SINFUL *STILL editing*

SINFUL - PROLOGUE

It was on his third attempt that Raheem had finally managed to stand up on his feet without stumbling back to the ground. He tried to disregard his disorientated condition as he kissed his teeth and let out a strained shallow breath, which indicated to him that his ribs were either fractured or broken. As he staggered back towards the raucous that was barely being contained by the walls of the hall, Raheem was unable to pinpoint a particular section of his bruised body that didn't ache. With every rigid step he took, Raheem felt as though he was carrying the weight of two people. The incessant throbbing of both of his eye sockets let him know that they would be swollen shut in a matter of hours. His mouth had been split in several places and seemed to be bleeding, but not as profusely as his nose was. Raheem himself hadn't fully comprehended how badly injured he actually was and yet he knew he would be needing prompt medical attention. With an unsteady hand, he reached into the pocket of his tailored patterned shirt for his phone. He couldn't see very well because the dark street was barely lit, and his vision had become distorted as blood trickled down his face from his wounded head. His trembling palm felt around the smashed screen, just as Raheem realised it was drenched in his blood. He froze, bewildered by how the device could be completely soaked in his blood. Raheem was rapidly becoming incoherent and it was then that his tall frame abruptly crumbled onto the cold concrete. An engulfed flame spread and tore through him causing Raheem to loosely clutch his midsection and gasp for air desperately. He glared up at the sky as he was literally swept off his feet by the tormenting pain. He heard his phone hit the ground somewhere beside him but he could no longer move; all energy had been completely drained out of him.

It was not until a few moments after the excruciating pain had taken over his body that Raheem attempted to yell out for some help. As he did, he couldn't hear himself. Raheem felt himself physically open his mouth to shout but his own words were inaudible to him. He didn't know if he had actually lost his voice or if it was purely his mind playing tricks on him. All he could hear was the faint echoes of his voice which were carried away by the darkness and animated by the sound of the vicious midnight wind. His eyes bulged as he panted, feeling breathless. Raheem was no longer able to contain the surge of short searing convulsions that had invaded his body.

It was only then that it dawned on him that he could be on the brink of dying. Upon this realisation, Raheem momentarily basked in a place of unimaginable fear. He envisioned his mind racing with a million unruly thoughts but instead he found himself situated in a place of complete calm. He had discovered a peace in all of this chaos, a moment of genuine solace.

As his eyelids violently quivered and his eyes slowly fluttered close, he waited patiently for the feeling of unconsciousness to consume him. He just lay there, in such seething agony that he had become numb; feeling his heart rate soar to the speed of a beating talking drum. And whilst he took what felt like his final laboured breaths; Raheem prayed for death. He didn't want to wake up because he knew what would happen if he did. If he lived, no one was prepared for his wrath. He alone would bring hell onto earth.