When I woke so suddenly, in the dead of the night, with tiny beads of water coursing down my head, flowing to drench the areas around my neck, chest and armpit, I knew something was wrong. I felt too alive, uneasy if not restless, like an athlete before the start of a marathon race.

“Something is wrong,” I whispered to myself. “something needed to be addressed right this moment.”

Looking around into the darkness, eagerly waiting for my iris to dilate so that my eyes could make out the abstract object of nothingness, I saw nothing and there was nothing to see. I couldn’t tell anything apart from the other, nothing had form or shape just like the world before the creation of things.Only one thing was a surety, I was on a bed. One thing did I have in mind – I needed to address something!

“Where is my torchlight?” I asked myself, groping for a torchlight.

 Some few seconds later, I found the torchlight sitting under my pillow and after what seemed like an endless fumble for the button, I heard a click sound, followed by an assault by of light so strong, my dilated iris didn’t just constrict alone, my eyes had to shut off to adjust to the light. Everything came into shape and view after that and nothing seemed out of place. The wall facing my bed was still standing, void of life and filled with a lifeless tangle of books and clothes and shoes, overflowing from their respective shelves and spilling unto the ground. The wall behind, on which my bed rested, felt firm and solid under my palms even as I touched it. The door seemed unopened, the key still at the eye of the lockset in a manner that affirmed that the door was still locked. The window displayed nothing but darkness and the bed on which I now sat, had just a few items – a pillow, a mattress, a bed sheet in a tangled mess, some magazines and books opened and scattered at the foot of the bed and a blanket that dripped from the foam, unto the ground and pooled there.

My room was as I had left it before I slept – messy.

I hopped out of bed, feeling weird. It was a feeling that tingled the hair that lined my skin, which was neither creepy nor eerie, but unpleasant nonetheless. I looked around again, searching, inspecting till I was certain that nothing out of place…that was when I sensed it. Somewhere deep in my spirit, a force so strong, so commanding, was calling out to me. I felt the ground give way under my feet and saw myself thrown till I was on all fours on the ground. That was when the search began! My hands seemed so alive, restless as it searched and searched for something on the ground that was only known to the metacarpals and phalanges and not the entire body. I watched it seek and prod, pick and dispose items blindly, carelessly, until It found something straight, narrow and short like a tube but with a pin-mouth. My hands brought it out and brandished it for registration by my brain. It was a pen! It had been searching for a pen! Then the search began all over again, this time shorter and more purposeful than the former. The next item was found under the bed where I kept unused hardbacks. My brain recognized the feel of the item as a book even as my hands dragged it out into the light. The same hands placed the book, eagerly, on my tighs, opening and turning pages till it came to a page that suited it, a blank page. I felt my fingers then, curling around the pen, spinning it, making it dance, with excitement, to a song unknown. It was time to write, I realized it was time to write. But nothing came forth! I just stared, confused, at the blank pages, twirling the pen and chewing on my bottom lips; the restless feeling building and mounting till I thought I would be toppled over by its magnitude.       

I felt myself begin to swell with an intensity that left me dizzy and sort of nauseous. I knew if I didn’t gag the words out, I wouldn’t feel well. But for the life of me, I couldn’t make anything from within come out! It was like the words had been bottled up and corked so tight, that it was going to take more than a good shake to spill out its content. I felt heavy. I felt swollen and I knew, there and there, that I was pregnant!

I was pregnant, swollen with alphabets that wouldn’t burst forth, dizzy from the magnitude of what was being held back from the world and nauseous; fervently praying to vomit the words out and onto the blank page and fill it with a muddle of beautiful words, precious words. This was my own morning sickness, I thought, amused. This was how it felt to be heavy with something!

I stared at the opened page on my laps and scribbled the word: PREGNANT. I was pregnant with words that had neither been spoken nor written, words waiting for the right time to be birthed. For I was indeed PREGNANT!

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