On a very sunny Wednesday morning after you received yet another rejection mail, you sit at your makeshift home office staring at your outdated MacBook screen.
We regret to inform you that…
The words fade off as tears cloud your eyes. You weren’t crying because even a start up company which was short-staffed wouldn’t accept you, you were crying because this was it. The last application you would ever write and the last rejection you would ever receive, except maybe death wouldn’t accept you either. This wouldn’t surprise you, if your own mother could leave you wrapped in old wrappers at a road junction then anything could reject you.
“Focus on the positive. What if it does work out” Nkemdili had said to you as she rubbed her belly.
Nkemdili was everything life had not been to you, she was sweet; patient; optimistic and kind. She hugged you when it was unnecessary and when it was necessary, like when your birth father asked you to never call this line again; when Simi told you her parents had found her an oyinbo husband who you later found out was Lebanese.
“That one follow for Oyinbo?” Nkemdili had snorted as she placed a bowl of goat meat pepper soup-your comfort food-before you.
You laughed. That was the first time you had done so in two weeks. Nkemdili was home. Physically and mentally.
No matter how much positivity was poured into you, your reality never supported it. There was always a sinking ship in your life, You could only see yourself as damaged and unwanted. So you make a decision, a difficult well thought out decision. To kill yourself. It was the only thing left to do, you had groveled and scrapped trying to create something beautiful from your story but it never worked. Satan or whatever negative force out there was working overtime on your matter.
You wipe the tears from your cheek and look at the bottle of Sniper on your dresser, you had considered a bunch of pills but its instant fatality was unsure. Sniper anyhow always got the job done, at least from the articles you had read. A girl drinks Sniper and she’s gone, instantly. You didn’t want any mistakes, of all things you would be insurmountably foolish to fuck up your own death. You return to the now cold pepper soup next to your computer, it was the last bowl Nkemdili had stockpiled in your freezer before she left for Chicago. She had said she was giving her baby the greatest gift- an American Citizenship. While chewing the last piece of goat meat, you grab the bottle of Sniper.
You never see Nkemdili’s baby, you never play the role of Godfather to a motherless child. All you do know is that given the option you would never drink a bottle of Sniper again.