Petals Of Rose - Literature - Nairaland
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| Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 8:24pm On Apr 05, 2020 |
Petals of Rose is a story that talks about a young girl who grew up in the hands of a strict depressed mother and a caring father who stays far away from the village. Rose struggles to make a meaning off her life and eventually elopes from the village with Paul who she didn't know well.. Life in the bigger city grinds and molds her but not after passing through a lot of challenges.. This is not cliche.. Enjoy  Favourite Pain Part 1 ::Empty is another way to define life... My mother, a despondent being, devastated and incorrigible. With little or nothing to live for or maybe with the delusional knowledge that she knew my father better than he knew himself. She read alot, sighed alot and went to bed early. With little or nothing to hope for except for the vague memories of an ill fated childhood. As a girl from a respectable family; at least, that's how she felt her families lived, she was taught how to carry herself with such eloquence and beauty. Her father whom did not dare to live long because of an indefinite sickness has always and everly called her a ‘Queen’ and had made sure she acted as one, even on his sick bed. As a result of his death, boredom softened her slightly cross face into a contemplative frown, as if she were puzzled, as if she had mislaid something of considerable significance. My father, a disappointed man, left her to her own devices, thinking she had brought these troubles on herself. In fact, he was jealous of her, of her silence, her composure. He even envied the melancholy, which conferred on her a distinction which nature had denied to him, although secretly he thought himself as an unusual character, as we all do. I always thought they didn't plan to have me, maybe it was an honest mistake which could not be corrected. She had to have the baby, unless she might die of loss of blood if she removes the child. Here I am, living off my mother's strict rule, silently praying for my father whom for some known reasons has dedicated his life to more travelings or probably locked away in his study far away from the village. I wasn't allowed to see friends or even families who lived closer to us. ‘People will break you, they will turn you into a misery’ mother will always tell me whenever I acted stubborn and adamant to go outside. Those words will find its way into my every soul and dwell there, with an alarming knowledge that she might probably be right. I didn't want to get broken; at least, not as mother had said it. But I wanted to be free to express myself. With all these, I became locked away, far from reality, in a four corner walls, with books as my companion. I could see I was turning into what mother is, silently becoming depressed and always wished for a more defined life. Steadily, I started sneaking out when mother will go to visit mma Amina. Despite her warnings and threats, I will watch her leave and then prepare to move out myself. At age sixteen, I was coming out of my comfort zone like a thief in the night. Alert and worrisome, in case mother comes home and find out I wasn't in the house as she had warned. Shakira was a nice girl, who thought me different ways to speak and defend myself. To her, my mother was inconsiderate, far from the truth. She would always tease me of being a lonely teenage girl. ‘Follow me to the village square, let's go and dance, shake our waist and be happy’ She would always whisper in my ear. I would smile, too shy to even say anything. Most often times, she would drag me with her into the village square but not to dance. I will always watch as she twist her waist to the rhythm of the villagers talking drum. She will be all smiles, shinning her teeth in the broad daylight and sweating like a hunter who had gone for a terrible game hunt. Sometimes, I will be tempted to join her, to savor that total and complete happiness but time wouldn't let me as I would sight my mother from afar with Mama Amina, each talking to each other and smiling wildly. I will first of all fold my long toe length skirt, preparing myself to run as fast as my legs could carry me. I will whisper Shakira's name but she wouldn't hear. Dare not to waste another minute, I will take off from the village square, into a narrow short cut road that leads to our house, which Shakira had exposed me to few weeks ago. Before mother could make it into the house, I was already seated in the parlour's only comfortable chair, with a book in hand and an emotionless expression, pretending to be deep into the book, perhaps trying to understand the writer's descriptions. Mother will come into the parlour, with