Dead Men And Eyes

Kayode was woken up by a text message alert, inviting him to his own burial ceremony. He rubbed his eyes and read the message again. He dashed into the living room and on the television screen was his picture with the word "OBITUARY" written below it. The faceless announcer said he had been a son, uncle, brother and friend. He picked up his phone and dialled the only number in his phone book.
"Hello," the solemn voice spoke at the end of the reciever.
"Hey, Funmi. It's Kayode, your brother."
"Sorry, who?"
"For God's sake, you have my number!" he was getting impatient. "It is me Kayode."
"I think you have the wrong number."
"No I don't! I have been calling this bloody number for years! And I do recognise your voice too."
"Well, I am not Funmi and I have never heard the name Kayode before."
"Wait..." She hung up before he could finish.

He stared at his phone screen again and it was blank. He tried powering it back on but the screen remained empty. He had never crammed anyone's phone number so he decided to visit his friend living three neighbourhoods away. He wanted to figure out what was going on. There were no commercial cabs or motorcycles on the road, so he decided to walk. On the busy streets, he saw posters of his obituary plastered on the walls. Some people on the streets who had taken notice of the posters and were seeing him in person began to move away from him. Only one man dressed in red robes walked towards him, brushed against his shoulder and said "You do not belong here. Don't fight it." The man walked past him and when he turned around, the strange fellow was gone. Kayode wondered what was going on. When he reached his friend's house, he banged at the door. Almost immediately, his friend opened the door.

"Thank God you're home dude." The young man before him looked at him steenly, contemplating. "Come on, let me in."
"Excuse me, do I know you?"
"Drop the act Mike," Kayode tried to enter but the young man blocked the entrance.
"I'm sorry, strangers are not allowed into my apartment."
"Come on, man. It's me Kayode. Your best friend." Kayode looked at him, smiling. He was waiting for his friend to stop fooling around.
"You have to leave now. If you were my friend -best friend for that matter- I think I would remember."
"Is this a joke?" He got his answer when Mike released his bulldog which chased Kayode back into the streets.

He walked about, distraughted. He remembered getting a letter from his mother the day before informing him that she had moved to a different city with the rest of the family. She had promised to write him again to give him the new home address. There was no way to contact her. He did not know anyone's contacts by heart. He tore down one of the posters publicising his suppossed death but could not find the name of the company that sponsored its publication. Beside the poster was another poster but this time, it was for a missing one-eyed dog which Kayode found strangely familiar. He sat on a park bench and buried his head in his hands. When he raised his head, he noticed that the man seated beside him was looking at him with one eye and his newspaper with the other. He was visibly horrified. Kayode sneered at him,popping his large eyes. The terrified man took to his heels, leaving behind his briefcase and newspaper. Kayode picked up the latter. On the upper-left corner of the fiftieth page which the man had been reading was Kayode's obituary, courtsey of his mother. He saw the name of the newspaper : Daily Tellers. What a ridiculous name, he thought to himself.

He was lucky that the newspaper company headquarters was not too far away. He was at the reception within four minutes. He requested to see the editor. Not even his horribly sweaty body, irregular panting or the fact that his face was now on all obituary posters in town was enough to draw him attention as the receptionist motioned to him to have a seat without even darting her eyes towards him twice. He waited for two hours before he got to meet the editor.

"How can I help you sir?" the fat man across the desk smiled at him.
"Well, this is very crazy but..." he slowed down his pace. "Your newspaper is mistaken."
"Excuse me?" the editor was getting impatient.
"I found my obituary in your paper today. And...needless to say, I'm not qualified for such kind honour."
"What obituary?"

