I opened my eyes, groggy and disoriented, as the insistent ringing of my alarm clock rudely yanked me from slumber.
"Let me just close my eyes for a few more minutes," I muttered to myself as I fumbled to stop the incessant beeping. The digital numbers on the clock mocked me, showing the ungodly hour of 6:37 a.m.
Under the cozy embrace of my bedsheets, I tried to steal a few more moments of rest, cocooning myself in the warmth of my covers.
Knock, knock. A voice called out from the other side of the door.
"Who's the unfortunate soul who dares to disturb my precious sleep at this ungodly hour?" I grumbled as I sprang up from my bed, my anger burning as fiercely as my need for more sleep. I yearned for the day when I could escape this wretched public housing and finally find the riches I craved.
With sluggish movements, I trudged to the door and flung it open. My eyes fell upon the familiar face of Josh, a comrade in the struggle of life, or more accurately, the guy who often shared his meals with me.
"What do you want?" I asked, rubbing my eyes to wake up.
"Remember, you said you had an interview this morning?" Josh inquired, casting a critical gaze up and down my disheveled appearance.
I nodded, recognizing the friend who had interrupted my precious sleep. "Yes, I do. It's at 8:00, so I was..."
"Were you or are you just waking up from sleep?" Josh interrupted, a teasing grin on his face.
I turned to look at the clock on my wall and gasped in disbelief. "What the hell!" I exclaimed.
Josh burst into laughter, his hearty guffaws filling the room. "You better go back to bed, my friend. It's 7:12 a.m., and you're just getting out of bed. You're playing a dangerous game with missing that interview."
As I rushed to grab my bucket and begin a frantic morning routine, I couldn't help but wonder if my alarm clock had betrayed me, or if I had inadvertently overslept. The interview suddenly felt like a distant goal, slipping further out of reach with every passing minute.
"Oh my gosh, I'm gonna be late!" I exclaimed as panic coursed through me. In a frantic rush, I grabbed my water-filled bucket and dashed towards the bathroom, only to be confronted by a long line of my neighbors, all patiently waiting their turn to take their baths.
"My village people are at work," I muttered to myself, frustration mounting as I paced impatiently in the seemingly endless queue.
An idea struck me like a bolt of lightning, and I thought, "What if I go and take my bath in my backyard?" With newfound determination, I snatched up my bucket, hastily retreated to my room, and carefully maneuvered my way to the backyard through the window, hoping to avoid drawing any attention.
With stealth, I poured water slowly on my body to prevent any loud splashes. To spare you the mundane details of my hasty bath, let me seize this opportunity to introduce myself. I'm Jay Kalu, hailing from Abia state in Nigeria. I completed my secondary school at the age of 16, a testament to my early start in education. Now, I live on my own and hustle tirelessly to earn money to support my family.
With an unusual sense of urgency and alertness, I wrapped up my bath. The speed at which I brushed my teeth and got dressed remains a mystery even to me. All I can say is that I was dressed and out of my room in record time, sprinting out like a madman.
"Jay, it's 7:39!" Josh called out as I sprinted past him, his voice a reminder of the ever-ticking clock.
"He's acting like he's my timekeeper," I grumbled under my breath, irritation simmering as I continued my mad dash.
"Taxi, taxi, Oyigbo roundabout!" I screamed as I reached the main road. My pleas were aimed at any incoming vehicle, as desperation mounted within me. "Oh God, my village people are surely at work," I thought, the fear of being late for my appointment gnawing at my insides.
**********
It had been nine long months since all these tragic events unfolded, I thought as tears welled up and streamed down my cheeks.
**Flashback to 9 months ago**
My father lay gravely ill in his room, high up on the 6th floor of our opulent 7-story mansion. His voice was weak, but his words were laden with a sense of urgency.
"Listen to me carefully, Lisa. These may be my last words," my father uttered, his voice breaking as he coughed at intervals.
"No, Dad, they can't be your last words," I sobbed, my face buried beside his bed.
He continued his words like fragile whispers. "Lisa, there's a document I've hidden beneath my favorite chair in the attic."
Tears streamed down my face as I nodded, clinging to every word.
"I wasn't able to draft my will, but those documents will grant you some control over my properties. The person who possesses them will control my assets," he explained, coughing and wincing in pain.
