The scene of the attack was blood thirsty, painful and unforgiving. Screams of the innocent rang in the ears of Chimdi. Innocent blood stained the streets as Chimdi ran, trying not to be devour by the jaws of death. It was the attack of the corachals.
As Chimdi ran, he saw his life before his very eyes, traumatized by the thought of his parents lying dead on the streets in their attempt to escape. The corachals have been attacking them for the past one week.
He began to hear heavy feet running towards him, it would only belong to one person; one of the corochals. Chimdi got up and quickly ran. The images of the dark was blur, the dim light of fire barely lightens the streets. He ran into a half burned shop, he was really hungry.
Chimdi was stuck, he had three options, and he either had to die of hunger or go out or risked being killed by the blood- thirsty men of corochals. “What do I do” he thought. He had found himself in Mr. Baal’s shop. He had been killed refusing to give up his shop. The corpse of the dead man sent a shiver up Chimdi’s spine but the warmth of hope filled chimdi’s chest. Mr. Baal sold food, maybe he could find some.
As soon as the hope came, an arrow of doubt pierced through his heart. Those unforgiving men also stole food. Just in case any survivor remained, they will die of hunger. The only place he could find food again was his home.
Chimdi cautiously stepped out; he turned around quick enough to see a dark figure coming close and fast!  He began to run taking twist and turn. His heart raced but his legs felt weak. He stopped and looked around; the figure must have given up on him. In front of him stood the gate, his house gate.
He slowly opened the gate “Creak!” Before his very eyes his parents laid dead, he wept. He felt the pressure of the whole world was placed on him, waves of sadness rolled over him.  His eyes became wet with tears as he ran into his home. If he couldn’t live, he could at least live for the souls of his parents.
He entered in, his home was destroyed, and his eyes were filled with tears again. Their chair stained with blood, brought back a memory that could not be erased. His mum was shot twice on the couch, his dad, taking his mom in his arms, everything after that was blur. He went into the kitchen, his mom stove was destroyed, pots scattered across the floor. He reached into the tin nervously to wait for the inevitable, what was there would determine his life.
He found some biscuits and water, he drank and ate. Just as he heard footsteps entering his home, he stood up and took off.
He began to climb desperately off the fence, a carochal opened the back door, he took aim and shot. Chimdi landed on the other side of the fence, “Thud!” he knew this compound. He saw his best friend dead beside his sister. He could not take it anymore. He ran into his best friend’s room.
He opened the closet and heard a scream “AAh!” “Cool down Amanda, it’s just me,” said Chumdi. He was pleased he was not the only one alive. He crawled into the cupboard, closed it and waited for morning. He then looked up but didn’t see Amanda; he had forgotten she was dead, alongside her brother. It was just a fiction of his imagination. He shriveled up and cried himself to sleep.
The morning came and the carochals retreated. Chmdi stepped out and only then he realized the true damaged that was caused. His people may have been dead but be survived; it had been one memorable, sorrowful, dreadful and long night for Chimdi Ezechukwu.

Written by Shalom Ehigbor – Itohan. 


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