My alarm rang for the umpteenth time that morning. I hated the sound of it. I hated the thought of waking up and getting ready for school. Truthfully, I would have preferred not to wake up at all.

“Obadiah, will you get up now? You’re late for school!” my mom shouted from her room, which was opposite mine. “I heard you, Ma!” I shouted back as I sluggishly got up from my bed.

I grabbed my phone to check for message notifications, but there was nothing—not that I expected anything, though. No one ever thinks of a girl like me, which is why I mostly hate myself. I dropped my phone back on the bed and went into my bathroom.

Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I disliked my facial appearance. I had so much acne on my face. The only thing I liked about my face was my eyes—they were brown, the color of honey.

Before I took my bath, I did my facial treatment. Even though it had no effect on my acne, consistency is key! Or so I hear. When I was done with my face, I moved to my hair, another thing I liked about myself. My hair was long—so long that you might mistake me for an Americanah. I thank my mom for that. I take very good care of my hair to avoid dandruff or lice.

I first rinse my hair with warm water, then I add shampoo and gently scrub. Once the shampoo has settled, I rinse it out again with warm water, making sure to wash out every bit of soap before putting in my leave-in conditioner. I then wrap my hair with a towel. Sorry if I'm being too detailed about my hair treatment; I just love adding details to your imagination winks.

When I was done, I had my bath, rinsed out the leave-in conditioner, and blow-dried my hair. Afterward, I combed it and tied it in a tight bun. Stepping out of the bathroom, I applied a little makeup to cover the acne on my face.

I went straight to my wardrobe and took out my uniform, which was neatly pressed—a blue checkered shirt and a flared skirt that stopped just below my knee. After putting it on with my stockings and shoes, I grabbed my tote bag and headed to the living room.

I live with my mom in an apartment in a three-story apartment complex. We don’t own the building; we just rent one of the thirty units on the first floor. It has two bedrooms and three bathrooms. My mom is a makeup artist and a hairstylist—yeah, I got my skills from her. I don’t know who my dad is; my mom never talks about him, and I don’t want to bother her about it.

Oh, and I’m not an only child. I have a little brother, same mother, different father. My mom married his dad, but he passed away last year. I love my little brother so much; he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

“Are you done? Let me drop you off at school,” my mom offered. It was a nice gesture, but I didn’t want to be dropped off like some rich kid. “Don’t bother, I’ve got my bicycle—I’ll ride to school,” I said, shoving a few slices of bread in my mouth.

“All right then, have a nice day,” she said as she stepped out. I quickly drank my hot cocoa and rushed out, too.

I pedaled as fast as I could. I had no idea what time it was, but I was certain I was late. When I arrived at school, the gate was already closed. The security man was my friend, though, so he let me in after some pleading, excuses, and false promises of “repentance.”

When I got to my classroom, a teacher was already inside teaching. I knew I’d be in big trouble if I walked in, so I went to the top floor of the building, which was still under construction, and decided to wait until the teacher’s time was up. There was a window where I could see the whole school. My classroom building was in the center, so I could see students heading to their classes, teachers hurrying to lessons, and some students getting punished. I could even see my brother’s school, which was just across from mine. Whenever his school ended, he would wait for mine to close so we could go home together.

The bell rang, signaling the end of first period. I immediately rushed down to my classroom before the next teacher walked in. As I entered, my classmates gave me weird looks and whispered to each other. I just rolled my eyes and glared at them all. I strolled to my seat at the back of the class. My classmates disliked me a lot, and I don’t really blame them; my hatred toward the world had ruined every chance of friendship with them. I even rejected the class’s most handsome boy two weeks ago. I swear, if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under.

When word got around the school, everyone—including my classmates—started gossiping about me. They created hateful descriptions about me. Someone even drew a picture of me with horns and put it on the school’s notice board. It wasn’t only my classmates who hated me; some teachers did too. I enjoyed proving them wrong by being inattentive in class yet passing with flying colors. I’m sure they all wished I wasn’t smart, so they could trample on me and make me suffer. The fact that my presence irritates them makes me glad evil smile.

The rest of the day dragged on with boring lessons. When school finally ended, I went to get my bicycle and rode to my brother’s school. He was already waiting for me. “Obadiah!” he called out happily, skipping toward me. I couldn’t help but smile; he was so adorable. “Mikel, be careful so you don’t hurt yourself,” I warned with concern, and he giggled.

When he reached me, I lifted him and placed him in front of my bike.

“How was school today?” I asked.

“It was fine. Miss Marie called in sick, so Mrs. Perry took her place,” he said softly, and I gently ruffled his hair. “Did you miss Miss Marie?” I asked, pedaling slowly.