either a tuber of yam or a bunch of fresh vegetables in her hands, presumably from Mma Amina who for some reasons had been most kind to us. She would look around the whole room, in search of me. When her dull eyes finally rest on my petite frame, sprawled over the wooden seat, she would give a wry smile, drop the stuff she was holding and walk into the kitchen to get a cup of water. ‘Look at what Mma Amina had given us again, Rose. She's such a kind woman’ She would say to me when she finally comes out of the kitchen after drinking about four cups of water. I will shake my head in acknowledgement, acting nonchalant. Still pretending to be interested in what I was reading, mother will sigh, pick up the stuff from where she put it and walk into the kitchen once again. ‘Come, let's make yam porridge. It almost half past six. Dinner should be ready soon.’ She would call from the kitchen. Dropping my book on the chair, I would sigh and forcibly drag my two slender legs to the kitchen. Mother would teach me how to cook. She would make sure she says everything that comes to her mind; including how irresponsible Mpa Amina is. She will try to engage me in the little world of gossip while in the kitchen but I've never really paid attention. All my thoughts and focus was on Shakira. She might probably conclude that I had ran home again, like I've done always. A feeling of overwhelming disappointment will was over me when I realise I won't be able to see Shakira again, unless if mother goes out. Mother will stare at me, with her mouth slightly ajar. The look in her eyes reveals that she's disappointed with either me or herself. Perhaps, she thought that I need more exposure but then, she will shake it off and try to build another wall of uncertainty inside of me. ‘If you listen to me and pay attention to my teachings, you will one day be a great woman, Rose.’ She will add finally, walk away from the kitchen, into her room and lock herself up. I will sigh again, place my hands on my hip and then shake my head. ‘When will all these end?’ I will ask myself as I bend to finish up the cooking. Dinner would go steady and fast, with no talks. Each occupied by her own thoughts. I will most often times look across the small dinning table, at the seat where father usually sits. I will wonder of his absence and feel a little pang on my chest. Father was better than mother; at least that's how I have always seen it. He was more lively, talks a lot and most times tell tales of his travels or another book which he had found stashed in the library. He would always tell the stories as if they were real, as if they dwell with us. He would look at me, shake his head, with his eyes filled with sorrow. ‘Sometimes, stories are what has or will happen in life’ He would say to me. I will look at him, expecting more, wanting him to say more or probably try to see if he would talk about taking me on one of his adventures. He wouldn't say anything. His mouth will be drawn in a thin line. He would stand up from the dinning table seat and walk out of the room. Mother will sigh, drop her fork which will make a loud clatter, pick up her plate and that of father's. ‘You should get ready to go to sleep, Rose’ She would say and then walk into the kitchen. Disappointment and anger will wash over me as I would stand from my seat, pick up my plate from the table and walk into the kitchen. Shoving mother aside as she's making her way out of the kitchen, I will match with great force, drop my plate on the already rusted sink, not bothering to wash for the night, I will go into my room. Locked up in my four corner walls, tears rolled down my face in an unstoppable motion. I will try to stop it, but couldn't. The huge lump in my throat threatening to explode any moment. I'm frustrated, pained, shamed and disappointed. Crying a silent cry, shaking uncontrollably on the low mattress which acted as my bed and folded clothes as a pillow. I would cry until there were no tears left to cry again. The sound of my sobbing will correspond to the rain pattering against the zinc roofing. ‘Why didn't he say more? He should have said more’ I will sob uncontrollably. The lightening from the heavy downpour will creep into my room in a monster like shadow, scaring me. I will cower under the thin rapper drawn over me. Before I knew what was happening, I was already shaking. With my teeth grinding against each other and my eyes bloodshot. I will try to stop it, to ease the pain banging in my head but couldn't. The rest of the night would be scary and feverish. Before I will be bold enough to close my eyes, it was already 5am in the morning. Waking up at 10am, I will be informed by my mother that father had gone again, probably not returning until next month.
