I didn't want to think. Hell, I didn't need to think. I could not think. I could only feel- The pain of a thousand stings, the unexplainable hurt of a kick in the balls- There's no one word that could have accurately described exactly what I felt at that moment. It was surreal yet realistic, an out-of-body experience in flesh and blood.
The tongues of ice on my skin burned hotter than the fires in my throat. My head spun faster than a Ferris wheel. My tongue curled in upon itself. The process that formed words and sent them from the brain to the mouth seemed to have been severely impaired.
My brain screamed in agony. I saw stars. Not the brilliant blue-white hard diamond glittering from the skies, but devilish green little monstrosities bearing evil grins in the oppressive darkness. The moon hung lank among them, but still managed to be haughty and cold.
My pulse quickened and threatened to tip the scales.
My oesophagus forgot it was supposed to send food down, and suddenly carved out a new niche for itself in sending bolus running up and out through my mouth.
Bile gushed from my mouth like the new fountains created after a refreshing rainfall. I finally was able to somehow muster the strength and look up. My eyes burned. I forced them against their newfound will to look at the person who'd began the process and set the ball rolling, the person who I'd handed the keys of my heart to, the person who'd seen fit to smash the padlocks guarding the heart and commit arson inside it. The person who'd just made certain I'd never have a living, loving heart ever again.
I looked down. I looked down at the reddish organ in my hand, at the chest of my lover that had been sliced open, at the rivulets of blood that flowed from the deep gash, at his lifeless eyes, at his lolling head, at the look of extreme surprise etched on his battered features.
We were gonna talk, you see, he and I. I just needed to place his heart against mine. For the intended heart-to-heart.
Nice one Okechi.
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