Saturday, 15 July 2017

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.

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