Harrowed Fate.

EPISODE 06: The Reckoning II.

He was still seated upright on the bed when Clara walked in, his face devoid of any semblance of visible emotion,  save for his poignant gaze ---  there he sat; bereft and distraught at his devastating discovery. She sees the paper in his trembling hands and at once gleaned from his demeanor that he knew. Her long held abominable secret had been revealed. She pauses in her stride, then begins to take cautious gaits towards him, keeping an intently focused glare on him, refusing her eyelids any respite to blink. She knows him to be impulsive and mean-spirited in his response to provocations, ergo she must be proactive to mitigate the consequence of the potential damage wrought.

“Frank, please don’t jump into any rash conclusions. There’s a logical explanation…” She softly spoke, sitting beside him and slowly reaching for his arm when she had settled.

“Don’t!” He snarled, his face promptly taking a dreadful form than when she walked in, the utterance suddenly sparking to surface all that he had fought to conceal until now, as his brows furrowed and jaws clenched, causing his teeth to grit, mildly. She startles back and withdraws her hand in compliance, not seeking to further enrage him. And sitting quietly, she clasps her hands between her thighs and allowed her head hang low in false remorse, uncertain of the daunting sequence that would unfold hence.

“Just answer me this...” He started, breaking the strained silence that had followed his stern reproach,

“How long has it gone on for?” His tone was mild in asking, seeming almost as one who appeared to have struck peace with his demons, when in truth it held the ominous telling of a calm before the storm.
“What do you mean?” She quipped, raising her head to his eyes.
“My father, you slut!” He barked as he sent the letterhead flying at her face in exasperation. She takes it and glances over as if in serious consideration of its content but her mind spun in quick flashes to construct plausible harmless schemes that adequately fit the narrative of the reality she held in her hands. She found none, except the evident truth, yet she could not come to grasp with the terms of forfeiting all she has worked to earn for the truth.

Although, having carnal affairs with father and son was certainly not a plan she had set forth to accomplish but how was she to know Chief Henry P. Onome was his father?  And even when she eventually came to knowledge of their relation, it had become too intricately tardy for her to stop without jeopardizing a prominent source of informal income, she could not burn that bridge --- Chief’s benevolence is a rare virtue, one she opines to enjoy.  But, she loves Francis. She had felt so strongly enamored with him since that day he came over for brunch with Lola and had since worked diabolically to make him completely hers. No, she could give neither away, she thought.

“Answer me!” Frank’s coarse baritone rang angrily through the room, abruptly interrupting her musings as he grabs her by the arm, puffing heavily with quickened rage. She could have sworn she saw the devil in his eyes sinisterly peering back at her in that brief moment; a cold chill ran down her back in fright.

“Four months…” She muttered, his eerily fervid intimidation compelling her to divulge the truth, for fear he might turn to brutal force as tensions rose.

“Four months,” he repeated, releasing his hold of Clara and solemnly receding to repose his back against the wall, bemoaning his fate in short exhaling breaths. His dad, he thought; could he have known? Of course not, but how did this happen?  He knew just how and cursed himself for not seeing it long before it happened. He begins to feel the pangs of remorse for his atrocities to Lola; the good-natured, demure woman on whom he has inflicted unspeakable outrage.  He shuts his eyes as his heart sunk at the gory images of that dreadful night, and he prayed with an excruciating measure of anguish, that Tolu was fine. The fright and repentance that emanated from those thoughts caused him to wonder yet again, how he was capable of so despicable a disposition.

“You daughter of Jezebel…you got all you wanted. You used me, I was too blind to see it, too proud to let anyone see my faults, my weaknesses…not even Lola and you helped me hide it. You hid it well. Fool that I am; I thought you rescued me, when you were really laying ruins to a generation” He narrated through sobs, his eyes looking toward the window drapes turned from Clara.

“I’m sorry, Frank. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you and…” She began but got caught mid-sentence.
“Just go!” Francis yelled with sobs still in his voice.
“Get out…go, and never return!”

She made no further attempt to plead --- his resolve was limpidly imprinted upon his demeanor and there were glints of suppressed fury in his eyes, neither of which she would bother to provoke. She stands, evincing a faint sigh to rue her lost love in Francis, then proceeds to walk to the table on which her bag was kept, but before she could turn to bid him a heart- felt farewell, the door squeaks open and the doctor walks in.

“Mr. Francis,” the doctor began, taking a quick survey of the ward, measuring a comprehensive view of Clara, who now stands hesitantly at the door with half the heart to run back into Francis’ arms, if at least to hold him one last time. The doctor feels the palpable stiffness about the room and paused but Francis; barely finding his voice urged her to proceed.
“I don’t know how to say this,” she continued. “But I am afraid; I have some disturbing news for you, Mr. Francis…” Her still voice echoed through the deafening silence.


