The irritating antiseptic odour that swept across the hospital hurled me back to consciousness. I soon found myself staring at the cracks in the ceiling. It's been noon since I lost reasoning. And my body ache terribly from the same position I've been mummified since then.

I find it quiet funny that I could still pick out scenes from the uproar earlier. The ambulance that conveyed me to the hospital, was driving so fast that it knocked down the hospital gates off.

My doctor said something about keeping me steady, about me not allowed to lance freely until the blood transfusion was completed. At first I thought he was bluffing. But now I know, he wasn't.
To cut it short, I need to wriggle and move my legs. My knee hurts a lot. The pain is unbearable. Though It feel impossible to move my neck because of the bandages, I'm aware of the watchful eyes soaring over me. But nah it doesn't matter. In a minute or two, my legs will move and I bet the nurses wouldn't even notice them flick.

“Don't even think about it. Keep them down!” Mum's voice yelled at me.

Arg! I can't believe Mum read my move. She is hypersensitive, always one step ahead of me. Sometimes, I wonder how she does it. But well, I've got no choice but to take the bull by the horns in order to survive this.

“I need to stretch my legs!” I protested in between the white bandages covering my face.

“You Egyptian mummy, didn't you hear what the doctor said? adjust your legs jare!” She tapped me on the toe.

“But I need to stretch them!” I quickly countered.

“Shut that big mouth of yours! Don't you dare talk back to me like that!” She yelled back almost about to hit me.

And that abruptly shut me up. But when? When will Mum be nice and warm like other Mums? She's always been tough with me from childhood. I bet she has the phrase “spare the rod and spoil the child” tattooed to her back.

Nevertheless I've always considered mum's generic discipline to be a blessing in disguise. Without doubt, she would flare well in the police force. But how alluring would she look in a black uniform that's meant for dudes with pot bellies? I felt my lips curved positively at the prospect of mum being a police.

“Don't be too hard on him, He needs to rest for now” Dad calmly broke-In to my defense.

His concern shocked me. I managed to turn for a quick glimpse at them. Mum was sitting on a stool close enough right beside me. And Dad was standing besides her like a bodyguard.

“He has to know his place. I can't watch him get spoiled” Mum murmured incorrigible.

“Just let him be, our time will soon be up. We can't let the tongue lashing get in the way”

This made Mum unhappy and she audibly grumbled against it. I can't seem to decode why Dad is like this. It's against both their philosophy to delay judgment. So why will this be any better?

Dad made his move and leaned towards me. “Oyinbo, How are you feeling?” He inquired. His eyes, fixed. Heavy and sad on me.

My blood and eyebrows shot up at the undeniable concern marrying his voice. I wanted to answer back, immediately, but something big got stuck in my throat. Dad wasn't the type to be this sympathetic. Maybe something happened. Maybe.

“Paul?” He inquired again but this time louder than necessary. Now unless It's something big and serious, Dad rarely calls me by that name. He always prefer to use the nick “Oyinbo” he gave me. Probably because of my fair toned-skin.

I swallowed hard and felt the pressure as the lump travelled down my oesophagus. “I feel dizzy, I'm hungry” I answered him back in a whisper.

He then nodded, and silently murmured to Mum in approval of something. This made me curious at once.

“Paul?,” Dad called again. His tone more like a question. I struggled, turned and looked at him. His lips, still oval from the vowel in the last syllabi.

Our eyes locked and the look on his eyes said it all. I quickly turned to my Mum but she too was having the same look. What did I do? I kept murmuring hoping to recall what I did. And I did.

Hot tears began to streamed down my lids. I wanted to grip them, hold them, and touch them, just one last time but I couldn't.

I wanted to scream and shout to the world that's It's all my fault but I couldn't.

I wanted to kneel and beg for forgiveness but I couldn't. All that I could, was cry, cry and cry.

The horrible images then began to flash across my eyes. It wanted it to stop but they kept coming.

I saw Mum bleeding, Dad choking, vehicles exploding, I remember them all now. I saw the huge scary black wolves. With their monstrous teeth and red eyes. I saw Mum and Dad protecting me. And the Wolves attacking us.

It was all my fault. Mine Alone. I weep.

Out of the blue, Mum hugged me and cuddled me. She was also crying. Dad gripped me and held my hand, He too was crying.

“Listen to me” Dad instructed in-between tears “We don't have much time, so listen son. I showed you these pictures because I need to.” He wiped.

The tears now were uncontrollable. They poured down freely like running steams. I began to choked in them. I just wanted to let them know how badly I regretted my action. How sorry I was.

“You don't have to say anything. Just stay still and listen. It wasn't your fault. We are proud of you” Mum kissed me softly on the forehead. I could feel her hot breath against my face. Her tears washing away mine.

“I'm sorry” I managed to staggered out with all my strength.

“Ssshhhh....” She hushed me, then hugged me tightly against her warm chest. “Just listen to Papa” She instructed.

I warily nodded and turned toward Dad. The sticky bandages felt itchy against my wet skin, I hated them now more than ever. My eyes suddenly began to blurr, the tears were intoxicating. They made me drowsy.

“Son, Keep still and listen to me for these few final minutes. It wouldn't be long so just Listen.” He smiled.

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Sorry Guys..
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AjFive:
Sorry Guys..
I'm out of ideas.

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