The After-End - #1

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by A.E Ilupeju.

Alll rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the Author.

The After-End - The amnesiac monk who tries to remember his memory as he journeys through hell in search of his family.

The Cursed Grave - A desperate youth who wants to get rich at all cost.

The Old Church - The gentle journalist who transforms into a ruthless killer.

The Cannibals Of Caliba - A cursed people desperate to redeem their pledges to the gods.

What I Saw - Trying to escape an enemy slavery camped Land but falling into deathly traps themselves. Will they come out alive? Will Zaire be able to return home?

Lyda - A mysterious snake living in male bodies to evolve through decades.

This collection of short stories explores the dark and ironic sides of the human behaviour influenced by the unknown and they keep happening in a cycle.

The After-End -#1

A rising grey mist began to fill the atmosphere, a deep hooting sound was heard above the dusky horizon; a tiny-eyed crook-headed eagle with a broad head, hairless neck, its trunk covered in grey feathers but with a touch of black hue, and sharpened clawed talons beneath skimmed through the intensely gloaming horizon with its wide grey feathered wings using its ocular vision to see what could not be seen or detected in the hazy mist. It searched, its strong beak curved at the end moved in the air from side to side to convey the outcome of the battle that has already begun. A battle from the dawn of time though everything seemed dusky. Many perceived it as always being out of time, as no daylight has ever evolved other than the reality of the red moon. The eagle flew back and forth with gallant stride. After circling the atmosphere for some countless number of times,  it returned to the arm of a shrouded figure whose face is hidden behind the black steel mask he had on. He sat on a dark stallion with red eyes blaring hot air from its nostrils which crept out in a red fuming mist. The eagle stood on his cloaked arm in an upright stance moving its head sideways dancing to a mysterious tone from the bottomless hole. The strange bird all of a sudden, glanced at the shrouded figure in black garb, it ogled into the man's mind through his dark-colored eyes. The man's eyes became dimmed and began to dilate. He raised a coiled shofar in his left hand and opened his lips to take in a deep breath. The crook-headed Eagle discerned his actions, it made a deep screeching sound and an air-dissecting scream. Then, it darted away in haste and eventually disappeared into the rising grey mist.

The coiled shofar made from an animal not yet named or known unto man was blown in full blast, the sound from it rippled its waves into the bitter oceans, red sea, stagnant lakes, deserted plains, stony valleys, and the high mountains. From below the shrouded figure came a terrifying war cry. It broke out and stormed the atmosphere ordering the drowsing birds of the air and the little, creeping, and the huge wandering animals to battle. It raved the waters, inducing turbulent storms and waves. Waking the huge sea lions and sharks, frightening several fishes to death.

Shining winged sharp swords merged with heavy clubs and unpolished axes, soiled javelins collided with flat-shaped spears, two-edged sabers clashed with curved sickle blades, wooden rods broke, metallic ones bent, rapiers pierced, crafted daggers plunged in, fleshy wounds surfaced, foul language rang strong, groanings and moanings intensified on the field. Human blood splashed and spilled, dark contempt filled their tongue from an accumulated bank of vengeful minds and souls, It ripened and clouded their thoughts and imagination. Revenge was their excuse but greed confused them all, they have lost focus.

It was war, it pays no respect. Every man for himself, the slim, the mighty, the strong and the weak, the skilled and unskilled even the young were not spared they did not take flight but fought earnestly alongside their fathers. Severe pain and gnashing of teeth of the fallen ones were not even heard as they crumbled on the bloody battlefield. They made soft whimpers that crept into the shady mist that sailed all over into the sky like a chimney bringing smoke out to the sky. It was fast and they were unaware of the happenings around them. The lustrous moon had turned ruddy. Hungry stiff-necked vultures dominated the sky waiting to scavenge the stiffs, an appetite they have been overseeing right from the dawn of the time. 

Many uniformed soldiers fell by the swords, those in black religious habit were hooked on upright spears like bacon hanged on sticks and others on barren trees by their belts. Their garbs were soaked. It dripped with blood in minutes from their feet and formed a red puddle on the ground. The mighty and skilled ones on rust-coated chariots though stained with blood giving it a more reddish hue were killed with poisonous javelins while others fell in heaps upon themselves feathered arrows adorned their bodies. Their pure blood became poisoned, it turned dark gushing from their wounds and spilling from their eyes to their checks. What a devastating sight to behold! More wails as dark mist were lifted to the sky but the battle went on, one man for himself.

After an infinite moment, Dead silence filled the battleground. The incessant crook sound made by the delighted buzzard feasting on their meals sparked a soul into consciousness. His curved fingers quivered, to reveal calloused nails filled withhold dirt as they held on to a broken wooden rod lying on the dirt. His lanky hand moved to reveal different appalling aged cuts turned scars on his wrists. He released his hold. As he moved he felt restricted, his eyes opened but all he saw was darkness. He felt heavy like he was immersed in a pit full of bodies oozing out the stench. He decided to get up. With the little strength he had amassed in a short while, he pushed but the hefty corpse upon him restrained his attempt, he strived and tried again all to no avail.

