MY PEN SPEAKS

Episode 2

          Always late, always. Half because her nights were always restive, and half because the lateness reminded her of the old world in some quaint, picturesque manner. A time where life was more animated. Mondays were considered hectic and there was such a concept as weekends. Then came the revolution and each day blended into one extensive greyness.

          It was a bit as predicted. For the one, they were right that the government would fail, chaos would come and we would all return to our basest natures. However what they could not see coming, or rather, what they refused to see coming, was that we would go back to the old ways.

          As she stepped out of the house the sight she met caused her heart to quitch. It was the same sight she had met everyday for the last five years, but still, still her heart trembled like it was only yesterday. They never moved the debris, never shifted the bones, barely ever spoke of the past. They lived in a decaying wasteland and they let it stay that way.

          She hurried, as always, past all the decay. For a member of the High Council, she sure clung a little too much to the past, a quality she feared, was precisely why she was on it.

          Somewhat naturally, Benin City, had fallen into castes after the revolution. The High Council were chosen by the Shamans to oversee the order of the society. The Shamans themselves, witch doctors as they were called in the old age, had acceded to become Spiritual Leaders. The cult which controlled basically everything else. Their ruthlessness was second only to their secretiveness, each swore a death oath to keep shaman secrets within their families. They were a necessary evil, they gave everyone something of sorts to believe in, occasionally coming with some message of hope and whatnot from the gods. Freedom of Religion was less of a right and belief in the gods had become more of a law-required obligation. Then there were the workers, divided into specialties, the citizens, the soldiers and other small groups that made up the members of the six fenced districts of their dystopian City. The word made her chuckle as she pondered on what had become of their society. Dystopian didn't quite cover it.

          Something had been happening. She'd wondered how long the peace would last, and it seemed it was coming to an end. Fast. People had been disappearing. Some from the Sapele District and most recently from the Uselu District. Workers had become uneasy and those of the farming specialty were less willing to go beyond the district walls where the farms were. Food supply was beginning to dwindle. She could foresee the meeting today, Scott would request deploying soldiers to each district, further inspiring unrest and increasing the very fear they were trying to mitigate. She hoped she could find a way to convince them otherwise and bring up an alternative. None presented itself at the moment. 

Victory Okoyomoh, pen name - Victory Wrights is an Optometry Student at the University of Benin. A writer,  both prose and poetry, his works have been published in some anthologies and other websites.  He also run an instagram poetry account - @victory_wrights

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