Watch this space for the next episode...

Harrowed Fate

EPISODE 05: The Reckoning. I.

The cuffs click shut around Stanley’s wrists, he winces with his gaze intently fixed on Lola. She knelt there still, motionless, streams of tears coursing down her face unrestrained. Her world had crumbled before her eyes and so had her legs, even as the police escorted her brother out the vestibules, she could not seem to find the strength to stand, even if it were to save him. Nothing seemed to matter. Her life could as well end, she thought; looking on as Clara held Francis to her bosom, helping him recline on the stretcher that had been provided by two placidly dressed nurses. As the nurses wheeled Francis past her into one of the wards, she finds Clara’s gaze preening back at her with resentful scorn mired in a slight glint of derisive grin.

The scene in its nightmarish setting aptly depicted with the brazenness of the enemy she once called friend made her heart go numb, and in that moment as the impulse of indignation pushed strongly against her chest, she wished she still had the gun within her grasp, for once, she felt the nefarious rage to exact vengeance, regardless of the price it bore. But the police had taken custody of the gun as part of evidence and all she could wrought to feed her fury was clench her fist, it was the most she could manage for her helpless estate. All was lost, she concluded, relaxing her head resignedly against the wall.

“Madam…madam,” a gentle voice distinctly called, breaking the mold of her despondent spirits. She looks up askance at the nurse, who has now leaned over, she looks on with indifference as if to ask; “what more terrible tidings could you bear to perfectly summarize this disastrous morning…?”

“Your daughter is awake,” the nurse declared. The words felt like potent doses of elixirs reviving her from within, the tragedies of the morning had interwoven to cast an overwhelming heap of sadness on her heart that the unexpected news of Tolu’s consciousness suddenly filled her with renewed vigor --- a blinding beam of light forcing its way through obscurity. Quickly, she scrambled to find her feet and doing so, she raced down the hall to Tolu’s ward, not waiting to hear more of what technical information the nurse might have been primed to give. Her heart leapt with seamless relief as she ecstatically made for the ward.

She pushes through the door but did not go in at once, she stands a fleeting moment at the entrance relishing her surreal fortune until Tolu’s gaze met hers; the latter’s eyes were half-shut but she could see the maiden’s eyelids bat and that would suffice to reassure her for now. She wipes off the lonely tear that had unwittingly slid down her cheek and moves closer to sit by the young woman’s side on the bed, holding her hand as she stared with affectionate awe. It was selfish of her to have believed all was lost, she mused. All would truly have been lost, if her gems were taken away, they are about the only thing keeping her alive; her inspiration of strength, she continued in thought, looking over to Bola, who remains shielded from the bane of recent atrocious events, insulated in the ignorance that sleep and juvenescence allow.

“Don’t cry, mom…I’ll be fine.” Tolu softly whispered, seeing as her mother sobbed in the loneliness of her reflection.
“Yes, darling. I know you will be. I am just so glad you are alright, I thought I lost you,” she retorted through sobs and sniffs.
“I will be alright, we will be fine. But no tears, mom. Please.” Lola obeys and promptly clasps both palms on her face. 

Tolu’s words reverberated as she dried her eyes; would they indeed be ‘fine’? Tolu’s treatments must have racked up quite the bill, how’s she to pay? Even if they do escape the snares of medical fees, how would the three of them manage without any savings, she cannot in all sanity go back to Francis --- where would she begin? Her troubling thoughts were starting to build into another string of sobs when a woman in lab coat, holding a stethoscope peers into the ward, leading in a train of two gentlemen and a lady.

The gentlemen were John and Mr. Uwaifo or Oga Landlord as they often called him; they had returned to learn of Tolu’s progress as they promised they would. The lady was no acquaintance of both men nor was she any friend of Lola’s but she seemed to have the confidence of the two gentlemen whom she trailed.
“Good afternoon, madam Lola,” John began, brandishing half a grin.“How’s she? I can see she’s awake now.”
“Yes, she came to, over an hour ago but she’s trying to rest now.” Lola quipped, glancing at Tolu as she answered.
“Well, actually she is stable, now. She just needs to eat and rest, then the healing can start. The woman in white interjected after conducting a satisfactory respiratory function test.
“Thank you, doctor. I’ll be coming to your office soon,” Lola intimated, unsure of what that meeting would yield.

“Madam, I know you don’t know me. I’m Mrs. Farida, I was there when your brother got arrested, this morning,” the stranger started after waiting unavailingly to be introduced. Even now, she was interrupted by Mr. Uwaifo; who was genuinely startled by that last bit of news.

“Stanley?! Why?!” He posed.
“Oga Landlord, it’s a long story. We’ll talk about it later. Please madam, go on.” Lola urged.

