His Final Breath

The sky was gray that morning.
They dragged Ikenna to the front of the street. His feet scraped against the dirt. His face was streaked with dust, blood, and tears. Around him, the voices blurred into a storm of rage.
“Thief.”
“Liar.”
“Shame to his family.”
“What did he steal?”, people asked
“He entered my shop and the 20 thousand naira i wanted to go to market with got missing”; answered the woman that owns the shop.

Ikenna’s lips trembled. “I didn’t do it,” he whispered. “Please… I didn’t…”
No one hear

d him. Or maybe they chose not to (either way who’d believe a thief)
The first blow came from behind. A stick cracked across his shoulder. He staggered, eyes wide with terror. Another hit followed.

Then another. Stones flew from unseen hands. Blood splattered on the ground. The taste of iron filled his mouth.
“Mama…” he whimpered, barely audible.
But his mother wasn’t there.

Only the crowd. Faces twisted with fury. Eyes glazed with bloodlust. Voices feeding each other’s hate.
Every strike made his world smaller. The pain blurred. The sounds faded. The sky turned darker.
Then came from nowhere tyre and gasoline. The smell made the mob scamper a little.
The last strike was the match light.

Ikenna was up in flames. His small hand reached out weakly to no one. His breath shallow. His heart slowing. He made a cry for help but none came. Even as he wanted to run, a 2by2 stick sat him back down to the burning tyre.
Minutes later, someone ran into the square, panting.
“It wasn’t him,” the man gasped. “It was the woman’s daughter that took the money when she saw it on the counter with no one around.”

The words fell like heavy stones into the silenced mob.
They stood frozen, staring at the body they had destroyed. Mothers clutched their children. Men looked at their hands. No one spoke.

Above them, the gray sky wept.
They jus killed an innocent child.
False accusations destroyed this young man’s life.
This is the society we live in. It could be you or me