Jemila Abdulai is the creative director, editor and founder of the award-winning website Circumspecte.com. A media and international development professional and economist by training, she combines her business, communications and project management expertise with her strong passion for Africa. Besides writing and reading, she enjoys travel, global cuisine, movies, and good design.
Sweat trickling down her brow
Skin pulsating as blood rushes through her veins
Fluorescent light overhead; blinding, but all she can do is stare
Somewhere in the distance, voices chattering
“Is she okay?” “Breathe” “It won’t be long now”
This is what death must feel like.
Seconds later, in impressions of eternity
The pain slashes at her heart and her very core
That portion of her that none but few hath the pleasure of knowing
Angel of Death, pray come take me and end this misery
Huffing and puffing, if only she could blow that house down!
“Almost there” “Keep going” “Almost there”
Ah! If almost there, wouldn’t she have arrived by now
A scream retches the air. Hers. From whence it came, she knoweth not
Blood rushing, skin pulsating and then searing pain
Correction, this is what HELL must feel like.
Plastic touching her brow, cold wet cloth offering little respite
Earth shattering. The very core of her hurled back and forth
In resistance to? Or rather in tune with?
Why me? What have I done to deserve this? You know I was ever faithful Lord.
Okay fine, maybe a white lie here and there, but this?
“Keep going” “Almost there” “Breathe”
As suddenly, it all stops
Blood stream flowing lazily, breathing no longer labored
Calm, eerie calm.
Ah, this is what heaven must feel like
Guess I spoke too soon
From whence cometh that…that…sound!
“You did it” “Beautiful” “Absolute Perfection”
Eyes open slightly as tired sigh escapes parched lips
Sudden weight in arms, head motions forward
Brown eyes barely open, pouting mouth twitching
The spitting image of his dad
Good Lord, this is what love must feel like.
Photo Source: Photo