“As a woman, it was disheartening to have witnessed such outrageous scenes as occurred, this morning. I don’t need to be told the story, I know it. I have lived it myself and I had vowed since, never to let any woman within my reach suffer the same fate I did. It was why I asked the doctor to bring me to you and on our way here, we met Mr John and Mr. Uwaifo, I explained my intentions to them and they in turn said little about you out of respect for your privacy…Madam, I lead a Rights For Women Organization, it’s a non-profit that fights for the protection and fundamental rights of women in abusive marriages and relationships. Men, like your husband deserve to be held culpable for their monstrosities and I would very much like to lend a hand, if you would let me…” Mrs. Farida pauses in anticipation of a response but silence prevailed instead, with Lola’s intermittent sigh the sole component that attests to life in the room, although, her relief was palpable.

*************************************************************************************************

Francis gazes at the door, through which Clara had just exited, she had gone to source out refreshments. A waning mischievous grin still lurked on his face as he stared into the space she had walked through, his injured arm bandaged and attached to a tube that connects to an intravenous fluid sac hanging down a stand beside his bed, with just little staples on the several contusions across his face. He eventually caved his grin and occupied his mind with other thoughts until he became curious about the extent of damage  his face had suffered; he sits up and attempts to reach for his paramour's bag on the table beside him, grimacing as he stretched.

He succeeds in his attempt and soon begins to fumble through the bag for a mirror. He finds one but notices a card underneath the bag’s strewed contents; a flat, rectangular, silver plastic with a classic inscription on it that read; “SILVERLING.” It sounded quite familiar in his head. Silverling…Of course! He evinced, it’s a hotel --- his dad had taken him there to celebrate passing the bar last year. Why would she be in possession of the hotel’s key card? 

His curiosity deepened and with just one working arm he further searches the bag frantically but found nothing, and would have contented himself with just asking her when she returns, had he not seen the zipper on the left side of the bag’s inner pocket. Without hesitation, he unzips the pocket and reveals an envelope, enclosed within was the hotel's letterhead.

He unfolds it and allows his eyes skim through the first words, it was addressed to Clara and one Mr. Prince about their reservation, he could now feel his heart rapidly palpitating, anger slowly stirring in his chest. He glances down to the bottom end --- the signature corner and just then, he drops the paper in outright disbelief of what he beheld, his bowels whirred in utter disgust and soon begins to hyperventilate, exhaling excessively to keep up with the speed of his racing heart.

“No…this can’t be,” he whimpered, his voice finally finding its way around the lump lodged in his throat as he stared at the paper again, this time with tear-brimmed eyes and a shattered heart.

Watch this space for the next episode...

Harrowed Fate.

EPISODE 04: Catharsis.

Her face turned pale with shock as she glared aghast at the horrid scene, she promptly feel her knees become weak as she momentarily loses balance and clasped on to Clara’s arm for support. On one end stood Stanley, his visage sopping with blood, perfectly contoured to the unmistakable expression of ferocious rage, he adroitly aims a semi- automatic firearm at his sister’s husband, who stare doggedly at the weapon from the floor where the vicious brawl had taken an uneven turn ---

Stanley had walked a few paces from where his sister and her friend were seated, to curb his anger. He had barely walked five yards away, when he saw an upper body frame resembling that of Francis appear from behind the bend, the latter was leaning over the counter as he inquired information from a nurse. He was not certain about the identity of whom it was, so he treks closer for a clearer view and as he got closer he became convinced it was Francis. And in the spur of his wrath, having got close enough, he grabbed the nape of his unsuspecting brother-in-law and bashed his head on the counter and yelled; “You are a dog! I will treat you like one…I warned you! I told you!

Francis recovers quickly from the attack, staggering a few steps back before impulsively plunging forward to tackle Stanley to the ground, he sends his victim crashing head first with forceful impact on the marbled floor and subsequently following up with a string of well-aimed devastating jabs. Hospital staff and guests soon rushed to intervene, pulling Francis off Stanley with the former blurting out, “She’s a whore, a whore!” His voice echoed through the hallway.

Incensed by his words and also to have been overpowered, despite the heinous deeds Francis had wrought, Stanley tirelessly wrestled for his release from the restraint of the crowd on his end. He suddenly breaks free and charges at Francis, vigorously shoving him against the slab, the violent thrust causing Francis to lose footing as his head banged on the upright, half way through his fall. Stanley, seeing he has his counterpart at a disadvantage, nimbly reaches under his shirt and pulls out a glock, taking rigid aim at Francis --- it was at this juncture that his sister arrived the grisly scene.

