fuji – Adedapo Adeniyi

you’re nauseated, motion sick and you feel your feet numbing, you need air, you’re dozing off to drugs you should try it, the taste of pineapple still on your tongue, all the slices you bought are finished now and you kept wishing you’d added ketchup to them, you’ve never added ketchup to them before. the driver is trying to adjust the gear so you shift a little, very uncomfortable, he isn’t adjusting the gear, he’s looking for something at the corner of his seat, you look outside, at the grass, you’re trying to breathe, trying to not be sick, you feel like throwing up, trying to not be sick, you feel like fainting, trying to not be sick, something wet and hot lands on your face and you turn to see that the driver has just shot himself in the head, your earphones muffled the shot, your face red with his blood, the bus is starting to steer off the road, travis scott vocalizing over the guitars, it’s that part you like towards the end, trying not to be sick. 

the bus crashes into a tree at the side of the road and your bag flies out the windshield, your laptop is in it, you know it’s broken, you know you don’t care to pick it up and try to fix it, your novel is on it, just completed, the best thing you’ve ever written, you haven’t sent it to anyone yet, you were letting it live for a while after sacrificing so much of your own life to it, you know it’s gone forever, you know you don’t care to pick it up and try to fix it. 

you walk to the other side of the road and stare, the crashed bus’ speakers play a pasuma song, damaged by the tree, his vocals come out distorted, experimental fuji music, you can’t hear it. your phone starts to buzz and the music stops, for a minute you’re thrown into the present, people are crying, the bus’s horn is blaring, another car has stopped and everyone in it is just staring, a cooler of live catfish has tumbled onto the floor and the fishes are helplessly convulsing on the sand, fuji, you wait for the phone to stop buzzing and for your music to continue before you bring it out of your pocket, your screen is broken and glitching, you see that the call is from a guy your friends all call egusi because he smells like shoe polish, the screen goes blank and when it comes on, you see the porno you were watching in the shower playing in reverse, blood drips from your head onto the screen, you’re not sure if it’s yours or the dead driver’s, your head hurts.

there’s a woman in iro and buba that two men have carried out of the bus and laid at the roadside, she’s dead, a hawk comes down from the sky and lands on her stomach, then stays there watching everyone, a young lady wearing a wedding dress with black paint on her face goes to take the gun from the driver’s hand and starts reciting lines from the play she’s late for, she’s trembling, mixing up lines, repeating them, trying to get them right, you can’t hear any of this. a boy walks up to you, he looks seven, he’s dirty, his bucket of beske in his left hand, broken, there’s pepper all over his body, one of his eyes is bleeding and he keeps blinking it, he raises his left hand to you, his wrist is hanging limp downwards, almost completely detached from his arm, you watch his bare bone, you watch his vein spurt blood, you look to his face and wonder if he’s showing you his broken arm or asking you for money, you look back at his arm, you wince a little but travis scott is vocalizing over those guitars again, you look back to his face and wonder why he’s expressionless when you can see so much pain, but he isn’t expressionless, he’s screaming, and then you realize you can breathe just fine.