Love and Romance StoriesNaija Stories

The Love I Sought

The environment was in disarray as cries and screams toppled each other. Some people ran helter skelter with no destination in mind. Hands could be seen on heads while some were akimbo. It was promising at first but now gloomy.

The day was innocent but it has now turned bloody. The bodies lay lifelessly as people wondered what could have caused the crises.

It all began on the ninth of September with an innocent phone call.

“Hello Cynthia,” a sound like a whisper rolled out from the caller’s end.

“Hey Frank,” a voluptuous lady with large eyes, long curly hairs, straight nose and elegance, replied from her end.

She had always loved him even though the handwriting on the wall told her to run away. She twirled, sat up from her sofa, injecting some volume to her voice.

“Frankie love, you sound worried. What is the problem? Tell me please,” she inquired with a persuasive but subtle voice.

“Baby,” he began; he always had her mumu button. How romantic he could sound whenever he wanted something important. “Come over to Hissop Hospital, we need to talk.” He ended the call before she could say a word.

She became restless, her heart thumped loudly as she prepared to move.

Minutes later, she walked into a pink building with ghostly white interior. The smell of disinfectant was heavy in the air as she sat at the edge of the blue-coloured bed.

Her eyes pictured a pale-faced Frank whose robust body had become lean; his eyes, two still pools of black ink in their sockets; his hair losing its vigor. Her countenance had a metamorphic effect as she broke in tears. “Frank? What’s the matter?”

“Hmmm…” Frank said as tears cascaded down his cheeks. “I have been diagnosed of kidney malfunction, in fact I have less than fifteen days to live, unless I get a transplant.” He paused to gather his emotions, and with the softest of voices made his intentions known. “Baby please, I called you because I know you can help my situation. You wouldn’t want me dead honey. Do this for me please.”

“Do what for you?” she asked feigning ignorance.

“Be my donor, please.”

“All right, ” she said.

She wiped his tears and smiled. Inwardly she felt and believed the sacrifice she was about to make would buy his heart.

She alerted the doctor and became his donor. The transplant was successful although there was a little complication. Actually she slept well over a hundred and twenty days on her hospital bed.

She woke up, and to her surprise, saw a gold card lying on her bed. On opening it, horror was written all over her face. She tapped herself to be sure that her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

“He had the guts to drop this here even with my condition?” she queried the nurse beside her.

The cats was an invitation from Frank to his wedding meant to hold in fourteen days. She stared at the card as tears flowed like water from a dam. The fire of betrayal engulfed her being. She felt cheated, relegated, deprived, swindled and maltreated.

The ‘sweet life’ of four months had turned sour and bitter.

Three days later, she was home, drinking as depression had settled in. All she felt was misery, her life’s vision was bleak. She wished for death. To bring herself to the terms that Frank, her prince charming, had gilted her after all her sacrifice was also a problem.

She took a breath. “There’s always a choice,” she said, “to be the victim or the victor.” Her voice was muffled as she gulped the remaining liquor in her glass.

An idea echoed into her drunken soul, it sounded irresistible. She pounced on it with a sense of pride. Her mind seemed at ease, for karma they say is a bitch.

On the day of his wedding, Cynthia dressed up like a bride would, walked into the hall and sat, waiting. Just when the presiding priest uttered the sentence: “Anyone who has anything against this union should speak up now, otherwise remain silent forever,” she stood, walked briskly to the altar.

On sighting her, Frank froze, like an electrocuted being he stood, thousands of thoughts coursing through his mind. Anxiety slithered down his spine through every bone, nerve and muscle. The bride quaked as they waited anxiously to hear her.

The microphone was handed to her and she said, “Congratulations, Frankie love.” No iota of emotion was on her face. She returned the microphone and made to leave. Frank knew something was not right, his bride heaved a sigh but in a flash, Cynthia made a 180° degree turn and she dipped her hand into her bag and pulled a pistol.

The whole place went mute like a cemetery. “Meet you in hell, Frank.”
She fired two bullets into his chest.
With Frank down and out, she shot the bride, showing no remorse for her actions. She faced the audience who had their mouths agape.

“Join us in hell, where I’ll be officiating the wedding.”

She laughed hard and loud. And let a bullet fly into her skull.

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