“Put the gun down,” Lola calmly whispered. But fixed he stood with the weapon firm in his grip, acutely pointing it at his target, who looks up with a bloodied face at the gun, panting, partly in fright but unyielding to the thoughts of remorse or truce.
“Stanley!” Lola screams, noticing as the intent on her brother’s face grew, a face meshed in a compelling mixture of sweat and blood. He was never one to hesitate; he would satisfy his rage as long as it was justified. She always brooded over his measures for justification; the dissonance between his moral inclinations and impulsive rage.
And now she begins to wonder if he would suppress his fury and not give way to the justification of serving what he considers adequate justice to Francis’ atrocities. She waited with bated breath in the stillness of that ominous moment, frightened of what her brother’s actions could yield.

“Stan, this is not what I want.” She implored him, her tone softer; eyes fixed on her brother’s steady pose.
“I know you think this makes it alright but squeezing that trigger would only make all this worse,” she continued, now at the brink of tears.
“But I warned him! I warned him, several times!” Stanley retorts angrily, the crowd around him scampering for cover as he waved around with the gun.
“He’s an animal, he shouldn’t be shown pity! Tolu’s lying in there in excruciating pain because of him. See what he has done to you…he has to answer for all that, someone has to make sure he does!” He roared, moving toward Francis with intent on his gait and grip.
“And he will answer for everything but shooting him won’t help,Stanley,” Clara intervened, breaking his stride. And as if stung by her words, he quickly interjects.

“You stay out of this! You, snake! You, of all people want to make this right?!” He snarled rhetorically, his words eliciting an exchange of baffled stares between both friends. Lola’s lips trembled in contemplation to inquire what Stanley meant. But before she could manage an utterance, a loud deafening bang suddenly rang through the hospital. Francis was now sprawled on the hospital floor clutching his shoulder with his hand drenched in blood, as Stanley stood dazed at the discharged firearm still in his grip, struggling to fathom what malignant spirits had possessed them both ---

--- Francis had abruptly launched himself at Stanley, just as he turned from his reply to Clara, with the intent of dispossessing him of the weapon, but the latter was quick in his reflexes. He caught sight of the body menacingly approaching him and swiftly pressed his finger hard on the trigger, the fiery shot shattering the glass door at the entrance and fatally grazing his brother-in-law’s shoulder.

“Frank!” gasped Clara, to the bemusement of Lola, who stands petrified as the scene unfolded. She watched as Clara scurried to where Francis lay, smothering him with kisses and tending to his injured shoulder, while the latter groaned in agony, only then were her suspicions confirmed, albeit not entirely. She watched as a handful of the hospital crowd began to assemble round Stanley, he made no arrangement for his safety; there he knelt as one who has been relieved of a yoke, weakly holding on to the glock between his legs. Many among the crowd had contemplated overpowering him before the shot rang out but feared with his rage, it might have a devastating end and so remained dormant. Lola made her way through the crowd to where he knelt, she kneels before him.

“The police are on their way…” she whispered, holding his hand and fighting back the tears.
“I have no remorse, something had to be done.” He replied, looking to the ground, ashamed to meet her eyes.
“You can’t always fight my battles for me, Stan. This was my burden.” She mumbled through sobs.
“Lola, you needed help. The torment had gone on too long and your false friends have stakes in it. Like that one, after the affair she had with him, I don’t know why you’re still friends with her…of what help can she be?”
“Affair? Who? Clara and Francis?! She posed in sheer dismay.
“She never told you? I made her promise she would or I do it myself. I had caught them together, outside a bistro up town. She told me it was just dinner between two friends but begged me to let her be the one to tell you. We met a few days later and she told me, you understood it was nothing and that you forgave her. I would ask but you’ve been friends since you were both twelve and I did not want to further cause chaos in your home.
” He could see the surrender in her eyes as he spoke and knew he had let her down. She casts a glance over her shoulder to where both couples were and made sure her eyes met with Clara’s, as the nurses tend to Francis.

It all began to own a distinctive truth as she aligned the events that had transpired throughout the previous six months. Clara fed on her woes, very possibly the culprit of her misfortunes; she was the wolf in sheep’s clothing. How deep did her scheme run to manipulate Francis’ will, to what extremes did she run to win his heart? She thought. Did she cause him to lose his job? The singular and pivotal happenstance that would later wreak series of irreparable devastation and bring to utter ruin what was once a blissful home.

How did she not see it? How could she have been so oblivious to her own crisis? Who would come to her help, now? Where would she go, with the kids? From where will succor come? She was vehemently wrapped in these thoughts when she heard the sirens blaring outside. They have come for Stanley; she will be stripped of the only true help she could rely on. She holds on tight to his hand, he leans close and embraces her.

“Your battles will always be my battles and I will fight each one until there’s no more blood in me, Lola.” He softly whispered as the uniformed men marched in…


Watch this space for the next episode.

Harrowed Fate

EPISODE 03: The Calvary.

