Written by Ezinne Akam

A record of a manic episode as experienced by a man suffering from schizophrenia. Inspired by the 1998 film “Diamond Ring” directed by Tade Ogidan and featuring Richard Mofe Damijo, Sola Sobowale, Bimbo Akintola, etc.

The colossal moon sat gloriously in the night sky, casting a pale light over an old, abandoned two-story building in Ikeja. Inside, in a dimly lit room, a flickering bulb fought against the oppressive darkness. The air was thick with the scent of decay—rotten food, stale beer, and the acrid sting of cigarette smoke. The place was a dungeon of forgotten furniture, discarded remnants of indulgence, and the suffocating weight of solitude.

Seun, a man in his late thirties, lay sprawled on the filthy ground like a corpse, his unkempt beard merging with the shadows. His body twitched violently as he writhed in the grips of a nightmare.

The voices in his head spoke in erratic, indecipherable tones, weaving a sinister lullaby that made his skin crawl. They overlapped, distorted, some whispering, others screaming.

Time itself became unrecognizable—had he been here for hours?

Days?

A lifetime?

Then, piercing through the chaos, came the scream of a woman.

His eyes flew open. His breath came in ragged gasps as he pushed himself up, sweat rolling down his face.

He staggered to a nearby table and fumbled for a pack of cigarettes, his trembling fingers struggling to strike a match. He needed the smoke to silence the storm in his mind.

But as soon as he lit it, an icy breeze slithered through the broken window and snuffed it out. The power went off, plunging him into darkness.

He stared into the void, his pulse hammering in his ears. A shadow slithered along the walls, whispering, shifting. Then he saw her.

Veronica.

She stood there, her flowing red dress barely moving despite the draft. Her skin was sickly pale, her hands shriveled, her sunken eyes darker than the abyss itself. She hovered inches above the ground, drifting toward him with unnatural grace.

“How could you?” Her voice was sharp, slicing through his thoughts, momentarily silencing the other voices.

But behind her, the room was warping. The ceiling pulsed, closing in. A clock ticked backward, then forward, then stopped entirely.

His throat tightened. Tears welled in his eyes. “Veronica…?”

“I was good to you, Seun,” she continued, her tone a haunting mix of sorrow and rage. “I loved you. I begged you to get help. But you didn’t listen. Now look at what you’ve done to me. Kini mo se si o!”

“No, no, no—” His hands shot up to his ears as her scream shattered the windows, glass raining down like jagged confetti.

“Come back to me, please,” he whimpered, falling to his knees. “I can’t do this without you. Ololufe mi.”

Her expression softened at his words, the fury in her gaze dimming just slightly. She reached out, her fingers cold and ghostly as they trailed down his face.

For a fleeting moment, he almost believed she was real.

Then she whispered, “Maybe you should join me.”

A chill swept through his bones.

“Everyone thinks you’re demented,” she murmured, her voice like a lullaby of doom. “Maybe they are right.”

“Rara! I am not crazy,” he growled, his hands clenching into fists, though his mind was unraveling, distorting.

Her face flickered—Veronica, then something grotesque, then Veronica again.

“Let go, Seun,” she urged, her form beginning to fade. “Without me, you’re already dead. O ti ku.”

He lunged for her, desperate to hold on. But his hands met nothing but empty air. She was gone.

His body trembled as he dragged himself to the window, his mind an unbearable cacophony of whispers and accusations. Below, in the ghostly moonlight, Veronica stood again, looking up at him, her arms outstretched.

Jump, she seemed to say.

He lifted one foot, hesitating on the ledge. The wind whispered around him, urging him forward.

Then…

A hand clasped his wrist.

“Seun!”

He turned sharply. Veronica—his Veronica—stood before him, alive, her face stricken with fear.

His breath caught in his throat, a shudder raking through his body. His mind fought to separate truth from deception, each reality crashing into the other like waves in a storm.

One moment, he saw Veronica—warm, alive, real. The next, she flickered like a dying flame, morphing into the specter that had haunted him for years. His pulse pounded in his ears as fear and longing twisted inside him, warring for dominance.

He blinked, his vision stuttering, shifting between two realities.

He looked past her. Down at the ground.

No one was there.

Reality came crashing in like a tidal wave, drowning the delusion. This wasn’t their home. It was an abandoned building. The voices had tricked him. Again.

Veronica’s grip tightened around his wrist, grounding him. “Come home,” she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. But for a moment, her face flickered—was it really her? Or another trick?

He hesitated but allowed her to lead him out. Step by step, the oppressive fog in his mind began to lift.

---

When they reached her car, he exhaled shakily. “Let me drive.”

She hesitated but nodded.

The road stretched before them, dark and quiet, except for the hum of the engine and Veronica’s soft voice filling him in on everything he had missed.

She spoke of work, of church, of the things they used to share before his mind became a battlefield. He listened, clinging to her voice like a lifeline.

But the voices weren’t done with him yet.

As they neared the Third Mainland Bridge, the whispers returned, crawling into his ears like insects. He pulled the car to a stop and stepped out, dazed.

“Seun?” Veronica unbuckled her seatbelt and rushed after him. “What are you doing?”

The wind roared as he grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward the railing. In a heartbeat, she was dangling over the edge, screaming, her fingers gripping the metal for dear life.

The voices urged him forward. Let her go. Finish it.

Tears streaked her face. Her lips trembled as she gasped his name. “Seun. It’s me. Veronica. Your wife.”

Her perfume. The scent of lavender. It wrapped around him, a memory tugging at the edges of his fractured mind.

“Oh God,” he choked out, blinking rapidly. “Veronica!”

He grabbed her arms and pulled her up with all his strength, holding her against him as she sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair, his own tears falling freely. “I’m so sorry.”

The voices hissed their disappointment, but he no longer cared. He held her tighter, anchoring himself in the warmth of her presence.

Veronica trembled in his arms, but her grip on him was just as firm. “We’ll get through this,” she whispered, her voice steady despite her fear. “You need help, Seun. Real help.”

He nodded, for the first time in a long time, truly considering it.

Above them, the moon shone brighter, casting a silver light over the bridge as if offering a silent promise.

Seun exhaled, his grip tightening around Veronica’s hand. “I don’t want to lose myself again,” he murmured, the weight of his own words grounding him. “I’ll get help. You don’t deserve this.”

“Neither do you.” Veronica breathed amidst tears.

For the first time in years, he saw a way out.

Not just from the voices, but from himself.

And if there was still a God willing to save him, maybe – just maybe – he was ready to be saved.

The End.

He is the hand that pulls us back lovingly from the edge. That light right in the middle of the tunnel. You are not alone.