I smoke dope by the pound, started since I was fifteen, this was the only way I could free myself from the tensions at home; the slapping, hitting, door slamming amidst the barks and yells of my parents on me or themselves. For five years I’ve been facing this, no other place to go, my parents don’t really care if I disappear, I really don’t care if I disappear because I’ve had it with life.
Anytime I face a major argument at home which happens on a daily basis I force myself to go to school (even if I hate school) then after lectures I go to the highest floor, sit on the railings and smoke my heart out living all worries behind and feeling high and free like a bird in the sky, then I come down eyes bloodshot and smelling like an incinerator but I feel more relaxed and stronger ready to face the challenges at home, then the cycle continues.
On this particular day, different it felt, my father came down for breakfast and yelled at me for not washing his car, I didn’t give excuses I said I was sorry. My mother came down smoking as usual, my father slapped the cigarette off her mouth, round hundred began, I left them, went to school, sat at the back amidst searching eyes, left after lectures and went to my spot. Here I smoked like never before, puffing smoke like a choo choo train then I felt myself lifted off the railings going down down, sinking deeper deeper into oblivion. I felt free as ever, I was really flying, actually flying then I heard a big thud and I slept.
I woke up finding myself in a white-turned-brown-with-age room, I stood up, felt a bit woozy then steady, I was dressed in white, I saw my clothes at the corner, took the white off and wore my regulars; blue top, black flared jeans and chucks. I left the building, didn’t care about where I was going. I could have sworn I walked for days, there were some days I’d stop and look at events around me; people punished unjustly, good people who can change the world easily die but there was one particular boy I couldn’t stop observing. He was a weeder like me but I noticed he was fighting it. Sometimes I’d see him in a church praying or talking to a priest and after the chat I’d see a glow on his face, he would look happier than when he was smoking. Due to this I promised to stop smoking because I’ve seen somewhere else I can go to ease my pain. I decided to rush back home.
When I got to my house, it was empty, even my neighbors weren’t at home. When I went to my friend’s house and heard from two girls that he went for a funeral I decided to go for the funeral.
When I got there, there were quite a number of people all dressed in black and it wasn’t easy spotting my friend but I noticed two couples close to the coffin. They were holding hands something my parents can never do although the woman looked familiar, then I spotted my friend close to the couples. I decided to see the person inside the coffin; the face so pale and gaunt, the body looked like stretched rubber but all the same he looked peaceful. After the burial I stayed a little longer and watched the people leave. The two couples stayed back still holding hands close to the tomb. When they left I went to see the name on the tombstone it read “Tunde Kodjo, 1988-2006” I laughed I told myself my parents can NEVER be peaceful together then I thought again, I touched my arms and legs, I could feel nothing; I was dead… and I hadn’t realized it!
Anytime I face a major argument at home which happens on a daily basis I force myself to go to school (even if I hate school) then after lectures I go to the highest floor, sit on the railings and smoke my heart out living all worries behind and feeling high and free like a bird in the sky, then I come down eyes bloodshot and smelling like an incinerator but I feel more relaxed and stronger ready to face the challenges at home, then the cycle continues.
On this particular day, different it felt, my father came down for breakfast and yelled at me for not washing his car, I didn’t give excuses I said I was sorry. My mother came down smoking as usual, my father slapped the cigarette off her mouth, round hundred began, I left them, went to school, sat at the back amidst searching eyes, left after lectures and went to my spot. Here I smoked like never before, puffing smoke like a choo choo train then I felt myself lifted off the railings going down down, sinking deeper deeper into oblivion. I felt free as ever, I was really flying, actually flying then I heard a big thud and I slept.
I woke up finding myself in a white-turned-brown-with-age room, I stood up, felt a bit woozy then steady, I was dressed in white, I saw my clothes at the corner, took the white off and wore my regulars; blue top, black flared jeans and chucks. I left the building, didn’t care about where I was going. I could have sworn I walked for days, there were some days I’d stop and look at events around me; people punished unjustly, good people who can change the world easily die but there was one particular boy I couldn’t stop observing. He was a weeder like me but I noticed he was fighting it. Sometimes I’d see him in a church praying or talking to a priest and after the chat I’d see a glow on his face, he would look happier than when he was smoking. Due to this I promised to stop smoking because I’ve seen somewhere else I can go to ease my pain. I decided to rush back home.
When I got to my house, it was empty, even my neighbors weren’t at home. When I went to my friend’s house and heard from two girls that he went for a funeral I decided to go for the funeral.
When I got there, there were quite a number of people all dressed in black and it wasn’t easy spotting my friend but I noticed two couples close to the coffin. They were holding hands something my parents can never do although the woman looked familiar, then I spotted my friend close to the couples. I decided to see the person inside the coffin; the face so pale and gaunt, the body looked like stretched rubber but all the same he looked peaceful. After the burial I stayed a little longer and watched the people leave. The two couples stayed back still holding hands close to the tomb. When they left I went to see the name on the tombstone it read “Tunde Kodjo, 1988-2006” I laughed I told myself my parents can NEVER be peaceful together then I thought again, I touched my arms and legs, I could feel nothing; I was dead… and I hadn’t realized it!
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