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    WordSmithPraise | An African Literary Blog

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    Sunday, 24 December 2017

    The Bloody Suicide

    The-bloody-suicide-wordsmithpraise
    She pulled the knife from her chest and smiled.

    "Was that supposed to hurt?"

    I took a step back and stumbled on a stone. I winced as I landed hard on the ground. I stared at the knife in her hand, it was dripping with blood. My eyes widened as I realized the wound in her chest was already closing up. She fixed her black eyes on me and I tensed.

    "You know what they say, whatever does not kill me..." She paused and licked her lips with her forked tongue. "better run."

    I ran.

    I ran and ran until I could no longer hear her behind me. When I turned back, she wasn't there. I sighed and rested my back on a tree. My legs were aching me and my throat was parched.

    "I don't know why they say that." I heard her say above me.

    I jerked away from the tree and turned to run but she was already in front of me. I stumbled back and realized she had me trapped between her and the tree.

    "Running has never helped anyone. I always catch them, no matter how fast they run."

    I pressed my back into the tree, trying to get away from her. Everything from her completely black eyes, to her blood red lips and her dangerously enticing voice made me afraid.

    "But I guess it's a good advice. Whatever doesn't kill me, better run. You know why they say that?"

    She pinned me with a stare and I found myself shaking my head.

    "It's not because I kill, I hate getting my hands dirty." She smiled, exposing her razor sharp teeth. "It's because I make you do the job for me and I like it bloody."

    She held out the knife and I found myself reaching out for it. It was like I couldn't control my limbs. I tried to struggle but it was no use. I collected the knife and brought it towards my eyes.

    "Remember... it has to be bloody."

    The knife plunged down.

    ©Fekoya Jesutofunmi

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