Must Read - A story by Obinna Uzoije about the fallen heads in Absu

The last tomorrow (The High Costs of Low Standards)

He didn't tell you he went to that school, Abia State University? He wasn't a boy to boast was he? I mean the school where heads roll no?

ESPN on the screen, beer in the fridge, Mom and sister at the shop surfing customers for mini transactions, maybe I was there at times but it was just my body. My spirit wasn't willing. Dad at work. I was the seeming epicentre of the whole bustles and hustles, external and internal grind plus my Mom may not have another me.
I didn't see reasons in these pockets of those sweats.
I had an increased rate of heart beat when I saw shoes, especially those with a lot of colour. My mouth watered in thought of skinny trousers that spell vogue fluently and big shirts that held cold water starch like the gates of hell hold sinners. As far as it looked costly and flashy and it didn't make me ashamed, it was chic.
My acceptance fees were sent to his account, so my Dad kept calling him to make sure he wasn't one of those hoodlums that can do away with it without fret.
So I entered a bus to this institution where it rained pretty girls that have very upright mammary glands and the flesh covering their ischia, ever wobbly. They put a lot of brown dust on their faces like they came from deserts and they constantly made erotic geticulations in photos, you'll think they had no anus to poo. This was my first attraction, my Mom's everyday sermon and mantra about my virginity was fallacy when placed beside the perfume of one of these girls.
I took a cigarette, lighted and smoked with some of these friends and he saw me. I did this because I was trying to be creative. These girls pallid with hard core boys, boys that had tattoos and robust torso. Their lips are often dark because they smoked these things and got the girls easily. They had a lot of money too, I never knew how.
He ran and told her and some of his friends. They called me to other, rightly dividing the word of truth. I fell on my face and cried, swearing that I'll change. They left telling me that change wasn't a promise, it is a reality.
The church she went to tried to domesticate me too. There was something in me that wouldn't just listen. That thing was me. Even me. I had this attachment to where I would see all the power, authority and do anything I needed to get done.
My seniors in high school didn't say a word to me when I hauled abuses at them because I now belong. But I never tried to figure it out. Why didn't they just want this things that I needed? Why did they focus on assignments like they were God-given, glorify exams and carry books around like zombies? Why did they enjoy church activities? I knew some of them, they were rich at home, why were they humble in school?

I didn't see reasons with all these rubbish morals.

I dropped those books. Dropped that church. Dropped where I come from, Mom, Dad, and Her. I picked up that knife, that weed, that rifle, that name. I never wondered why I was fighting. It wasn't for my village, or for my church or better still, for my Mother. It was just for something. That thing was not a thing. It was nothing. It didn't exist on earth, in heaven or in hell.

I didn't still see reasons with these.

But it took a lot of things from me. It removed my childhood dreams, my teenage dreams too. I wasn't even an adult. It took that too. It took my name and gave me shame. It showed me my life in a flash, when the battle swords weren't silent anymore, it sounded on the flesh housing my odontoid process. It took sonship from me.

A child is born, but a Son is given. A son is an authority. Those who are led by the spirit are given the power to be called the Sons of God.

Okay I forgot to mention this. It took my head too. I'm just like that student in the photo that looks super flashy but without a damn head. I didn't become like that the day it was cut off, I became like that the day I stopped listening.

Learn from me not to be like me.

Night unto night teacheth wisdom.
Day unto day uttereth speech.

PS: Any resemblance to actual headless student is totally coincidental.

obinna is the chief Editor of vision magazine