Kayode showed him the page with the name on it he brought out his identity cadr to show that they were the same person. "I remember seeing this. But one woman -Mrs Agbelola- brought that here. She's your mother, am I right?"
"Yes, she is."
"Why would she do such?"
"I don't know."
"Have you called her?"
"I don't have her number at all."
"What of social media?"
"I'm not on any such platform."
"Well, we should have her contacts in our archives." He phoned for his secretary to come in. When she did, he said "Tell Bamboo to find me the contacts of a certain Mrs Remi Agbelola." She came back ten minutes later. "Well?"
"Sir," the young secretary began, arms crossed behind her back. "We have no such records sir. The only Agbelola we have in our archives -Mr John Agbelola- died ten years ago."
"But her name is right here in your paper," Kayode said, pointing at the newspaper which the editor now seemed to be examining microscopically.
"Thank you very much Ada," the editor motioned towards the door. When the secretary was out of the room, he rose up and poured himself a glass of scotch from the cob-webbed bottle that had been lying on the dusty shelf at the corner of the office. "Mr Agbelola, I really do not know what else to do. Why would your mother do that?"
"Honestly, I'm confused too. It's like she killed me before my time."
"What happens now?"
"Well, you will have to make another announcement tomorrow that I am actually alive."
"Sorry, I won't do that."
"What?!"
"That will cause disgrace to my company. We cannot let the public know that we published a fake obituary."
"So I am supposed to remain dead just because of your foolish pride? Correct this hash now or that is the end for you! I will do everything I can to bring you down."
"Good luck with that." The editor had his gaurds throw Kayode out before the battle of tempestuous words turned into a fist fight.

While he walked on the street, he got a phone call from an unfamiliar number. He picked it.
"Hello, who are you?"
"Does it matter?" the voice on the line was deep.
"Well you called me and unless you dialled the wrong number, I think it makes sense that you tell me who one earth is speaking."
"I'm not on earth and neither should you be," there was a long pause. "Look to your left. There's a boutique. Meet me there." The line went off.

Kayode, after much hesitation, crossed the street and went into the boutique. There was no one in there. The clothes were just there, hung with fancy hangers but with no one tending them. He hissed and made for the door. As he reached for the glass door knob, a short but stout man in a red gown came into the boutique. He looked straight at Kayode, his face expressionless. Kayode on the other hand was confused, angry and scared all at the same time.

"Who are you?"
"I am no one." It was the voice on the phone earlier.
"Can you talk without saying something creepy?"
"I never talk. I only speak."
"Not creepy at all", Kayode said, with a tone of sarcasm.
"Tell me, do you want to live?"
"Yes of course. But first, what is going on?"
"You are on the cosmic fence seperating the living from the after-life."
"I don't follow." Kayode squeeszed his face.
"Do you remember any near-death experience?"
"No."
"Think hard." The man motioned towards him to sit but he was too agitated.
"Yes, I remember now!"
"Good. Tell me."
"It was three years ago. I had a fever and was bed-ridden. Then my mother suddenly barged into my room and asked me to go get her some supplies."
"Go on."
"It's a little blurry. But I remember begging her to let me rest since my fever was really high. Anyway, she called me lazy and co-erced me into getting in the car. Well, on my way to the market, I saw..."
"Go on."
"A wounded one-eyed dog on the road and I was about to run it over when I noticed it. I pressed the brakes abruptly and the trailer behind me was caught unawares since I didn't trafficate and there was no traffic. It took too long for the driver to recover from the shock of my car coming to a halt. So, the trailer crushed my car."
"What happenened after that?"
"I don't remember. Except that as I laid in the car helpless, my bones broken and my body bathed in my own blood, I thought of my mother killing me before my time."
"You don't remember anything else?" The man asked intently.
"I don't. In fact, I don't remember anything that happened in my life after that."
"That is because it did not happen three years ago, but three days ago."
"What are you saying?" Kayode felt his body weakening. He resigned into sitting on a chair now.
"Come with me." The man walked out of the boutique. Kayode had some trouble rising and when he got out, the man had vanished into the street. He looked around and screamed. As he looked at the road, a one-eyed dog laid on the road. It was visibly wounded and flies were perching on its sore belly. A trailer was coming from afar and Kayode waved towards it to stop so as to avoid crushing the dog. But the trailer moved even faster. Desperate and impetuous, he ran on to the road and tried to pick up the dog. But he was too slow. He slipped as he reached the dog. His back was on the ground and the trailer was blazning towards him. He rose up to pick the dog and when he touched it, it turned out to be a hologram but the trailer was real. It hit him and threw him into the air. As Kayode landed on the gound, he gasped loudly.
"Son, I'm here!" The thin voice was agitated.
"Mother?"
"Yes, it is me."

The scenery was no longer that of the tarred road and busy people walking or even the trailer and the dog. It was a hospital. His mother squeezed his hands.
"You were in a crash," she said with tears in her eyes. "You were in a coma for three days."