You must have had to battle with such rhetorical postulates once or twice your lifetime. The ponder and wonder about that issue or situations that gets someone to go through the pains of self murder. I could never grapple such matters. There was a case I was orientated with, back then in my tertiary space. It was of a bookworm who took her life because she failed a course. How do I believe this? It was always a tale of fictions in my head of imagination. Movies, too, couldn't help me comprehend this intense therapy.

Dejected by a romantic relation, Ada went to dive into a deadly lagoon. What could be that strong to blind Ada from seeing the pain therein her actions. Imagine a young lady of 18 run to jump into death. Have you seen any one dangle on a suicide rope? Either hung to a tree or the ceiling fan? Yes, such one took his or her hands to tie the rope. Then a stool is used to gain support and lift. So that the rope can be placed from ceiling to neck. Then there's the final point. Where this person now disengages his leg from the stool. And behold a do-it-yourself death is experienced. Hmmm!

I usually question the air. What is so deeply responsible for such? A gun to the head! Why?

Now, I seem to have discover some reasonable answers. I imagine myself, a teenager, virgin girl. With lofty ambitions of becoming a first lady someday. I decided to take academics serious, against community advice. I want to be empowered. I crave such education that will crane my way into the influential pedestal. From such height, I could carry out my pet projects of changing the world. But first I must write WAEC. So, I decided to do just that.

Unfortunately, I am damned. Damned by my positioning. Rather than get exam monitors, some devilish replacement happened. Angry demons with giant guns came to monitor my self and fellow dream girls. Now, rather than ask us to submit our answer scripts. They asked us to leave the scripts behind and submit our selves. If it was the school teachers canes and whips we will bluntly refuse to follow. But these guns make deadly sound and we pee whenever it rants. So we queue out of our class rooms into the dreaded sambisa forest. As the dark wicked forest swallowed our numbers, we peed until we had only the heart to pee.

When we saw soldiers run from our captors, we peed our hearts. The scenes that followed can hardly be scribbled in letters and words. My virginity is lost and lost again. Again, and one more time it's taken. Guns and penises penetrate forcefully, even though we open freely. We now do everything freely. We follow freely. Cry freely. And when they say we should shut the fuck up. We shut up freely. Emotion is now automatic. We switch gears from tears to wallow. From pains to obedience. What is this. I never knew such things that pained more than death. If only one of these guns and penises penetrating will kill me. I fainted and was happy. Thinking that death comes after loss of cautiousness. Alas, I survived. I want to die. I can't die. Will I become first lady someday? What's the use? Why become first lady if my nation can't get back stolen girls. We must have been forgotten. I wish I can also forget us. But only death can save me. I need to commit suicide but have not such luxury. At this point suicide is my remedy.

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