THEY EXIST TO TORMENT YOU. - by Oluwademilade Soyinka

You couldn't exactly state when your hate towards women would start. It could have started when you were aged eleven. You were a daddy's boy, devoted to your father. He was charismatic, vibrant, fun. So you enjoyed spending time with him.Subconsciously, you had decided that you would be like him [even with your small immature brain]. You would love what he loved,hate what he hated.Daddy beats Mommy up. He must hate her. You would do likewise. It could have been at your father's funeral, when you were just fifteen.You held Nnabueze, your seven year old brother, to your chest. Looking back,you aren't sure who the act was meant to console; him or you. You raise your teary eyes to the furthermost canopy. You spot Mother, Grandma and Aunty Nkolika, all crying- making quite an open display of it-and lamenting over how cardiac arrest could take such a good man from this cruel world.You watched it happen. Nnabueze was asleep. You heard his screams, begging for hospital treatment. But she did nothing. She stood there, staring at him, not saying anything. She would wait it out. Or it could've been when she sold you out to one man to do what he wished with you some months later. Only God knows the lie she told people afterwards.You remember using your side eye to notice the very visible worry lines on her forehead when she thought you weren't looking. She felt threatened, that someone besides her knew about the crooked circumstances surrounding her husband's death. She was evil, yes, no doubt, but your saving grace was the fact she was too chicken to directly kill someone. Seventeen years later. You have decided to lock yourself in your room. It was starting to do you somehow. These things in your house, they have started again. The last time, you lodged at a nearby hotel for three days to cool off. By the time you returned, they seemed to have stopped.Today marks the seventy third day since they restarted. You had gone to that hotel four more times. Some staff even know you now. But these things didn't stop. You see, they exist to torment you.You had come to realise that it was not only your father that would influence your choices. Your late mother also helped. You gathered inspiration from her. You looked out for petite, daintily built women. You preferred your women brown skinned, caramel toned to be precise. You would rate women with big luscious eyes and a bubbly personality. They would easily remind you of your mother. You met Safiya at a friend's party. It was an outdoor event, purposely done in a garden setting. You where absent mindedly touching a flower, when she spoke up. She said something sarcastic about humans, men especially, not respecting nature enough. Conversation quickly started.It lasted what? Six months? Too long, I know.I'm normally faster with these sort of things.She frequently vented about how the petunias she planted in my garden didn't bloom. Something about the manure not being natural enough. She would stare at them, weeding knives in hand, looking as if she were bearing the weight of the world's sins. You would look at her, then at the garden, then back at her. The weeding knives are at the back of the garden, ruined now. The petunias have bloomed in actual fact. She was right. The manure was not natural enough... Paula.You like to live a life of order. You believe you had your dos and don'ts. Paula checked every box but one. She was a plump woman. But something stood out. Something made you go for her.Her poker face.It resembled your mother's closely. Both of them had the devil-given ability to smile with their faces and deride with their eyes. When Paula smiled, you see the look in your late mother's eyes when your father laid helpless before her.Maybe that's why it took you just a week.You offer to take her to a restaurant. She said she was not the eat out type, preferring to cook her own dishes. She said she could come over and cook for your date. You begged her not to. She insisted. All things work together for good for those that love him, no? She was using the the paring knife to peel carrots when you snuck up on her.Nnabueze visited me the next day. You served him boiled rice and tomato stew. He first commented on the large quantity of meat in the stew, asking if you had been given a raise or something. You could only smile. And lie. There was the metal figurine you used to bash Erica till she died, the brown hand towel you used to suffocate Kehinde, there was Amara with the grinder... Now they've come for you. You hear their voices anytime you see these things. You avoid the garden. You avoid the fireplace. You are Chicken Republic's biggest ambassador, due to your paranoia of the kitchen. You avoid their taunts, their threats, their uncanny eerie laughing fits. Maybe one day, you would stop. Maybe your psychotic hunger would fizzle out. Maybe one day you would regret it[ like you are already beginning to]. Maybe one day you would change and start to lead a better life. Maybe- Your phone lights up. Olivia.It's a voice note. " Ermm.......Ike baby, I'm at your door right now......I tried the doorbell...don't think it's working sha. You said we needed to talk in person." Beat.You look at the golden statuette on your bed-side drawer. You hold it. You contemplate for a bit.It was your favourite one. Oh well. You'll just have to leave it out of your bedroom.You quietly walk down the stairs.

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