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BN Prose: The Feeling by Feyisayo Anjorin

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He would have been pleased to stop right in front of her gate as usual, even if it meant being stuck in the Island-bound traffic that was slowly building up; but she would rather walk from the junction because she had missed her exercise for three days now, and the walk would help burn some calories.

When they were together in the car, he was playing that song about an angel standing next to him reaching for his heart; but as she walked along the well-lit street with her headphones on, she was singing along to that song about crossing the ocean for you and going to bring you the moon.

She checked the screen of her phone; it was a quarter past eight and the street seemed deserted – an unusual occurrence for that time of the night. Her flat was the last building in Gregory Close; she could see the end of the road. She kept her eyes on the distance ahead, on the cars parked on both sides of the road; she was the only one walking on the road. It was a Tuesday, so she knew this had nothing to do with Superstory. She noticed the change, but she was not bothered by it.

The lights in the buildings were on; it was not Friday, so it had nothing to do with that dark and handsome man and his TV show with the question about being a millionaire.

She was so in love, she wouldn’t be bothered by the unusual calmness of the street. The song about feeling this feeling just for you started, the song gave her goose bumps from the intro, she increased the volume; she wanted to  feel the singer with utmost intensity. She would enjoy the freedom of this private moment in this rarely quiet street, she wanted to sing along because this song tells her story in a profound way.

She noticed the headlights of a car ahead of her, but she didn’t care. There was no way she would keep her voice down; she was relieved to see someone else for a change, or maybe four or five people were in the white Toyota. She didn’t really care.

The car slowed down beside her, she didn’t stop to acknowledge whoever was in the car. The person rolled down the glass – it was actually a man with a goatee, an ugly-looking thing with teeth like a mouse. Timi – her twenty seven year old boyfriend – was a far more delightful sight than Mr Goatee. And how many women get to have a pilot as their lover? The man was saying something; she could guess what he wanted. She showed him her diamond ring. I’m engaged dude, go find your baby. She didn’t say it, she was still singing the song about the feeling she’s feeling.

When she got to her flat she got her key from the bag and opened the front door.


She waited, wondering if her flatmate was home. She really wanted to share the good news.

“Chinwe, are you home? He proposed!”

Chinwe was not in the sitting room, so she hurried to the room. “Chinwe, where are you?”

“Huh?” The voice came from somewhere in the room.

“Where are you?”

Her flatmate came out.

“What are you doing under the bed?”

“When did you come back?” Chinwe asked, looking scared.

“I just came back now. Are you okay?”

“How did you get here?”

“What are you talking about? I walked in. Are you okay?”

Then she heard about the armed robbers who had been around for the past twenty minutes, and their gunshots that worked like charms and made everybody calm down like well-fed lazy dogs. They had it easy after the shots made their intentions clear.

She had seen them leaving as she walked home, feeling the feeling. She didn’t care.

Photo Credit: Dreamstime | Mimagephotography

Feyisayo Anjorin was born in Akure; he trained as a filmmaker at AFDA Johannesburg. His writing has appeared in Litro, Brittle Paper, Flash Fiction Magazine, Fiction On the Web, and 365 Tomorrows. His has also worked on film and TV productions in Nigeria and South Africa. He is the author of novel "Kasali's Africa" and novella "The Night My Dead Girlfriend Called" @FeyisayoAnjorin on Twitter