James Humphreys Roseberry 3rd 11.6.

13

Narrative

THINGS FALL APART

Narrative
The night I was told I would be taken back to my village was a night of clashing emotions. I knew something was fishy about it, but the bittersweet feeling of seeing my family was pulling me towards the idea of going back. I would be sad to leave Okonkwo, my true father, and I barely knew my mother and sister anymore. They could have died years ago and I would never have known. But I pushed that thought out of my head, and the feeling of overwhelming fear took its place. I knew that traveling back to my village shouldnt be scary, but when I saw my father emerge from his obi, he was obviously hiding an expression of absolute terror. I looked outside, and saw around twenty of my clansmen. Why would they need that many men? I thought. And why are they all armed? I was alarmed, and for a brief moment, the thought of just making a break for it fluttered through my mind. I took a deep breath. Everything will be fine. I told myself that phrase over and over, but deep down, I knew I was just lying to myself. The men put me in line. Not much I can do now, but come quietly and cooperate. I gazed down the dirt track, and into the mouth of the dark woods, more ominous than ever. As we set off, the mouth seemed more and more like the jaws of a monster, getting ready to swallow me into the cold embrace of death. I walked among the darkened trunks, and blinked away tears. Perspiration was building up on my face. The men surrounding me kept closing in, as if they thought I wouldnt notice. Every once and a while, a clan member tentatively gripped his machete, and I would panic until they let go. Each

step I took, each breath I inhaled, anything I did made my mind get more and more frenzied. The men offered water to me, but the expressions of pity on their faces made me refuse it, although I was parched. At that moment, the only thing I wanted in the whole world was to go home. As we walked, we crossed streams, climbed over boulders, and overall had an awful time. I trod on a thorn, which just made the pain of each step become physical, along with mental. I realized that the path we were taking was coming up to fork in the road that lead to my village one way, and deeper into the woods the other way. I saw it up ahead. Could it be true? Was I really going home? A flicker of hope ignited in me. But as we turned away from my village, that flame of hope was doused with despair. I felt sick with despair. I stopped for a second, and my clansmen jumped back as I vomited on the ground before me. We walked in silence for what seemed like an hour, even though it was no more than five minutes. Then, all of a sudden, the men halted. Why are we stopping?!" I shouted, trembling in panic. I was frozen in shock as the men drew their machetes. The blades shone in the harsh moonlight. Their faces were sad, as if they hated themselves for doing this. They advanced on me in a circle, and I crouched into a ball, weeping. Then, I felt a blade pierce my side. Not enough to kill, but enough to make me feel like a white-hot fire was running through my veins. I screamed in pain. The only thing I could think to do was shout, Father! They have killed me! But then, I looked up, and unmistakably saw the face of my father. As he took up his blade, I heard him mutter back, I am sorry. I let out a feeble whimper before he brought it down on me. Then, everything went black.