I wrote this story for a flash fiction contest on Instagram by Farabale Africa. It was shortlisted among the top 25 from numerous entries but didn’t win because I couldn’t get enough likes.
Anyways, the story is sci-fi and based on the image above, credit: Adeleke Oluwadamilare @villageboyg. Hope you enjoy it!
The explosion landed with a huge boom, rocking the soil under my feet. The sound came from my house, not far from the small land where I farmed. I looked up in the direction of the house and saw a trail of black clouds in the sky, as if something fell out of the sky. I dropped the cutlass in my hand and jumped on my bicycle, cycling as fast as I could until I got to the house. There’s dust and rubble everywhere from the explosion, birds fleeing in the sky, frightened from their tree homes.
I could barely see through the dust but I knew whatever had fallen, landed in my backyard, where my late husband Jekwu was buried. I’ve lived here alone for the past seven years, since my husband died. I was dejected when Jekwu passed away after a brief illness but I wasn’t even allowed to mourn him before I was thrown out of our home. The villagers didn’t let me bury his corpse next to his parents because they thought he was cursed.
The dust was almost settled and a dark shape slowly revealed behind it. The shadow moved slowly like a baby taking his first steps. I was about to scream when I noticed that there was something familiar about the shape before me. Finally the dust cleared and I couldn’t believe my eyes. Jekwu, my husband who I buried with my own hands in my backyard 7 years ago was walking towards me.
I wanted to scream but my throat was too dry. I simply looked on in fear as he came closer. Finally he stopped right in front of me and slowly raised his arm, then abruptly collapsed at my feet. I stood there for a while staring at the body. He couldn’t be a spirit. Spirits don’t faint. I finally dragged/carried him inside and tended to him.
He woke up three days later and I know that this man or thing is not my husband but something or someone that fell out of the sky and took his form. Despite knowing this, I was lonely for any form of companionship that I fed him, cared for him and at night gave my body to him. He never speaks, he didn’t need to.
Every day my new husband got up very early, before the stars disappeared, and stared at the sky until the sun came up. When the sun comes up he would head to the backyard and fiddle with the-thing-that-fell-out-of-the-sky until dusk.
The villagers never came to find out what happened, they must think God is punishing me for killing my husband.
We lived in peace for almost a year until one morning when I woke up and he was gone. I didn’t know how he left, perhaps he went back into the sky where he came from. But I know I will never be alone again. He left a part of him with me. He gave me a child.