© Michael Okereke, 2017
Do not plagiarize without the permission of the author!


I am in the backyard, building castles out of mud.
Sussie walks up to me holding a rat hanging at the end of a rope, tied on one of its hind-legs.
"Samuel, look what i caught in the kitchen" She says, excitedly "The rat that has been wasting our food"
"Oh. So what are you going to do with that now?" I ask, and return my attention to my half-built castle.
"Ummm" She hums at first, then says "I will kill it"
This startles me. I hate animals being killed. I hate death.
"Sussie, you are not supposed to kill. Bible said not to kill" I tell her,
with a scornful look on my face.
Then, she pulls out a bottle of 'otapiapia' from somewhere in her clothes.
"I want to see how it reacts to poison if i put this otapiapia inside its mouth"
She proceeds to put a little of the 'otapiapia' into the mouth of the
helpless rodent.
-
I hear mama scream.
I hear the thuds. The pounding. The lashing. I hear more screams, and its mama's.
Papa has gone mad again.
Few minutes ealier, this afternoon, he 'd returned home drunk and sober.
Bloated and red-eyed. And mama had verbally attacked him for spending much on drinks and leaving us under-fed.
We live in the ghetto, somewhere in Nigeria. Struggling daily to survive.
Papa is a lazy man, or so, mama used to say. He spends his 'any money' on drinks and lotto, and comes home to lay his anger on us, the innocents.
Drunk, he 'd beat mama - who would not put up a fight like every other ghetto women. And afterwards, leave her in tears.
This is what is happening now. He is beating her again. After she had
verbally attacked him, he had dragged her into his room to wipe her with the koboko i do see under his bed when i sweep the room every morning.
I turn to my younger sister. I am three years older than her, and she is my only family, aside my mum. She isnt happy. And she looks like she is suppressing tears.
"Samuel, he is doing it again? He is going to wipe her as he did last
week?" She asks, wanting me to confirm.
I am uneasy. Confused.
I dont know what to do. I dont know what to tell her.
Nodding, i run my fingers through the smooth strands of her hair.
"Susan, one day this will all stop. Someday" i say, reassuringly.
Mama screams again from Papa's bedroom. "Raymond, leave me! Leave me, you bastard!"
I walk to the door and try to open it. I am disappointed. It is locked as it used to, whenever papa was torturing mama in there.
I bend and look through the keyhole. I can see the inside, from my view.
Papa must have pulled out the key after locking it.
I see him. He is sitting on mama's belly and raining his fists on her
delicate face. She is trying to shield her face with her hands, but he
knocks them off. She is screaming again.
Neigbours would not come. People in the ghetto deemed it right to avoid
from family fights. Especially, if the man is as notorious as my father.
Infuriated, i bang at the door.
"Papa stop this. Stop beating mama. Papa stop. Papa please. Papa"
My sister walks up to me. The sadness in her eyes emits flintsparks. I can
see it, clearly as i can see the crystal liquid forming at the pockets of
her eyelids.
"We cant do anything. Everyday, same thing. Nobody even wants to help mama.
When will papa stop beating mama?"
Then finally, she lets the tears drop. They run down her smooth cheeks like
stringed horses and drops to the ground. I think i can hear the 'tap-tap'
of the dropping tears.
"Sussie, stop crying, okay? Things will be fine. It isnt that i cant do
something, but.." I tell her.
But what? But, i am a coward? The unrepentant weakling everyone had known
me for. What could i do? I was as helpless as my mother. People say i was
her counterfeit. I could talk as much like her, but had no guts. No
courage. No such bravery, as that of Dede Ibori who fought five robbers
single-handedly last week.
-
The next morning, i sit by mama's bedside with Susan, massaging her broken
face with towel dipped in hot water.
She yells out in pain when i touch an injury. I'd grunt and mutter a prayer
under my breath.
I look at her face. She is an eyesore. Battered and bruised. Blue in the
eye, red in the mouth.
Papa walks out of his room. And he beckons on Susan and say "Take this
money, go and buy me fresh Palmwine from Mama Idibo's store"
Mama Idibo is the ugly fat woman who owns a bar and resturant somewhere in
the ghetto.
-
In the afternoon.
I hear a cry, from the comfort of my castles in the backyard.
First, i thought they were mama's. The sharp cry comes again. I rush
inside, and my sister follows closely behind my heels.
We meet papa in a terrible position, grabbing his stomach and writhing in
pains, on the floor - in his room.
"My stomach. Ah! I'm dying" he moans, recoiling.
There is a cup of half-drunk palmwine on the table. I pick up the cup and
takes a sniff. A deep sniff.
Otapiapia. Papa has been poisioned! I dont know why, but i wasnt alarmed. I
glance at my sister, our eyes locks immediately.

