The once glittering roofs turned pale brown due to the harsh weather condition during the dry season. The brown leaves lying scattered below dance to the rhythm of the wind in a random motion. The wind sweeps them into the streets and further to the other side. The grasses being compelled to the heat surrender the juice in them to the scorching sun. Over at the next yard on which the Catholic Church stood, the huge bell swung from one to the other indicating the next mass. It’s the dry season again you know. The journey of the dusty wind from the Sahara deserts to this place will soon be felt wildly by the young, elderly, sick and the unborn. The winds still ravaging the entire street peel out the loose roofs, passing clouds of dust from window to window and doorstep to doorstep. It soon gets close to rescue their abode from the menace and encroachment of the plastic bags and nylons held hostage by the wind.
She managed to pin the glass window to the frame, cutting short the illumination that had once graced the room. Alone she was in the dark. She couldn’t afford going to the kitchen to light the kerosene lantern. In fact the darkness suited her. At least the eyes of the gods were turned off from her. She lay on the cemented floor which previously cold and mild was turning warm and itchy. She still didn’t mind. She lay there restlessly rolling from one side to other. Her health was deteriorating, muscles weakened accompanied with a hacking cough that made the itches in her sore throat chronic. She lay down for hours as she focused her eyes into the pitch darkness wondering the number of forces lurking in the darkness to claim her doomed soul. Life was paying her back for her deeds.
“Life is wicked and dreadful,” she thought to herself. Maybe the dirty arms of death will be welcoming. Maybe the abyss won’t after all be what they claim it to be. She whispered a prayer to her Maker, pleading mercy and freedom.
She was edged back to consciousness by the heavy metallic ring tone of her cell phone. She grinned in annoyance and heaved a sigh of relief as she stretched forth her left arm to grab it from the top of the tiny mattress. It was her lover, Chika. She smiled thinly to herself then clicked to answer. His cool voice set ablaze all the negative notions she had within herself.
“How are you now? Am sorry I have not come to visit,” he said softly. That was all she needed at the moment. Someone to tell her sorry. Someone to care and talk her back to the young fragile person she once was. And this voice on the other end was the answer to her silent prayers. They conversed for minutes as he tried to lure her back to health mentally. He knew her so well. He knew what she was like when she was ill and so understood every bit of her condition without her even pushing far with explanations. This was the only reason she chose to live life anyway. Without his strong but mild voice on the other, she wouldn’t be plastered with these smiles on her face. She despised death and the abyss. She despised despair. She despised hopelessness.
Get updates on our post by joining our BBM Channel via C00396EEB, if you are reading from mobile click: http://pin.bbm.com/C00396EEB