Eyelids flutter and she startles awake. Her eyes dart over to the clock hanging on the wall just in her line of sight. Seven a.m.  She must have dozed off, she thought, reclining further back in her chair as she yawned. John and the Landlord had since returned, both promising to check back on them in the afternoon. She looks over to her right, where Tolu lay peacefully asleep in bed, then heaves a breath of relief. All through the early hours of the morning, as the doctors tended to Tolu, she struggled to keep her wit and strength; restless as she looked to John for support; he calmed her with reassurances and optimism, but that would not do, still, she dreaded the worst. She cringed to think of what she would become if she lost Tolu. 

And now as she examined the frail juvenile’s wrist; observing the intravenous needle attached under her skin and the blood coursing through the needle’s thin hollow tube from her end into Tolu’s veins, as she stared on, the events of the previous night flooded her thoughts and she fought arduously to hold back the tears, for she feared she might wake the reposing lass. But her resilience could not withstand the grueling images that recurred in loops in her head; she sobbed in silence.

“Knock, knock,” the soft voice called from without; quickly she wipes her eyes with her palm, looking askance at the door.
“Lola…” the voice called again, in a familiar tone as a head now pokes in from behind the door. She recognizes the guest.
“Clara… please, come in.” She managed through a faint grin, in an attempt to mask her most recent demeanor. The woman quietly makes her way in, garbed in black pantsuit and a sheening bob. Once in, she stood at the opposite end of the bed, looking over Tolu with a countenance of dismay and pity.

“Lola, how did it get to this?!” She blurted with stifled indignation. Lola gestures with her hand to suggest decorum for the sake of both children asleep. Bola, her youngest was laid on the mat beside her. She unhooks the intravenous needle from her wrist before doing same for Tolu, then proceeds to move the stand --- from which now hung an empty transfusion bag, away from reach.
“Let’s talk outside,” She muttered as she headed toward the door, her guest following behind.
“They had to do a blood transfusion?” Clara posed as they walked out.
“She had lost a lot of blood --- we share the same type…”
“How long do you want this to continue? We had agreed, he can’t keep hitting you like this?!” Look at you, Lola…look what he’s done to Tolu!” Clara fumed, once they were sat on a wooden bench just outside the ward. 

Lola’s face turned hollow as she cast a glance at Tolu from the glass window; the poor child had been through too much pain in one night than she has felt her whole life; she reasoned. Although, weak and disoriented, she remembers in truth opining to leave with the kids, days after the last abuse but she had since chosen to stay after nights of pensive conclusions.

“Clara, we’ve been friends for a while, now…you know me.” She started; her voice; soft and faint.
“Where would I go, with two children? Tolu needs to be delicately nursed back to health. Francis had lost his job, we were barely making ends meet as it were, and him taking to the bottle did not help.” She paused as if to bemoan her fate.
“And that’s my point!” Her guest interjected.
“The man is morbidly irresponsible and a raging alcoholic. I mean, he nearly killed Tolu, we might not be that lucky, next time. He’s a brazen brute!”

“Francis wasn’t always like that.” She retorted, feeling the strange urge to defend her choice of partner.
“He was gentle, kind and resolute. He would bring me books or magazines, every day when we courted; he knew how much I loved to read…I was to be a journalist” Her eyes lit up as the fondness of that memory played in her mind, a grin had unwittingly formed but was short-lived --- the sharp pain from her injured lip forcing her to quickly withdraw the attempt, that which now jolts her back to the tragedy of the current reality.
“I don’t know what to do, Clara.” She concluded in a resigned tone, tears welling up in her eyes.
“I have nowhere to go. I was so scared I was going to lose my little girl,” she muttered as her eyes freely gave way to the sobs. Clara moves closer to comfort her, so that Lola’s face rested on her shoulder as the latter cried.
“We’ll sue for domestic violence and a trial separation; that is what we’ll do, only if you agree, if for nothing, to get you and the kids to safety.” Her friend quipped.
“I have friends who deal in these cases. This won’t happen again, I assure you.” There was a momentary pause after Clara’s assertive reply but it was interrupted by the thuds of approaching footsteps.
“Stanley!” Lola gasped, as a sturdy figured stopped before them, she stands, throwing her arms around him.
“Does mom know?” She asked but he was too miffed with fury to manage a reply.
“He did this to you?! That bastard did this?!” The burly built middle-aged intruder snarled, releasing himself from the embrace to scrutinize Lola’s face.

