Chapter 1, Episode 6 – Blood and Dust | by Tredeblez

Dust clung to my knees, my hands, my uniform. The asphalt smelled of heat, tires, and the faint tang of blood lingering in the air. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe properly. I just sat there, holding her, feeling the weight of everything crash down on me.

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The crowd had gone. Cars had returned to their rhythm … taxis, private vehicles, keke napeps weaving between lanes. It was as if the bridge had never witnessed what had happened at all. But I remembered every sound, every motion, every fruit rolling across the ground like tiny, useless witnesses.

I hated myself.
I hated myself for being there and not being enough. For holding her hand and still letting her go. For thinking that maybe, just maybe, someone else could have saved her if I had screamed louder, moved faster, done more.

I couldn’t forgive myself.
Even now, when I close my eyes, I feel the dust in my hair, the heaviness of her in my arms, and the helplessness that surrounded us. Every time I pass that bridge, every time I see a fruit tray on the roadside, every time a keke napep passes by too slowly, I hear the echoes of that day and remember that I failed her.

I swore I’d never speak of it, never let anyone see how small and powerless I felt. But the memory won’t let me forget. And maybe, in telling it, I can find a tiny piece of forgiveness.