You feel a pain so intense, you can't scream.
Trails of blood, all over the room, the wall, the floor, there was obviously a struggle. You eyes is drawn to the body on the floor. You want to look away but like glue your eyes is drawn like a force field. Your heart melts, breaks for the one who lies cold. As the blood drained out so did your heart.
Fingers cold, a stab wound to the heart- the current description of your son. You prayed that God bless you with a large family. Blessed with only two issues, you were grateful still. 'Iwọ kii yoo wo ibojì ọmọ yii', they said 16 years ago at the naming ceremony of the child that now laid dead. 'Iya ibeji', you had been called, not because you bore twins but rather due to the similarities between your two children and the proximity of their birth date. There laid your 'Kehinde' in the pool of his own blood.
You wish and pray that death took you instead but your prayers fall on deaf ears. It is too late to undo what has already been done. The death of your son is painful but the person of the murderer brings even more pain. You think about the last moment of your son, what emotions he would have felt- betrayal, disbelief, doubt, pain.
Sirens blare, the police was almost at the scene. You look the murderer in the eyes. Your eyes lock, a message is passed. You both know what to expect. You stand up with staggering feets, reach towards the window and open it. The murderer takes the cue and jumps out of the window.
You sit beside your dead son's body. What have you just done? The sentence for murder was death. However you would rather have one than none.