Night can be horrible at times, but the night of June 12, 1993 to me was worse than that. In the first instance, it was as long as though it was never going to break or should I say that the day was afraid, better still, ashamed to show her face. But for occasional hooting of the owls and dog barks, which were almost dead silence that a drop of pin could have easily been heard. I could not imagine what it was that woke me up. My most reliable companion under such a dreadful circumstance, my little world receiver transistor radio got my hope crashed as I could not ascertain what time it was, judging by its broadcasting as I tuned it on because everything to me was a dirge.
Ironically, Kelvin my friend who was about some inches away was snoring his life away.
“How could I wake him up, when he had on several occasion warned me against interrupting his sleep unless on a very serious matter, or for emergency”?
I sighed heavily and he turned, I thought he was awake only to see him shifting further, in a matter of seconds, the snoring resumed, leaving me to face my ordeal alone.
Could I ever overcome this sleeplessness? This question was too hard a nut to untangle at that very moment.
I picked up my pillow to try another chance out; it pricked alongside my mattress. I later gave up, stood up and opted to grope for fresh air. Only then was I able to unravel the mystery of my restlessness. I had so much messed up my life that redeeming it once more could never be without much difficulty. What was I to do?
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