"Daddy, you can't leave me now. I'm just a young girl. I can't manage your legacy and the company on my own," I lamented, my voice filled with sorrow.
My father tried to speak again when a sudden loud thud from outside the room abruptly cut him off. Fear surged through me.
"Who's there?" I called out, wiping away my tears, but received no response. I steeled myself to investigate the source of the disturbance.
"Lisa!" my father urgently called, reaching out with trembling hands. "Retrieve the document before anyone else."
I nodded, committed to fulfilling his wishes, as I left him and went to check what had caused the noise. I opened the door to find a gun pointed at me, and my heart raced with shock and fear.
"Lisa!" my uncle Charles said, his voice filled with an unsettling coldness, still pointing the gun at me.
"Uncle Charles," I uttered in disbelief.
"Seize her," he commanded the muscular men standing behind him.
I desperately attempted to flee and screamed for help, but the men overpowered me, muffling my cries by covering my mouth with their strong hands.
"Charles, please don't harm my daughter," my father pleaded, struggling to breathe.
"Oh, Brother, don't fret about that. It's you I want, and you know it," my uncle retorted, approaching my father's bedside.
I tried to mumble words through my sealed mouth, but I couldn't break free from their grip.
"Don't bother yourself," my uncle gloated, a sinister grin on his face. "I've heard everything, and some of my men are already on their way to the attic as we speak."
Those words triggered something in my mind, and a surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. With a sudden burst of strength, I bit the guard's hand, which had been covering my mouth, and used my foot to strike him, causing him to release his grip on me.
I screamed and made a frantic attempt to escape, but the other guards swiftly closed in on me, preventing me from reaching the safety of the door.
"Don't let her escape, or else it will be your heads on the line," Uncle Charles warned them, his voice dripping with menace.
"Sir, here are the documents," one of the men reported as he entered the room, clutching the documents my father had mentioned.
"Excellent," Uncle Charles said, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Well, Brother, it seems I have no use for you now, so let me end your suffering."
With that, he reached for a pillow and advanced toward my bedridden father.
"No, Uncle Charles, please don't do this!" I screamed, my voice filled with desperation, but he paid no heed. With cold determination, he placed the pillow over my father's frail form and pressed it down, gradually suffocating him. My father struggled weakly, his legs trembling as he gasped for air.
"No! No!" I screamed, thrashing and kicking in a futile attempt to free myself. Then, my father ceased shaking, and his body grew still.
My uncle removed the pillow, revealing my father's lifeless form lying on the bed.
"The police will investigate, and they'll arrest you!" I managed to say between sobs, the tears blurring my vision.
Uncle Charles chuckled callously. "I don't think so. Imagine this headline on the news: 'Popular billionaire dies in his room, and his daughter, upon discovering her father's death, commits suicide by jumping off the 6th floor of a seven-story mansion.'"
"Oh my god, you're evil!" I exclaimed, my voice quivering with fear and rage.
"Throw her out of the window," Uncle Charles ordered his henchmen.
"Please, I'm so sorry," I begged, my cries and pleas falling on deaf ears as I struggled against their overpowering grip.
They dragged me toward the window. Desperately, I tried to grasp onto anything within reach, but there was nothing. The moment arrived, and they pushed me out of the window of a 10th floor. I plummeted with frightening speed, my life flashing before my eyes.
"I won't rest until you pay for everything you've done to me, Uncle," I cursed as I fell toward the ground with a bone-chilling force and met my end.
**********
I opened my eyes to a surreal scene, with a crowd of people gathered around me, including my uncle and his henchmen. Their faces were etched with grief, and tears flowed freely.
"Lisa, why would you do this? You were like a daughter to me, and now you've taken your own life after your father's death," my uncle lamented, his voice heavy with sorrow.
Suddenly, I stood up, disoriented and bewildered by the turn of events.
"Liar!" I shouted. "He's lying! He threw me out of the window!" I desperately explained to the people surrounding me.
"Why isn't anyone listening?" I yelled, running toward my uncle with the intention of confronting him. But to my shock, I passed through him, as if he were an apparition, and crashed to the ground.
I stood up and looked down at my own lifeless body lying on the ground. A sense of surreal realization washed over me.
"Is that me?" I muttered, stunned by the sight before me.