extremely white dentition. She waved and I moved towards her.

               “I am Dakore. You?”

     This what was started a friendship that blossomed so hard, our families became acquainted. We went on vacations, occasions and practically lived together. As close as we were, I never knew my best friend was dying. Her family didn’t. No one did.

      On that particular harmattan period, exactly three years since we’ve met, I walked into Dakore's room to find her lying, her body lifeless as her lips were pale white and body stone cold. I screamed as hard as I could and help came. Although it was all too late. How did Dakore die? Was this suicide? Was this a murder? Everyone had  swim loads of questions in their heads but no answer. An autopsy was carried out, Dakore has died of heart attack. She was hypertensive.

    Dakore? Hypertensive? I couldn’t believe my ears. The best hospital was where she and family received treatment. There were no symptoms. What could’ve gone wrong?

    We all wallowed in our tears and took cover in our badly broken hearts. We sought answers but we couldn’t find. Her parents couldn’t bear the pain of packing up her things from her hostel. They ordered the management to throw everything out. I ran to the hostel before such action could be taken. Going through our Polaroids, our pacts, our memories and many things that sprung tears from the depth of my eyes, I saw a well sealed envelope. It was an envelope of thousand shades of colours. I can remember Dakore's obsession with  Coats of many colours by Dolly Parton. I smiled, I never understood what interested her in that song. The envelope wasn’t addressed but I tore in anyways.

      “ With great joy did I put this down. How a little angel like me got hypertensive, we would never know. One thing I know is I lived a fulfilled life.”

P.S I’ve been aware of the condition since the day I met you, T.

     Anger surged through me and I was blinded by rays of different emotions. I couldn’t breathe. I would never understand why Dakore never shared this with me or anyone in fact. I felt alone, abandoned, useless, empty. Grasping the table knife we got in the little, almost bankrupt thrift shop across the corner, I slit my wrist and watch as blood dotted round the edges of the coloured envelope, adding it’s own dark shade and leaving the envelope in dark, clotted red. My favourite colour. I slip out of consciousness and looked forward to seeing Dakore's badly set teeth one last time. All I could see was pitch-black.

WRITER: Amonimo Ikeoluwa Stella