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I Brought Dante to A Gunfight By Uffort Saviour David

POSTED 03/07/2018 14:39:13
2825 Reads I Brought Dante to A Gunfight By Uffort Saviour David, short story on Tushstories
The rows of streetlamps shone dimly leaving the deserted road to the mercy of the enveloping darkness. The star-less sky and distant lighting gave signs of a later stormy downpour. The crickets and toads were found wanting, Mother Nature gave no sound except that of almost silent wind that constantly bounced off my hands free device.
My feet battled with the ground. I was moving as fast as I could yet it seemed I was in a moonwalk state, moving at an insignificant pace. Maybe it was the igbo working it's effect on me. Maybe it was the shots of “AK-47” that had marijuana leaves soaked in it. Exams were just a week away, “One last time before I tread the sleepless-nights of a road,” I said to myself as I took the first shot.
Mum had called earlier to relay the news of Luke's death. I still see his face when sleep. My pillow had consoled me. For days it took in all the salty water my eyes could give out. I suppose grief was my other reason for taking the intoxicating substances.
I took a bend into the usual shortcut. Same route a 7foot venomous creature zoomed right past me as if in a hunt or being pursued by another beast. My lamp, giving off its last energy. But I could see my feet, I could see the grasses bowing to the treading effect of my tipsy walk.
A dark figure marched towards me from behind. I paused to check if Dante made the trip with me. After the last two incidents, I needed a companion. I felt it’s protruding bulge.
He called out to me, I could tell from the slang he used that he was a looter. But I marched on, wittingly ignoring his shouts. I could hear his boots hitting the ground in a frenetic manner as he ran towards me, presumably angered at my reaction.
"Aboy, you no dey hear abi?" He barked as he reached for my broad shoulders, bringing me to a halt. I could smell the offensive stench of marijuana and alcohol that oozed from him. I uttered not a word in response.
"Aboy I say who goes you?" He let out again.
"Who dey ask?" I finally answered, bringing my right hand to caress Dante in my bag.
"Na Viking dey follow you yarn, who goes," he retorted, "wetin dey your bag?"
“Just text books.”
“Shhh, you dey joke with me ba? bring your bag and phone now now before my 'bomboy' go echo.”
Before I could say jack, a locally made weapon was staring at me. Second time this week someone had pointed a gun at me. I froze. Made no attempt whatsoever to give up my newly acquired pc and smartphone, not this time. I did nothing but stare into the dirty dark eyes of my assailant as he kept on ranting. I kept my right hand on the grip of Dante "just one mistake," I quietly prayed, "just one."
"Bros chill make we talk na, na we we oh," I tried to persuade him.
He wasn’t buying any of that, "you think say I dey play," he shouted as he brought his index finger to the trigger.
He squeezed the trigger but alas nothing came out of the weapon's bullet hole. We stood there staring at each other for about five seconds, confused. Before he could withdraw the weapon to run diagnosis on it, I released my Dante from it's sheath and buried the cold steel in his neck. He fell to the ground, blood gushing out from the opening the virgin blade made.
I towered over his body and curved a crooked smile. I watched my foeman as he battled with words in excruciating pain. I watched as he took his last agonising breaths, I enjoyed it. His eyes now wide open, gave a hollow stare, his struggling body fought no more. I retrieved Dante from his neck. Cleaned the steel off his body and slotted it in back to it's protective covering.
Lightning captured the scene. I felt the force of the strong winds on my face as the sky let down it's first drop on my forehead. I turned my back to the corpse and was about leaving the scene only to hear his husky voice.
Again I froze. I felt his cold hand once on my shoulder once more. I turned to face him. His eyes white and empty.
“You were fearless but today you meet your maker,” he said smirking. “never mess with a Viking.”
It echoed. The pistol came back to life. Leaving a ugly hole in my skull. The echo reverberated in my eardrums as my 75kg body hit the ground.
It was the last sound I heard.

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