13/05/2026
*I WISH MY SPIRIT FIGHTS FOR ME LIKE THE SPIRIT OF THE DEAD*
*STORY WRITTEN BY*
*ELWIN MUNATSIRE*
*CHAPTER 1*
*THE BOY NOBODY DEFENDED*
The rain fell like the sky itself was angry.
Thunder shook the old iron-roofed houses of Mbare while people rushed home before the storm became dangerous. The streets smelled of wet dust, smoke, and sewage water flowing through broken drains.
But Tawanda walked alone.
His school shirt was torn near the shoulder. Blood dripped slowly from the corner of his mouth. His left eye was swollen.
Again.
The boys who attacked him had already disappeared into the darkness laughing.
“Munhu uyu anotya zvekurohwa!”
one of them shouted earlier.
“Even his spirit is weak!”
Those words kept replaying in his mind like a curse.
Tawanda tightened his fists as he walked.
Not because he wanted revenge.
But because he was tired.
Tired of humiliation.
Tired of silence.
Tired of always suffering while everyone watched.
Even teachers never helped him.
Even neighbors ignored him.
Even his own relatives treated him like a burden after his parents died.
Pain had become his daily language.
As lightning flashed across the sky, Tawanda stopped near a small bridge.
Below him, dirty water rushed violently.
For a moment…
he imagined jumping.
Just ending everything.
His breathing became heavy.
“Amai… Baba…” he whispered painfully.
The cold rain mixed with tears on his face.
Then suddenly
A strange wind moved behind him.
Not normal wind.
Cold.
Heavy.
Alive.
Tawanda slowly turned around.
Nobody was there.
But he felt something.
A presence.
Watching.
His heart began pounding violently.
Then he heard it.
A whisper.
Very soft.
Very close to his ear.
“Tinoona kurwadziwa kwako…”
(“We see your pain…”)
Tawanda froze.
His blood turned cold.
He looked around in fear.
The road was empty.
Only rain.
Only darkness.
Then another whisper came.
This time deeper.
More frightening.
“Wakashaya vanhu vanokurwira…”
(“You lacked people who fight for you…”)
Tawanda stumbled backward.
“Ndiani aripo?!” he shouted.
Thunder exploded above him.
Then Silence.
Complete silence.
Even the insects stopped making noise.
The air itself felt dead.
Suddenly the dirty water under the bridge began bubbling violently.
Tawanda’s eyes widened.
Something was moving underneath.
Something unnatural.
A hand emerged from the water.
Grey.
Rotten.
Human.
Tawanda screamed and fell backward into the mud.
Another hand appeared.
Then another.
Dozens of dead-looking hands stretching upward like lost souls begging to escape.
The whispers became louder.
Many voices.
Men.
Women.
Children.
All speaking together.
“Saka isu tichakurwira…”
(“So we will fight for you…”)
Tawanda’s entire body shook with terror.
He tried to run—but his legs refused to move.
One shadow slowly rose from beneath the bridge.
Tall.
Covered in darkness.
Its eyes glowed pale white inside the storm.
Not human.
Not alive.
The figure pointed directly at Tawanda.
Then the voices spoke again:
“Ropa richabhadharwa neropa.”
(“Blood will be paid with blood.”)
BOOM!
Lightning struck nearby.
Everything disappeared.
The hands.
The shadow.
The voices.
Gone.
Tawanda remained alone in the rain, breathing heavily like a hunted animal.
His whole body trembled.
“What… what was that…?”
But deep inside…
for the first time in years…
he no longer felt alone.
And somewhere far away in the cemetery outside the city—
a fresh grave slowly cracked open.
*End of Chapter one*
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