"I was born and raised in the streets," Zack had once intimated. He looked at the pieces of jewelry on each of his fingers and felt macho. He'd come a long way to quit what he'd often call a necessary habit that 'stemmed from the core of his system.' The muggings had endeared in him a heart full of ruthlessness. Now, staring at the small metal with a barrel beside him, he nodded in great affirmation. There was this outpouring sensation that Zack felt whenever he looked at it. It was something that he could not describe.
"I am not going to live long," he murmured to himself. He'd seen people die and was well aware that his time was also ticking. Crime, much as it paid, dug deep. It took away innocence, then with the thirst of a man who was parched, would come back and take a limb or two. Then it would incapacitate and within no time, stop the heart from beating. Zack thought about this as he stroked his gun as if caressing a woman. He'd thought about killing his wife now that he knew that he wasn't going to live long. Crime had indoctrinated this belief in him that if he was to go down, then he wasn't going to do it alone. His possessiveness could not wrap his head around the fact that he'd be gone, and someone else would marry her. "If we die, then we die together," Zack uttered while picking up the gun and passing it over his tongue sensually. He was either going to do it then, or he'd never be able to.
Apart from the indignity of having to jump over smelly human waste, Mathare slums was pretty cool. Kids played joyfully and with a reckless abandon. The bad smell and sorry surroundings had not stopped them from making heaven in hell. Every time Zack would move out to walk in the hood, his mouth would automatically draw out cuss words. He hated it. He hated the fact that people who wielded power to help had chosen to be indifferent to the pretty souls. Often, when he'd come from his escapades of using brute force, he'd pause and make his eyes survey the expansive Mathare slums. It amused him just how many families had to make do with the terrible living conditions. For him, his escapades stemmed from the point of vengeance and not a necessity. The sight of the slums always gave him an irresistible urge to mug. Despite this, the love in the ghetto was still palpable. It must have been the joy of living a life with pretty much nothing to lose. Poverty had already taken away their dignity, so there wasn't much to be lost anyway.
He put his gun down and buried himself in thought. He thought about the time he had been on a mission with his friend in Buruburu. Just when they were about complete their mission, they had been ambushed, and his friend had ended up being shot dead. He'd escaped unhurt, but the events of that day still bothered him. It was the first time that he'd developed cold feet. He had not thought much about death until that time. Now he dreaded it. That incident had been a reminder to him that his time was drawing closer. He shook his head as if in disagreement as he pulled away from his musing. Then he picked up the gun, uncovered the muzzle, and cocked it.
With his wife sleeping next to their newborn, he planned to extend her sleep to eternity. After all, his wife had been a good person, so the chances were that she'd end up having a blissful afterlife. The only thing he'd not decided was whether he'd kill their newborn as well. His firstborn child who'd brought so much joy to him. Even though it could barely talk, Zack felt that they had a connection. Every time he'd hold him, the kid would somehow end up smiling. The smile had been their love language.
With the cocked gun, he stood and with slow steps, began heading towards their bedroom. They were calculated steps. Zack had done it many times when they'd break into a premise to steal. But those steps were different- they were the steps of death. He stopped when he got to the bedroom door. Then he passed his left hand across his face before sighing. He held his breath for close to ten seconds, and then breathed out in relief. He needed to summon the courage to do the unthinkable.
While standing at the bedroom door, a light flashed before his eyes. It was the ghost of his friend. The friend who had died during the ambush. He'd appeared a few times before. He did appear during strange times like when he was emptying his bowels. Sometimes he would appear when he was just about to eat, looking dazed and utterly knackered. He'd scare him every time he appeared because he'd not found a formula yet of appeasing him. Maybe the only appeasing that would have done him a load of good was a re-union with him after he'd also bit the bullet.
The image that was flashing before Zack's eyes at the bedroom door was that of his friend with a bullet full of blood crumpled on his hand. He couldn't decode what that meant, but it was like his friend was trying to stand in the way of him shooting his wife. "What the hell do you want from me, Zilla?" Zack posed to the ghost. They had been great friends, but it was beginning to get on his nerves that his good friend was tormenting him. "Leave me the hell alone," he'd told it. And then in seconds, it was gone. He'd found the trick. Banish the ghost with affirmative wordings, and it'd be gone in a flash, just as fast as it had appeared.
He leaned over the bedroom door, supporting himself using his left arm. Then he remembered the many times his mother had tried to talk him out of crime. He recalled the pain in her eyes when he'd try to charm him with religious verbosity. All her attempts had failed. He knew that he'd caused his mother great pain, but according to Zack, he was only doing it because it 'stemmed from the core of his system.' He'd dropped out of school because he couldn't buy the idea of being tested. "I cannot be tested," he'd claimed before storming out of Jerry Primary School never to return. He couldn't help but think that were it not for the prayers of his mother, he'd have died when police officers had laid the ambush. And it did hurt him whenever he thought about it because it would have denied him the opportunity to take his wife along with him. Now he was not going to let that opportunity slip.
He took a deep breath as he twitched the handle to the bedroom door.