The Incarnate

by Vivian Dindu Esimoleze

I saw him standing by the side of the bus. He was smiling, bursting with vitality and sensuality. Immediately he saw me, he was startled. His smile slowly disappeared.

He called me a name “Rose” precisely. I was taken aback. That isn’t my name. He kept on looking at me like someone he knew. I moved closer to him.

“Hello” I greeted. He didn’t respond.

“Is everything okay, sir?” I asked.

“Yes.” He answered stuttering. “Rose” he called out again.

I smiled. “Sorry sir, Rose isn’t my name. I’m Lilian”.

“Oh. I’m sorry. Forgive me,” he said. “You reminded me of someone I used to know. Someone I was very close to. You look so much like her. She died three years ago”.

He brought out his phone. Opened his gallery and showed me the picture of the girl. I laughed it off. Bade him farewell and continued my journey. But I was restless throughout the day.

The truth is I also died three years ago. But this isn’t my body. The night I died, my soul entered the girl’s body.

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