THEME: KNOCK YOURSELF OUT
TITLE: The owl Reaper
Written by Nisah Ngomane
Time flies when it is moving towards your demise. That was the case for me. I should’ve figured out the details of my fate when Gogo was telling us the story that night. When she told us the terrifying story of the owl, I should have known that she was condemning me. I was the sacrificial lamb she was handing over to death.
I should’ve known but even if I did, what difference would it had made? What difference would it have made if her voice was less eerie? Would I not die if her laughter wasn’t crackling with the fire? All these thoughts are just spilled milk and crying over it won’t make a difference. Maybe she didn’t damn me, maybe she was just warning me of what was yet to come.
I don’t remember the story at all, my sister can’t either. It’s weird because I remember all of Gogo’s stories, even the boring ones. All I remember are these words, ‘The owl calls your name when it’s your time to die’. What’s weird is that my sister’s memory seemed to be more blank than mine.
All I remember are the cries of the owl. It’s as if it was in my room but I could not see it. Before I knew it, I was on the phone with my frantic mother on the other side of the call. I was hysteric and not making enough sense for her to be calm too.
“Mom! I want to come back home,” I exclaimed.
“Why, what’s wrong?” I couldn’t care enough for her panicking.
I felt a cold hand on my shoulder, and I dropped the phone.
“Why are you so jumpy?” Zinzile asked me.
“Why are you creeping up on me?!” I bit her head off and I still don’t regret it.
“Why are you crying?” I hated her pitiful eyes. They annoyed me even further.
“I heard the owl call my name,” I simply said.
There was silence in the room, but her laughter pierced it and it popped like a balloon. My balloon. I cried in disbelief. No, it wasn’t disbelief; it was anger. It was rage. I just didn’t know who to be angry at, so I decided to project it to the only other animate thing in my room other than myself.
“I’m glad you think this is funny. Of course, when I die, you get to be the only child!”
“What are you talking about?” It was clear that she was trying very hard not to laugh.
“I heard the owl.” I rubbed my itchy eyes.
“I heard it too but…” she let out a snicker and I grabbed her aggressively before she could finish her sentence.
“You did? What did it say?” I was shaking her body vigorously.
“It didn’t say anything, it was just its usual hooting.” She looked at me as if I was crazy.
“I’m not crazy, I know what I heard.” I must admit I was starting to doubt myself.
“What exactly did you hear?” I knew she was mocking me, but I thought I would find comfort in telling her.
I turned away from her so I wouldn’t cry if she laughed at me again.
“It would call out my name a few time and then it would tell me that I will die here, so I have to leave.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in superstitions.” There wasn’t any hint of humour in her voice. I was almost tempted to turn around and embrace her.
“I guess I’m Thomas, then. To see is to believe,” I said in a low voice.
“Not that I believe any of this, but wouldn’t death find you wherever you are if it’s truly your time to go? It’s not a physical force you know.”
I found myself wishing for her condescending laughter. What she said hit home way too hard and I was now feeling hopeless.
“I’m leaving. I won’t just give in. I’ll give death a run for its money. We’ll have a death race…” my voice failed me and I staggered to the floor. She came to my aid but I refused her help. I shooed her away.
I ran away from Gogo’s house in the dead of night. The owl came again. It twisted its neck slowly to look at me. I saw despair in its eyes but I kept on. I figured It was coaxing me into giving in, but I wasn’t going to let it win that easily.
I snuck into the school through the hole in the fence that we used to sneak out during lunch time. I set my alarm for 4am and I got some rest. I woke up before the alarm went off and freshened up in the bathrooms. I made my way to my mother after that.
I used the money I stole from my grandmother as a taxi fee to the big city. A city I had never been to by myself. Zinzile always knew what to do and where to go and without her guidance I was clueless. The owl was frustrating me, even in the heat of the day. It must’ve been witchcraft.
The hustle and bustle was too much for me. The heat, the owl – it was all too much. The many voices were driving me mad. Then I saw the owl with its majestic wings and immobile eyes lurching towards me. I ran as fast as I could, but it was as if I was running in a dream. My legs couldn’t carry me and the only thing I remember was the collision.