"Susan, what did you do?" i asked her, reading the answer right off her eyes even before she answered.
"I.. I.." She stammers.
I hush her into silence, nodding. I stow the palmwine and the cup out of
sight.
I rush out to the streets, screaming. "Somebody help, my father is dying"
Few people comes. My mum, with them. They only meet the writhing figure of
my father, trembling like an epileptic, and blood gushing from his mouth.
"Samuel. Susan. What happened?" my mother asks in a pained voice, balanced
on a thick walking stick.
"Mama, we dont know. We met him this way" I say, watching my father slowly
losing it. Losing life.
"Someone call a doctor" Mama Junior, our next-door neighbor is screaming
"This man is dying"
"The hospitals are on strike" someone tells her. "Or have you forgotten? "
The trembling figure is still now. Mama shakes him. He does not move.
-
Mama became a widow that night.
Papa died that night.
And this night, while i look at his photo, the tears flowing down my cheeks
burns as they roll down.
It is two days after Papa's burial.
Susan walks in, arms folded.
She knows its papa's photo i am looking at. She knows i am not happy about
his death, even though he maltreated us and left us under-fed. Even though
he beat mum into a pudding. He was cruel, yet, he was my father.
He was her father.
And he was my mother's husband too.
"Susan, you really didnt have to poison papa" i murmur.
It is a murmur, but she did hear me.
She sighs. Loudly enough for me to tell she wasnt happy too.
"You sat and stared and do nothing when he beats Mama. I had to do
something. So i just put in few drops of something in his palmwine. I
couldnt stand him always beating mama. You're such a witty coward, Samuel"
She says, in a flurry of words. Then she walks out, angry.
She had made blank point. I am a coward.
A witty coward.
-
This morning, i tell myself i am not a coward. I could slay my own demons
myself, the same way Susan had slain mama's. I could do mine myself.
This sect of bullies who waylay coward boys are there at their usual spot
by the side of the road.
I am passing, both hands in my pockets. Whistling. En route to my Steve's
house. And i see those bullies.
They see me too.
Before, they 'd call out, "Hey fishboy, come here". Then, they'd attack me
and beat the hell out of my frail tiny structure and rob me of whatever
valuable i possessed.
But this morning, i say to myself, i am not a coward. I'm not a witty
coward. I have more guts than my younger sister did.
"Hey, here comes the fishboy today. Say we make do with him?" i hear one of
them say.
The fear wants to creep in as usual. But i resist it. No way, i'm not a
coward. And i'm not a fishboy!
"Hey, you stop there" one says as i walk past them "stop there"
"Come stop me" i say to them, amazed at the baritone of my own voice when i
wasn't afraid.
"Haha, it seems fishboy has new guts..."
They were gathering. Forming a circle around me.
I ball my right-hands into a fist and rams it into the chest of the nearest
guy. The force of the surprise impact nearly lifts him off his feet.
I bash the second guy in the face. I hear the jaw bone crack and he lands
with a thud on the floor, groaning.
The other comes upon me, raising a long knife. I grab him by the ankles,
and lifts him off his feets and flings him down upon the earth like a sack
of something.
I dont know what possessed me. I pounce on him, pick the knife beside him
and stabs him severally on the belly, screaming "I'm not a fishboy. I'm not
a coward!"
When i stood, the sight was bloody. I glance around, nobody in sight.
I run. Far away from the site of my crime. I had killed somebody. The law
would definitely come for me.
They 'd find me, and they will kill me too. But does it matter?
I had dropped something.
I had dropped fear.
I am not a coward anymore.
I'm a brave wistful fellow.
And while i wait till they find me, and persecute me for murder, i will
immortalize myself on paperwork.
I'd drop this memory.
So when they kill me, i'd die with happiness, knowing that a part of me still lives somewhere.
© Michael Okereke


About The Author
Michael Okereke is an 18 year old Nigerian writer, blogger and web developer. Stays in Owerri, Nigeria.
His writings and works of art has been featured on African Hub Magazine, Storried, PenIt, and other various blogs, literary magazines and book readings.
He is the Founder of MOFI (Michael Okereke and Friends Inc.), amongst various incredible startups for the benefit of growing talents.

lalasticlala seun crazyman onihaxy

lalasticlala please push this young man's creativity to homepage.
Its worth it.