“Where’s he?!” He barked again, his sonorous voice echoing through the hospital’s hallway, causing visitors to stare.
“Stan, please calm down, we’re in a hospital.” Clara interjected. She knew him from adolescence to be quick with temper.
“At least, go check in on your niece.” She concluded. Stanley pauses and exhales heavily, then walks inside the ward, leaving both women outside as they reeled from his outburst. He walks out barely a minute later and his face thickened with rage.
“That dog had better not come here…” he fumed.
“I told him the last time, if he ever touched you or Tolu again, it would be the last time he touches anything. I told him!” He yelled, addressing Lola and her friend as he paced with indignant strides, both women imploring him to keep his composure.

Hardly had Lola looked away from him, did she hear the upsetting noise of a brawl. It came from the bend that led to the wards just meters from the hospital entrance, she looks about her and notices Stanley was gone; quickly she and Clara rushed towards the entrance. As they got closer, Lola could hear Francis’ voice; “she’s a whore!” it echoed, followed by the sound of heavy thumps, but just as they got within a few meters to the scene, it all became silent. There were no shrilling noises, neither were there any sounds of struggles, all they had recently heard had suddenly gone mute. Nothing could have prepared Lola for what she saw next… 

Harrowed Fate.

EPISODE 02: Depths of Despair.

 His brows furrowed in seething rage, causing distinct ridges to form across his forehead as he moves  menacingly toward her.

"You offspring of a viper! You have colluded with the witch you call a mother to kill me, eh? Give me that, you little devil!” He roared through widened, bloodshot eyes, grabbing her violently by the arm – same one that had the knife but she holds firmly onto it, screaming into the stillness of the night as loudly as her lungs permitted, in protest. 

“No! “

“I said, give it!” He yells again, now beating her wrist with the base of his palm to weaken her hold on the cutlery, his right hand still rigidly wrapped around her arm. She grimaces as a result of the chafing and tries to adjust her grip but despite his inebriated state -- his strength overwhelmed hers and that attempt was tamely foiled. A solitary tear rolled down her puffy eyes, she felt defeated and began to loosen her hold.

“Leave her alone, Francis!” the mother called, springing to her feet as she holds Tolu’s hand in place. 

Perhaps, it was the fear of the fate that lay ahead in the aftermath of him recovering the knife that buoyed her with the strength to intervene or  perhaps the surrender she saw in Tolu’s eyes that afforded her that burst of energy, as her head still throbbed and her lips also swollen, battered. Whichever it was, she knew she could not just sit and nurse her woes.

“Let her go. You’re hurting her…you are hurting her, Francis. Let her go!” Her voice trembling as she now clasps both her hands on his tightened grip of Tolu, vigorously tugging at it. He responds by nudging her to the ground with his right elbow, momentarily releasing his hold on Tolu’s wrist, the pubescent juvenile staggers but quickly regains balance. Seeing he was half way to triumph, he sways back towards the girl with a determined countenance but was stopped short by a startling series of knocks.

“Oga Francis, it’s your neighbor, John…Please, open the door.”

“Yes..? What do you want?!” His coarse voice rang with resentful venom from within. “Anyone else but John,” he mutely reverberated.

“Is Madam Lola alright?” John asked, without the hope of any response.

Realizing that help was just inches away; Lola summoned all the bulk of her diminishing strength and threw herself against the door, creating an audible thump in a bid to force it open. Immediately, he pushes her away from the door in exasperation but his proximity to the door causes him to hear indistinct murmurs outside and there, he realized John was not alone; the upheaval and chaos that had continued for close to an hour must have alarmed the neighbors and prompted an upset.  What business of theirs is this? He thought. 

“Francis, open this door!” He recognizes the voice to be the landlord’s and after a pensive pause, he hesitantly obliges. The door comes away and the living room like the montage of a tragic play was in full view to the small crowd. There they all were, his neighbors. He knew he had to salvage what fragmented jots of his dignity that remained, so he shuffles through the doorway, outside into the moonlit night where all had gathered in disgruntled pockets, then stops, and as if a man  from whom a legion of demons had just been exorcised, he raises his eyes to meet theirs in a bid to lay their concerns to rest, only to find horror plainly written on all their faces, it seemed exaggerated a demeanor for his actions, besides, it would not be the first time this has happened. He knows they despise him but certainly not terrified. Why do they look aghast? He pondered, moving closer to observe their demeanors more clearly in the overcast. Just then he noticed, they were not looking at him but further behind. With an air of urgency, John rushes into the living room and the landlord hurriedly follows behind. In a daze, he turns swiftly around…

“Tolu!!” He shrieked, rushing back inside.

She was lying still on the floor, her eyes shut and from her diaphragm, through the sopped black vest she had on, oozed a heavy trail of blood, trickling down from where she lay. Her head slightly raised in her mother’s laps, who cradles it as she inconsolably weeps.

