(IN A SMALL TOWN IN LAGOS NIGERIA)
As I slowly awoke, a sense of discomfort washed over me.
It wasn't the piercing, excruciating agony that accompanies death. No, this was far more insidious—a dull, pervasive ache that coiled around my chest like an old foe resurfacing after years of absence. I felt the weight of hunger pressing down on me, the cloud of stress hanging overhead, and the toll of sleepless nights that still clung stubbornly to my very bones.
With a tentative flutter, I opened my eyes.
Before me was a cracked ceiling, staring back with an unsettling stillness. Above, rusted zinc sheets hung precariously, their edges peeling and flaking away as if time itself was attempting to devour them. I could hear the steady drip, drip, drip of water falling into a plastic bucket, marking each moment that passed like some cruel, unyielding clock that mocked my very existence.
"This… isn't hell," I murmured, the words escaping my lips in a barely audible whisper.
I forced myself to rise, each movement reminding me of my frailty. My body felt foreign—thinner, almost weightless. I glanced down at my hands, youthful and unmarred, and they appeared to belong to someone entirely different, someone untouched by the bitterness of the world.
With unsteady steps, I made my way toward a mirror that was crookedly affixed to the wall.
The reflection that met my gaze was startling. It was a face that belonged to a nineteen-year-old. Young. Naive. Infused with an unwarranted sense of trust.
"No way…" I breathed, scarcely able to believe what I was seeing. "I'm back?"
Suddenly, memories cascaded over me like a tidal wave, each crashing wave bringing to light the mistakes I had made, the betrayals I had endured, and the precious moments I had lost in what I now referred to as my first life.
John. My once-close friend—my so-called best friend. The very person who had sold me to the FBI. Betrayed in the most exquisite way.
The faces of those I had trusted floated before my mind's eye, each one now a distant memory, all having vanished when I needed them the most.
The cold, unforgiving prison floor beneath me, the suffocating darkness that had enveloped me, the biting sensation of handcuffs clamping down, and the bitter taste of regret lingering on my tongue.
In a sudden surge of frustration, I slammed my fists into my palms, nails biting painfully into my skin as my anger bubbled to the surface.
"So this is what rebirth feels like…" I muttered to myself, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and newfound resolve.
I straightened my posture, lifting my head to embrace the determination that ignited within me like a roaring fire.
"In this life," I declared slowly and resolutely, "I will not be foolish. I refuse to trust anyone ever again."
I snatched up my phone, and the screen blinked back at me with an unmistakable date: 2015.
Quickly, I checked my bank account—a meager 5,000 naira stared back in return, or barely $20 in real terms.
A laugh, quiet yet dangerous, escaped my lips.
"God has granted me a second chance," I whispered to myself, conviction radiating through my voice. "And this time… I'll outsmart every last one of them."
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my eyes sharp and my mind racing with ideas. Plans, schemes, and endless possibilities began to swirl together in my thoughts. I was acutely aware of my past mistakes, each betrayal, each hidden trap, and every misstep I had taken.
This time, nothing would take me by surprise.
This time, I would be the one in control of the game.
And this time, I would emerge victorious.