Help! He screamed in his mind. His tongue tasted dry and he swallowed the humid air continuously.

Then a voice spoke with no traceable emotions. Help? Why should I help you? Why would anyone help you? The voice inquired.

The hair at the back of his head stood at attention, with an adrenaline rush he didn't know he accumulated he shoved all the corpses off and leaped up immediately. Surprised, he glanced around to see who had spoken to him. A pungent smell hit him, it almost knocked him out, he wrinkled his flat nose and scrunched his wide mouth up to cover the holes of his nose. He tried to stand up but his legs couldn't carry him. 

Where has his energy gone? He felt weak and almost keeled over from the pain that throbbed in his right leg.  He squatted and carefully pulled up his garb to his knee and glanced at the wound causing the prickly pulse that kept shooting impulses to his brain. On the wound, he saw a black but already muddy leech on his leg. 

What the hell! 

He removed it and tossed it away above his head, it landed in a muddy puddle just a few feet away from where he was.  He tore a scrap of cloth from his sleeve and tied the piece of cloth tightly on his wound to stop the bleeding. He stood up limping as he rested his weight on his left leg. His eyes went faint for a bit but he shut his eyes, shook his head, and opened them again. Then he glanced around. All he saw were remains of soldiers, children, and some people who wore like his garment, they were decayed and the smell was extremely choking. He covered his nose with his garb. He noticed some bald and odd vultures feeding on some of them, some corpses had no eyes, swollen bowels were exposed and many have been amputated. 

What in the hell happened? He thought.

"I can't remember how long this battle has been going on. It seems like it has been going on since forever" he glimpsed around and admitted his beliefs.

"Has there ever been peace? I can't seem to remember a time when there was peace." He scratched his head to recall any memory that pertained to peace but felt the hood covering his head, he pulled it back to reveal a thick jet-black hair, he combed through the thick hair with his fingers. He covered his face with his hands and released it with a sigh leaving dark smudges. He could not remember anything, not even his name. He scratched his hair roughly but no flash or trace of memory came to mind. He became terrified, he squatted to his knees. He stood up and bent down again. He was lost in thought.

What is wrong with me, how did I get here? He looked around again.

Where do I go from here?

What a weakling! The voice spoke again.

He leaped to his feet and darted on all sides. He checked and wondered who had spoken to him. He couldn't find anyone. He was awed and breathed a sigh

I don't know what the hell is going but this is certainly not normal. He realized that he might not be thinking clearly.

I should have a family, I have a family. He speculated in his senses.

I should have a Father and a Mother at least.

He analyzed the possibility that he might be correct.  

Knowing he needed to leave the place, he searched for clues that might lead him home.

"All I know is that I am here, and I have to get back to my family," he declared.

His eyes caught a strikingly beautiful sword whose blade glowed in the ruddy moon, it was a two-edged winged sword and It stood dipped into the ground. The grip shone with beautiful stones that enhanced its edges. It had some letterings written on it. He couldn't see it so he gradually limped towards it and tried to remove the sword from the dirt but couldn't, his hands wavered. It was too heavy for him to pull or even carry. He wondered why he could not carry the sword. 

I'm not sick, but why couldn't I carry it.

He looked at the words written on it, but they were strange words. He couldn't read the words on it either, it was written in an ancient tongue.

Having no sense of direction or intuition on what lies ahead. He realized that he needed to have a weapon, he began to search for other swords but they were all too heavy for him to carry, even the spear felt misplaced in his hands.

I'm not a fighter, but I have to defend myself

"I'll need a smaller one, " he reckoned.

He looked around again in search of a dagger or a blade but instead, his eyes spotted a brown and black striped leather satchel with a black clasp on its front. He darted towards it and crouched to his knees. He opened the bag and poured its contents into his lap. A fresh red juicy apple came off tumbling to his lap. Suddenly he began to salivate, his stomach grumbled loudly as if permitting so he bit into the juicy red apple and savored the taste. His head felt heavy, a flash of memory played. The invisible mist covering his eyes and thinking had cleared away. His feeble mind was unaffected but, his instinct was set in motion. As he swallowed up the last piece of the juicy fruit, his memory came back in another flash but they were hazy he couldn't make sense of it. He closed his eyes to lessen the headache brewing above his eyes rom the effect of the images that kept flashing in his mind. Then after a while, the flashes stopped.

Feeling much better, he composed himself, he explored and searched again until he saw a dagger in the protruding belly of a young soldier whose two arms were unskillfully amputated probably by a blunt ax It was an ancient Norseman crafted dagger with a black grip. It looked familiar to him. He pulled it off and a big grey maggot came out of the belly. He jumped back in disgust, he felt nauseated, he cleaned the dagger quickly and attached it to his waist sash. He assumed and concluded that he was the only survivor from the battle and he didn't know how it started but he perceived that it had begun for a long time. A streak of tear fell from his eyes to his cheeks, and he wiped it off.

He sought out to leave the field and he devised sensible plans he needed to head back to his home. A home he felt via instinct. Whether it existed or not he didn't know. He draped the satchel across his shoulder, it rested on his stomach and he left the battleground