 “You killed her…you killed my angel, you got what you wanted; now she’s dead. My baby’s dead.” Her voice quivering with resigned sadness as the words numbly fell from her lips, her face; pale and emotionless, flooded with rivulets of sobs coursing down her face.  He slumps to his knees beside the teen’s frail body, struggling to fathom what had happened. “What have I done?” he muttered repeatedly, utterly crippled with shock at the insufferable sight of his daughter’s body sprawled limp in her own blood. 

“What have I done?” He echoes burying his face in his hands. His poison possessed mind, starting to gain coherence but he remained lost in the devastation of what had occurred. A few more of the neighbors had come in, exasperated by the spate of the incident, they had begun a deliberation.

“You should be arrested and jailed, you don’t deserve what you have” One complained.

“Let’s not delve into conclusions; do we really know what happened?” Another opined.

It had happened all too fast. As he let go of his firm hold on Tolu to fend off Lola, he had abruptly upset the equilibrium of the trio’s combined grip, causing Tolu’s opposing force to work to her disadvantage as her arm jerked unexpectedly toward her torso, thrusting in the knife she held. Neither of both remaining parties saw what had transpired, Just then her father had been distracted by the knock and her mother was only just recovering from another assault with her back turned. It was all over in a twinkle, the instrument culpable of the gruesome deed lying harmless by her side.

“Francis, we need to get this girl to the hospital, quickly!” The grey-haired homeowner retorted, having felt a pulse. John clasped his hands on the inches wide cut to stop further bloodletting. The man to whom the statement was referred remained mute, horrified by the scene he beheld. 

“Francis!” The landlord barked. He did not wait for a reply this term, as calls for the hospital were beginning to gain momentum in the crowd. He picks up the gravely wounded adolescent and with the help of John, they carried her; shoulder and feet to the former’s car with Lola briskly trailing them. She had just a wrap cloth on, one of the women from the crowd had run to swathe her shoulders with a striped shirt, the tears still ran loosely from her eyes, her youngest son clutched to her bosom, her lips still bloodied and her head still ached, but none of that pain could measure to a fraction of the grief that has her heart in the deep throes of torment. She got to the car and handed the boy to John, who was already seated in the passenger seat. She crept in behind as fast she could manage, into the backseat, Tolu was laid there. She raised the unconscious girl’s head, to make room for herself to seat, then cushioned it on her lap, after which she subsequently collects the padded cloth that had been held in place over the stab wound by the landlord to prevent any more blood loss. 

Having being relieved of that task, the latter quickly got in the driver’s seat, shut the door and turned the ignition key, the car revved. She raises her head to get a glance at the electronic clock elevated on the dashboard, 3a.m! It’s been two hours of a horrendous nightmare and it isn’t over yet; she sighed for strength.  The car made its way out of the compound and was soon on the major road to the hospital. All the way, she never took her eyes off Tolu, whispering prayers as her hand kept pressure on the wound and at other intervals she would appeal to Tolu’s subconscious;

“Fight for me, Tolu…please princess, fight for me.” She would plead then break into sobs.

Watch this space for the next episode.

Harrowed Fate.

EPISODE 01: A bruised pride.

She hears the keys rattle outside, alongside the disruptive sounds of uncoordinated steps, like that of a man scrambling to find his footing. Quickly, she rouses up the kids, both of whom had fallen asleep on her laps.

‘Tolu…Tolu, stand up. Take your brother inside, your father is at the door.’ The young teen awakens and stealthily rises to her feet, rubbing her eyes with the back of her left hand as she helps up her still half-asleep brother. The door swings open after a brief struggle and a sturdy male figure wobbles in, slamming the door behind him, he then lets escape a loud belch almost in simultaneous fashion, fouling the air with the repulsive stench of alcohol. She holds up the lantern that gave the room mild illumination, raising it above her head to get a clear view of the wall clock; five minutes past one, in the morning.

She heaves a sigh to suppress the resulting angst and gradually lowered the lamp but in the act catches the deplorable demeanor of her husband; the man on whom she conferred the virtues of nobility, the man whom she thought was to be the Jewel in her crown, the one she gave everything up for despite all the odds that had stood to threaten her life and what was seeming to be an illustrious future, there he was, barely standing, drunk to nigh oblivion. Her heart sank.

‘Francis, why? Why do you choose to humiliate yourself like this?’ She retorts, fighting back the tears. ‘Your children, our children went to bed on empty stomachs. They waited for hours for their father to return, but again, he fails them. You’ve failed them, Francis…you’ve failed me.’ She quipped through sobs.

‘Woman, get out of my way!’  Shot back the other voice, angrily. Her words had fallen yet again on an impenetrable wall. She wipes her eyes with the hem of her wrap cloth and resignedly withdraws her legs from his path as it was hitherto stretched across the passage impeding full entrance to the miniature room and parlour.