“Yeah, but Mrs. Perry was fun too,” he replied. My little brother is just four years old. He’s still in nursery school, while I’m in my second year of high school. We rode quietly on our way home, with Mikel occasionally pointing at something and making us laugh.

Just as I was about to turn onto our street, I didn’t notice the approaching truck until it was too late. I managed to dodge just in time. Mikel landed safely, but I didn’t—I hit my head hard on a rock and felt dizzy. Through blurred vision, I saw Mikel rush toward me, tearfully begging me not to close my eyes. Then everything went black.

I felt my soul detach from my body and saw my lifeless body lying in a pool of blood. Was I dead? I hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. People gathered around, shaking their heads and sighing. Mikel sat beside my body, crying so hard it broke my heart. Poor little boy! He had to witness such a terrifying sight—even I was terrified by my own unconscious body.

Soon, an ambulance arrived and took my body, along with Mikel, to the hospital. I know I had wished to not be alive, but not like this, and definitely not in front of my little brother. I followed them to the hospital, where they rushed me to the ICU and took Mikel to the reception. He wouldn’t stop crying, and I wished I could console him. My mother arrived later, still dressed in her work outfit. She managed to calm Mikel, but I could see the fear in her eyes. I never thought about the people who cared about me or how they would feel if I disappeared. If only I could take back those silly wishes from the past.

In the ICU, I watched the doctors and nurses struggle to save me, though they seemed to know it was too late. “At exactly 4:45 p.m. on October 28, 2024, Miss Obadiah Oliver Chinecherem died,” the senior doctor announced. I shuddered at the words. What happens now? Was I going to ascend or something? How does it feel to be dead? These were the questions running through my mind.

When the doctor stepped out of the ICU to tell my mom, she seemed to understand from the look on his face, though she shook her head, unwilling to believe it. Mikel was asleep in her arms as she held back her tears to keep him undisturbed. It was like battling with herself to stay strong at her weakest moment.

That evening, people gathered at our home to console my mom. Our neighbors, a few of her friends, and some of her work colleagues came. Mikel was still asleep, which gave me a small sense of relief. My mom didn’t cry in front of everyone—she hated showing weakness publicly. She would rather wait until she was alone to let out the pain she held inside. When everyone had left, she went to my room.

She stood at the door, staring at the handle as if debating whether to go in. Reluctantly, she opened it.

“She’s always so messy. I don’t even know what to do with her,” she mumbled to herself, picking up clothes I’d left on the floor. “She didn’t even make her bed. Obadiah! Obadiah!” she called out, then stopped, as if expecting a response. My heart broke as I watched her wait. “She knows why I called her name,” she whispered to herself, breaking down. I cried, too, but only the walls heard me.

If only I could tell her I was right here.

And then it was all quiet. It was so cold, too. I wished I could sleep, shut my eyes for a moment, and not think about all that had happened today—but I couldn't. Being dead felt useless. It’s not like you wouldn’t still see people or hear them, so what was the point? I could still see everyone, hear them, but I couldn't touch them or snicker in their faces.

I moved around our apartment a hundred times, and in every place I went, a beautiful memory lingered. If I could take back my wishes—if only I could. Or, if I could make another, I’d wish to be alive and safe with my mom and my little brother. It was almost daybreak. I went to my mother's room, where my little brother slept, to check on him. He was still sound asleep. He looked really cute while sleeping, and I yearned to squish his cheeks. If I’d known yesterday would be my last day on earth, I would have squished his cheeks as much as I could. I would have let Mom drop me off at school so we could bond more. But it was all in the past now, and I was now part of the past.

I lay beside him and closed my eyes as if waiting for the final end to come. Then I felt my brother pinch my cheeks.

“Obadiah! Obadiah! Wake up! It's Saturday!” I heard him call out, and then my eyes fluttered open. I looked around, realizing I was in my room, in my bed, and still wearing my nightclothes. My little brother sat on my legs, smiling at me.

“It was all a dream!” I screamed joyfully and began squishing my brother's cheeks as much as I could. He giggled. My mother walked into my room to see why I was screaming and laughing so loudly. I immediately dropped Mikel on the bed, got up, and hugged my mother tightly.

“I love you, Mom, always and forever,” I said. She looked puzzled by my reaction, then she smiled and hugged me back.

“I know, but you’re not using this as an excuse to skip your chores today,” she said.

“I’ll do everything you ask me to do from now on,” I chirped happily and walked out of my room, humming my favourite song.

Maybe it was a dream, or maybe it wasn’t, but it felt so real. Maybe I died, maybe I didn’t. But I am here now, safe and sound with my family—and that’s what matters most.