Dreams of Blood and Death

Balogun lay on the ground with his back resting on a boulder. His breathing was heavy as his bloodstained nostrils worked overtime to service his lungs. His opponent lay slain before him in a mess of blood and guts.

The war was over and he had delivered the vanquishing blow to the enemy general. Long ago a young boy had set off in search of adventure with nothing but the garments on his back and the prayers his mother offered to Orunmila the god of divination for his safety.

His mouth tasted like a mixture of saliva, blood and sweat. As he sat there gathering his strength his fellow warriors were cheering, singing songs of victory and life, but he sat there, not relishing the moment itself, but remembering the past. He remembered his first kill, his first battle, his first taste of victory and of defeat, all leading up to that moment.

With their rivals vanquished he became the first general of the newly formed Ijebu kingdom. He lived a simple life afterwards, the blood and carnage of his battles had robbed him of his thirst for adventure. His nights were plagued with dreams of death and war, all the men he had killed visited his dreams for revenge, angry and undying. He fought them on several nights; his scars would throb as he woke up drenched in sweat.

The faces of the men he killed never left his mind, the agony the displayed on their faces as his sword pierced them, the cries they made when begging for mercy, and their lifeless bodies smelling of blood and shit. But how could a general say the memories of his battles plague his dreams? How could the strongest man in Ijebu be afraid of blood when even the young boys of the community would kill on his word?

No, he couldn't tell anyone about his dilemma, but the ghosts would not leave him alone. So he took his own life, because at least in death he wouldn't be tormented, and his debt of blood would be paid.

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Thanks for reading. Image used courtesy of pixabay.com

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