 He begins to stagger through, muttering what sounded like curses under his breath as he passed, she further recedes from his path to avoid any accidental missteps but she could only control her balance not his. On the last stride, his leg caught hers and he tripped, swearing heavily as his frail alcohol-infused body hit the hard floor. She had thought he would lay there till the morning as he would customarily do, seeing his drunken state and how hard he fell. But he quickened up with a clenched fist and before she could attempt to seek cover from the looming madness, her lower lip had suffered an injurious barrage of stray blows, leaving it bloodied and gaping open. She felt the wounded lip with the tip of her tongue, the extent of the injury stringed with the shock of its unexpected culprit 

sent streams of tears freely pouring down her cheeks. 

"Whore! Hic...that is...hic...what you are! A good for nothing haggard whore!” He yelled between hiccups and burps. 

“My death is not in your filthy hands." He continued. Then as if possessed, he suddenly charges at her in a fit of residual rage, throwing her against the wall. She lets out a sharp scream as the back of her head hit the upright with a thud. 

“I am the man in this house, you hear me?!  Not you. Me!” He hurled out in a futile attempt to rescue his emasculated pride while he watches her sob.

“You are no man, Francis…but a thug. You are a monster, that’s what you’ve become!” She managed as she quaked with sobs, reeling from the inflicted aches. Even in his barely lucid state, her words fell like fiery hailstones crashing down on his ego; he delicately spins around and was once more prepared to pounce, when he hears Tolu speak, she was now standing before him.

“Move away from her, dad!” Her voice was calm, mixed with equal proportions of sadness and intent but calm. So calm was it, that he unsuspectingly approached to scold her, it was not until he got closer  that he saw the shiny, thin object in her grip, pointing at him in the dim light. He stops in his drunken gait to get a proper view of the object. It was a knife, firm in her grip. Yet again, that resolved voice echoed;

“I won’t let you hurt her anymore…move away from her!”


Watch this space for the next episode.

REFLECTION. 

     
       Part I. 

I am lost. All my life, I wanted to be one thing; different. I wanted to be unique, set apart from the crowd, distinguished from the lot. It was more vivid in my childhood than it is as a young adult. As a child, I did almost everything a child would, at least with the impoverished resources I had, nevertheless I maintained a normal childhood but even in that conventional and restricted atmosphere it was still limpid that I was not like the other kids. 

I stood apart effortlessly. I was able to read, write and speak good English at a very tender age, an unpopular feat with which most of my peers were still struggling, my subconscious radiantly sparkled and I could sense wrong even without being told, I knew injustice and could never fully understand most things adults did, or the reason behind their actions. I never cared about growing up, in fact I abhorred the thought of it, mostly because grown-ups only seemed to care for nothing else but themselves and would do anything for their self-serving intents to materialize. I just could not stand it. I thought it was the innocence of infancy that was responsible for this mindset and it should have waned through the years of adolescence to puberty, but it did not. Many said the hand of God was on me, that He had chosen me for a purpose, I become glad whenever they said this, given the special place God had in my heart but then I grew up and I ask; are we not naturally supposed to care for each other? Do we not belong to the same human race and share the same planet?  

Even as a grown-up I still hold my convictions and can also defend them but I fail to see anything unique in it, I could not arrive at the understanding of how being humane sets me apart from the rest and to me it ceased to be special, ergo I cannot be different for that sake. For being humane. But the problem is, I want to be different, I desire to be seen in an extraordinary perspective and since my childhood beliefs are incapable of giving me that, I sought forcibly for other paths that can get me there, otherwise, I would be a leaf in the wind. I have struggled to find that special thing, matter of fact, the futile search has made me jaded about life, nothing quite excites me anymore, it all looks the same to me or of very little importance, so much that I don’t give a thought to the logic behind routine happenings.

 I have simply become unattached to life and everyone around me. I walk around with a smug on my face like one who’s been deeply wronged and it drives people away. I wonder if they think I am normal, though the obvious hint that can be gleaned from my demeanor is that I am sad. Perhaps I am. Perhaps the fact that I live in a place where no one sees beyond the tip of their noses saddens me, that they all prefer to live according to the dictates of the society and never looking deeper to find who they truly are, yes perhaps these clichés and seared norms infuriate me. Yet I cannot blame the world for whom I have become, it will be unjust to disown my burdens and deny my faults because truly I have allowed no other passenger on my path, it’s a one way track and I am its only walker. 

Often I preach on the revelational advantages of being open minded, of how it frees the yoke of egoistic compulsions and opens a way to profound peace, knowledge and even happiness, yet while I am aware of this truth, I have failed not to practice but to indulge its frivolous facet. I have refused to leave myself to free will by shutting off parts of me that hold the core precepts of my nature and letting go dispensable convictions, therefore leaving me with the restricted access to a unilateral world view. That is why till present I still do not understand fun or its importance. Alas.