He sat on the floor, not bothered by the foul smell in the dirty cell. He was presently locked up in Jos and he could hear men shouting “yallah!”, coming towards him. Soldier ants hurried quickly behind him, marching to their own beat; their own mission. They too, were forgotten.
He was lost in reverie. He grinned as he remembered that first time. He moved his thighs to adjust his position on the floor. His thoughts had conjured pleasant memories. He licked his lips as he remembered how good it had been. It hadn’t been so at first. He had been terrified of what was to happen if he was caught, but he had stood his ground. It was a yearning quite incomprehensible. He couldn’t explain it. It was like an innate urge to proceed. It seemed that day had been marked out just for him. It was meant to be, there was no stopping it. He also remembered how hot it had been. He remembered that he could no longer bear the heat and that was why he had decided to go to the stream. He took mangos along and planned to eat them under the Iroko tree after his swim. However, that never happened. He never made it that far.
That first time had beckoned. With no planning or calculation on his part everything had fallen right into place. Yes, it was fate, no doubt.
Sweat dripped down his shoulders now as he was transported back to that little town in Ogun State. He remembered the dread he had first felt but soon enough it dissipated and his adrenaline burst through. He was hyped for the mission. He didn’t know the boy’s name but he had seen him often at the stream collecting water for his family. He had wondered why such a young boy wasn’t accompanied and why any sensible mother would leave her youngster to fend for himself. ‘She wasn’t aware of him’ he had thought. ‘Well, she would be now’ he had laughed. In fact, the whole town would hear of his work. They would never forget.
He remembered how years after the occurrence he had read in a psychology textbook that most psychopaths started by killing little animals when they were younger. Well they were wrong. They clearly hadn’t heard of him and probably wouldn’t. He was one of a kind – a good player; his first time hadn’t been meagre.
He remembered approaching the young boy who must have been about six or seven years younger than he was at the time. He had first asked the boy if he wanted a mango and as soon as the boy had stretched his hands to collect it, he grabbed his arm tight and plunged his head deep into the stream. The boy hadn’t even had the chance to scream. He had thrashed in vain but there was no point.
He was bound to die.
It had been his first kill, only the beginning.
The prisoner had an erection just thinking about it.
