“I won’t ever do that on my own. I have my kids too. I was only following orders. I swear on my life” he sobbed.
It is funny how grown men tend to cry when faced with a little torture. It is even more hilarious when it’s a police officer. I mean these guys are supposed to be trained
“why would you shoot the people protesting peacefully? Just why?” I asked.
“I saw you with my own eyes and you looked extremely happy to pull the trigger” I explained.
“Please… I am so sorry… I have kids at home… And a wife…. I wasn’t thinking…. _I swear ehn, na my boss order us_” he rambled on.
He had limited movements as his hands were tied behind his back. He was seated in a plastic chair, comfortably for a murderer if you ask me, and his legs were tied to the chair too. He was sporting several angry red tattoos on his body which was my doing.
I stepped back to admire my work, and I had to smile at the beauty of it all. The scrawlings. The designs. The messages.
#ENDSARS, #ENDSARSNOW, #EndPoliceBrutality, and #ENDSWATNOW were fighting for space on his body. Now that’s what I call a work of art.
“Please… Don’t kill me.. I’m in severe pains… I promise you that I will resign from the Nigerian Police Force… Please… Spare my life” he continued begging.
“save your strength Love,” I said in my perfect impersonation of John Constantine.
“I am going to gag you again now because it’s about to get messier” I started.
“I wouldn’t want my neighbours to hear your screams. Because those guys won’t be as forgiving as I am.” I explained.
I forced a dirty sock (must be the one I removed from his feet) in his mouth and sealed it tight with tape. With the precision of a surgeon, I proceeded to smear hot chilli on the marks I made on his body with a razor.
Oh, and I never felt so alive.
Sophocles Writes 