SARA THE NIGHT TERROR

Sara was the most fierce-looking seventeen-year-old I had ever seen in my life. She was heavily built, had a dark skin complexion and wore a tough face. I had the pleasure of meeting her the day I reported for senior one. I was thirteen, very skinny and embarrassingly timid. As soon as the dormitory prefect told her that I was going to be the occupant of the bed above hers, she, with complete disregard to my presence said, “No. I am not sharing this bed with a new comer. Take her away.” So the prefect engaged her in a heated argument, repeatedly telling her that she had no say in the matter. All the while, I was standing there fighting to get rid of the thick mist that had started to blind my eyes. The arguing eventually stopped and after a long hard look, Sara invited me to take up the bed and let me know that she would consider it a personal favour from me if I stopped being such a wimp. I went to bed at 8:00pm that night since new students were exempted from night studies on the first day. I didn’t have trouble falling asleep as I was exhausted from the eight-hour journey I had had to make from home to my new school, plus all the unpacking and settling in. But all that weariness was nothing compared to the emotional exhaustion that dealing with Sara had left weighing on my shoulders. Sara came and carried me from my bed, folded me and put me in my suitcase and started dragging it around, the sound of her laughter overshadowing my plea for mercy. The louder I screamed, the louder she laughed and the faster she went. My short and uneventful life flashed before my eyes when in that instant, someone grabbed my arm and started to shake it violently while calling out my name. For a second, I really thought I had died and gone to hell and that Sara was the devil. Because when I woke up from the nightmare, she had my arm in a strong grip, her face two inches away from mine asking me, “Why are you screaming out my name you little fool?”