Pristine by Emem Bassey

Author:Emem Bassey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, fantasy romance, black author, indie authors, african authors, nigerian author, nigerian books
Publisher: Love Africa Press

Chapter Fifteen

Okoi woke up disoriented.

His eyelids were so heavy, they kept drooping despite his efforts to lift them. He blinked while his eyeballs rolled listless in his head.

He must have slept, because when he tried opening his eyes again, everything seemed so bright, he had to squint to get all the sharp colours into focus.

He was in a forest.

Shutting his eyes again, he mentally catalogued his physical being. His arms were bound to his body, but his neck wasn’t, because he could breathe and turn freely. A vague memory of a nightmare gave him the feeling it shouldn’t have been so. Even his legs were untied and right now buried in cold water—he had no idea why part of his body was in water.

His mind kept flashing snatches of images, some horrific and some quite calming.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to understand why he felt, literally, well. The last he could recall, he’d been through harrowing experiences in the forest. There was no feeling to aptly compare or to succinctly explain how he currently felt. Like he’d been soaked in hot water, washed thoroughly, and rinsed in cold water; a similar treatment usually given to the white man’s bedspread back at the plantation.

Comparing himself to a washed bedspread might not be reasonable, because how could a human being be laundered? But it didn’t stop him from feeling clean, brand new, and invigorated. He was filled with strength and ready to take on anything as opposed to the last time…

And suddenly, the entire sordid experience came pouring into his consciousness. After getting captured by the tribe of cannibals, he’d not been instantly roasted like the other dead men but had been tied up and hung over a hearth in readiness.

Okoi moaned in terror as he recalled the heat of the fire, the suffocating blanket of the billowing smoke, and the hopelessness of surviving that particular trial. He must’ve died and transcended to the world beyond. Probably why the colours were so bright and sharp, hurting his eyes.

He must’ve been on the way to the world beyond when he recalled a vague memory of floating on water with a very beautiful woman hovering over him. Okoi took another deep breath and tried to recall the face of the woman—she had skin like the white man, curly hair, and she had smelled like fruits.

The vague image made him think of the heaven the missionaries had spoken about. Maybe he’d been taken into the sky, but he could distinctively recall floating on a raft with a woman over him. He was glad he was dead and finally at peace, and he sincerely hoped the woman in his memory was his angel. After all, the white man had spoken of beautiful, ethereal beings allotted by God to guide and guard mere humans like him, especially dead humans. But if he was dead, why was he still bound? Did they fear he was a volatile spirit as he had died violently?

As he inhaled the flowery scent in the air, which reminded him of his vague angel, the worrying thoughts drifted away.

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