BABY GONE You walked around, looking in confusion as the university students and other onlookers were so busy taking pictures of the body on the road floor. It was your body, but this time not the usual reflection on the mirror. Your other body had a head that had been crushed, a were-white pulpy brain substance, and a face and school uniform smeared with blood. Your other body had been crushed by a runaway lorry and now it lay limp and lifeless on the road. The students began to disperse after Aunty Chiaku, a professor of Sociology and also your Mum’s friend, carried you into her car. You would be confirmed dead at the hospital, and you will become very frightened seeing other bodies in the mortuary. On your way outside, you will hear Aunty Chiaku say to the doctor, ‘he would have survived but no one helped, they were only busy taking pictures for the social media. Facebook, twitter, instagram, have dehumanized them.’ Mum had not yet heard the story of your death. She was busy reading at home and listening to Asa’s Baby Gone. It was February 14 and your classmates exchanged gifts and carnations and letters. Mum had promised you a laptop for your stories. You had applied for the prefectship post as the school library prefect and you were getting ready to contest in the elections. Life is made of dreams. Now you dream a greater dream, you are faster than flash and you can pass through physical barriers, even people. You heard: MY BABY IS GONE FROM ME HAVE YOU SEEN MY BABY FOR ME? #Roughly_edited.