Poetic Fictions

Misdeed Of Sir Death

Oh, Death! Why? Why is it that when affection grows stronger, you remember to snatch away beloved ones? Why, Death? Why is it that notorious gangsters and corrupt people who, with pens or speeches rob and loot public funds, stay safe from your clutches? Why is it that only my darling satisfies your appetite? Why?

” I never wanted her to be infected with the odious disease of this world,” Sir Death replied. “She had laid a good example for others to emulate.”

Nevertheless, you should not have killed her in that ghastly road accident, you should have saved her somehow to spare me the agony of sorrowful bereavement. I continue to feel some impressions of her, the peacefulness, truthfulness, powerful composition of thought and wonderful patience, which bound our souls together. The terrible accident that occurred while she was returning from the distribution of our marriage invitation cards to numerous friends is painfully unforgettable. The ceremony would have been held today but for this pillage which is all too much for me, the only survivor. The taxi driver and my bride died instantly. Only the few words she uttered remained of her. “I wish to be a good example to deserters and divorcees, but I can’t make it,” she gasped out heavily in the face of death. “Many ladies would better their matrimony if only they remain patient and obedient. I’m happy you will be alive. Treat your new wife well.” This statement continued to re-echo in my mind.

She is indebted to my special dirge. I wish some parts of my flesh could be put in place to replace her mangled parts so that our dream becomes a reality. How can I ever forget her cards, letters and messages that continue to encourage me to have a successful life? She once warned me against bad friends who might put me in disrepute. “It’s better to have one great friend of value than many good-for-nothing friends,” she always told me.

She was a lady who didn’t crave crazily for monetary and material benefits from relationships, but cherished our being and distinct personality. I remember whenever I gave her brothers money, she was always concerned that such kinds of gratification are tempting which must be discouraged but that I could show my love and affection to her family through humility and good conducts.

To sum it up, she was a doctor to my sickness, an architect of my achievement, an engineer to my behaviour, a counsellor to my soul, and successfully extinguished the flame of my anger and loneliness. Whom do I have next?

I pray other women will emulate your memorable conduct. I will remember you forever. May you rest in perfect peace. Amen.

This literary fiction by Yushau A. Shuaib was originally published in Sunday Triumph January 20, 1991

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About the author

Yushau Shuaib