I woke up in a hospital bed all bandaged like a mummy.
“Thank goodness, you’re finally awake,” the nurse smiled at me with so much relief.
I returned the smile whilst wincing.
“We were so stressed we couldn’t find your relatives,” she explained to me and the relief never left her.
“Please call my mother,” I said. My voice was hoarse.
I gave them my mother’s details and it took forever for her to reach me.
When she arrived she was with my sister and my grandmother. I was so annoyed with her; I refused to speak with her. The doctor came in with the nurse and he looked so desolate. Of course, the death note. Couldn’t they let me have a little bit peace of mind before throwing me into a tornado again.
“I’m glad that we’re all here, this is the entire family right?”
Everyone nodded except for me.
“Just say it,” I told him as soon as I saw his pitiful eyes. I had not fully accepted my fate but it was whatever.
“We…” he took a deep breath, “You have a brain tumor….” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
My sister and my mother froze. My grandmother walked over to my bedside to comfort me. I had never felt such ease as she held my hand. I had never felt so calm. I wished that she was the reaper so she would pass me over to the other side with ease and not pain. She knew, she always did. I sobbed as I silently apologized for blaming her but a part of me still did.
If she knew all along, why didn’t she try to save me. She felt my animosity and she moved away.
“No! don’t leave!” I swear my voice was loud enough to destroy my vocal cords but she seemed to not hear me. Then it hit me, I was trapped in my mind. My voice was only loud for me. It was trapped and echoing deep in the caves of my lungs. I was dead and she was here to finish me off.
A week later my sister came to visit me. Her remorse didn’t move me at all.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“What’s that going to do, save my life?” my tongue was as slimy, slippery and oh so venomous like one belonging to a snake. It was just that mine couldn’t kill and that one true fact irritated me.
“I…”
“You’re nothing. I’m dying! It’s me who’s dying. They can’t help me! You can’t help me! I just want to die in peace. I want to go to my mother.”
I sobbed but I still didn’t want her to embrace me.
“Mom said you’ll be going home after being discharged. She’ll be there,” she informed me.
“I’m not going there,” I said.
“You don’t have much of a choice,” she said.
“I’d rather you laughed, looking back now that was so much better. It gave me relief. My big sister finding news of my death to be funny.” I looked away from her. Tears were threatening and I didn’t want to fall apart in front of her again.
“This is no laughing matter.”
“Didn’t seem like it the last time. What changed now?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing! Exactly, so your crocodile tears mean nothing to me. You are nothing to me. You and your Gogo wanted me to die, so here we are.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Why don’t you laugh? I want you to laugh.”
“Nandipha please…”
I glared at her with my angry red eyes and she saw it fit to leave.
I was discharged and sent to Gogo’s place against my will. Being a minor there was nothing I could do. I sulked and sulked. I starved myself and refused any help whatsoever. I refused to speak to anyone. I hated all of them, I hated them for having a life. I hated them for their pity eyes. I hated the owl for picking me. I hated life for giving up on me.
I hated them till my death. The owl came to claim me. Its feathers were shiny and golden brown. Its immobile eye seemed friendly as my soul left my body.
They gave me a “proper” send off, as they like to say. Dignified and respectful, they said. How ready they were for my send off. Policies and what nots. I’m mad, I’m really mad even in death. Why? Why does death come so swiftly in the night like a professional thief? Why does life make a pact with death with our lives? I was so young. I had dreams and ambitions. I had so much to live for but what can one do with borrowed time.
I could not and I still cannot accept my death. I only could accept that the life was never mine. It was borrowed to me. There is no choice in this life that we’re living. It is taken, at such a tender age and I wonder I always wonder how those who take their own life. Is life truly worth living if it’s going to be taken.
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PUBLISH’D AFRIKA Magazine Facebook Short Story Competition is funded by the National Arts Council, Department of Sport, Arts and Culture and Presidential Employment Stimulus Programme 3
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