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| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 8:26pm On Apr 05, 2020 |
[b]Crawl Part 2 ::She knew of the fire but couldn't stop it... Mma Amina [/b]will come to the house on Saturdays, to gossip with mother. On the day of her visiting, I will lock myself up in my room, never coming out even when mother called me. They will seat outside the house, near a little garden in which mother had planted little flowers that never grew. I will hear them talk about the villagers, from the eldest to the youngest. They will talk about each family like they were humans without thinking abilities. Mma Amina will tell mother of how irresponsible her husband was, she would tell if his frequent drinkings and most of his rendezvous with female counterparts. She will tell mother of how she hated him, how she wished she wasn't married to a man like that. She would most often times make a sobbing sound and I would wonder if she was actually crying. Mother will keep calm, numb, just staring at the woman as if she had two heads. Mma Amina will leave her husband irresponsibility and talk about how her daughter had always slept away from home. She would tell mother of Amina's little adventures in the village with men older than her. She will furthermore conclude that Amina is no longer in her hands but in the hands of God. For whatever she turns into, she(Amina) will use her head to carry it. Mother would sigh, pout her lips with the look in her eyes unreadable. Mma Amina will finally ask about Father. Mother only response will be.. ‘He's not home, never home. Probably somewhere with another woman’ Mma Amina will shake her head in understanding and stand to leave. ‘Rose is growing into a full woman, you really did a good job by taking her away from this evil world’ Mma Amina will say to mum as they go out of the compound into the streets. In my room, I will sigh loudly, happy that the woman was gone. My mind will trail back to mother's response. ‘He's not home, never home. Maybe with another woman.’ I will ponder on the last statement and try to know if she's right. Father doesn't look like he has another woman. In fact, he looked depressed, unkempt and devoid of happiness. He looked like he missed his family; maybe a family he had dreamt of but never had. He looked like he wanted mother to be more open, to say more than she feels. To look into his eyes and find solitude in them. To find peace in his presence. But mother never wanted that. To her, he was always faraway, never home. To her, he was a disappointment, probably not the kind of man she hoped to spend the rest of her life with. ‘You think I wanted this kind of life? Well, you lie..’ She would always tell father whenever they have little misunderstanding. When I was ten, mother served dad an empty plate when he returned from work. She had carefully packaged the plate like there was something in it, placed a spoon and fork at the sides and carefully dropped it on the wooden dining table. Father had come home that night, with a worrisome face and a growl on his wrinkled features. He had played with me as I ran to greet him, he was trying to hide the worry from his eyes, but I could see it. I could feel his eyes blazing but I must confess, he really did a good job by hiding it from me. He scooped me into his arms, placed a kiss on my forehead, tickled me a little and made me laugh. He asked how I was doing and if I did well in school. I replied by telling him everything I wanted to say. Even when my teacher had to flog me for always coming late to school. He promised to change that and dropped me on the floor gently. We went inside hand in hand, seeming happy for that very moment. When it was time for dinner, mother made me stay in my room. She locked up the door from the outside and asked me to shut my mouth. I did, placed my ear on the wooden frame of the door, trying to make meaning from the muffled voices coming from the parlour. Father had probably gone to the dinning with hope of eating something for the night but meets an empty plate. I could tell that he was devastated from his voice when he asked mother.. ‘What is this, an empty plate?’ He had asked. ‘What did you expect?’ She had retorted. ‘Why do you do all this things, Nkechi?’ He had asked. Mother hissed loudly, probably tapping her foot in rhythmic sessions on the concrete floor. Father had thrown the plates all over the place, stood up from the chair and said to her.. ‘I'm tired of all these. I'm tired of you and your depressed mindset!’ He shouted as he left the house. Mother had remained silent for awhile, with her foot tapping slowly reducing to nothing. She sighed like a defeated tigress, picked up the plates from where it scattered on the floor and went Into the kitchen to drop them. I was still locked up in my room, puzzled, worried for my father. I didn't understand why mother treated him that way, I couldn't decipher what wrong he had done to her. Unknowingly, I started to cry. I sobbed for my family, sobbed for my mother, sobbed for my father and sobbed for myself. I was young, desperate for parental love. When I turned twelve, father left and never came back again, unless when he pleased. There was a part of me that blamed mother for everything, a part of was scared of the blind future. When I turned fourteen, mother said I wouldn't go to school anymore. That she couldn't afford the school fees all by herself. She rejected father's help and ordered me to stay home with her. ‘You'd learn a lot of things of you're home with me..’ She said to me. At that time, I didn't like school, probably because I was always flogged for coming late. So I was at least happy that I wouldn't attend it anymore. But that happiness flew out of the window when I stayed home for two months and loneliness wanted to kill me. I would always tell mother that I wanted to go outside, to meet with people. She would keep quite, numb, unable to say anything. She would spend most of her day in her room, after few hours, she would come out with stack of books, placed on top each other, each kissing it's edges. ‘Clean them and read them!’ She would say to me as she dropped the book on my reading table. I would close my eyes, tears slowly dropping from my eyes. I would cry my eyes out, console myself and go to where the books were placed, pick up one of them and began reading. I was grateful for the books, it exposed me to an entirely different world. It made me hope, made me believe and at the same time, silenced me.... 1 Like |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 11:11pm On May 06, 2020 |
Exposure Part 3 ::There are true lights that shines out in darkness, the light of the night... Shakira had always talked about eloping every time that I found time to be with her. To her, she was tired of the village, she wanted to go out, to see the world, to meet with real people. She had always talked about someone, a man precisely, whom she said would help her escape. She had talked about how kind he was and how he had houses in the big city. Shakira was a fearless girl, she trusts easily and does according to what her heart tells her. She persuades me to go with her, into the city, to see more life and live according to how I've always wanted. I would get worried about all these, I would get confused and kept telling her I would think about it. ‘If you're ready for go, just tell me’ I would say to her. We would seat and talk about other things until when I see mother, coming out from Mma Amina's house. I would take off immediately, bade her farewell and run back to the house. Mother would come back, pretend like she didn't see me and go into her room. After waiting for her to come out which she didn't, I would go into the kitchen to prepare dinner. I would eat dinner in silence, occupied with my own thoughts. The thought of eloping with Shakira and her said lover will creep into my mind and I would try to place light on it. Maybe there's something to live for after all, maybe there's life on the other side like Shakira had said. Half way through my already cold potato porridge which had become our everyday meal, mother would come into the dinning with a growl on her face. She would sit on one of the seats, staring right at me. ‘I know you think I'm a bad person..’ She began. I look up from the plate in front of me, into her eyes, trying to read her like a book. She appeared emotionless, with her eyes not revealing a single thing. I keep quite, not knowing how to reply, or what to say to that statement. ‘I'm sorry you didn't have the kind of life you wanted’ She continues. ‘I just want to be allowed to go out. I'm a young adult, I can take care of myself!’ I heard myself say. She looked up at me, probably never expecting a reply. She coughs lightly, as if trying to ease the tensed atmosphere. ‘Yes, maybe you should be out often..’ She says, for the first time in my eighteen years of living, agreeing with me. ‘While you are out, I wouldn't want you to meet the wrong persons. I wont be there to guide you, just be careful’ She says, not looking at me. I wanted to laugh, to smile even but I couldn't. I kept a straight face, pretending to love potatoes more than life. She stands from the seat and went into the kitchen. Before she could come out, I was gone, carrying my empty plate into my room. She would sigh when she meets an empty dining room, place her food on the table, sit down and eat in silence. In my room, I would try to understand why she acted that way. Why she apologised. Mother never apologised, she never admitted she was wrong. I was glad she let me free, even though she made it clear to me the next day that I wouldn't stay outside more than five hours in a day. To me, five hours was much. I was free to see Shakira, she was happy when I announced to her about mother's change of heart. She leapt with joy, dragging me into the village square where we danced and shake our waists to the rhythm of the music. We had fun, she made sure of it. We bought roasted fish from one of the village popular fish roaster. We ate it like our lives depended on it. We went to the stream to fetch water, for the first time in a long while, I saw our village stream and was happy for nature. I had to fetch water for mother. Shakira and I took turns and counted seconds when we will return to the stream with an empty bucket. I felt alive, fulfilled and for the first time, not thinking of prince charming in a neverland book. I noticed that on my way home, I got compliments from people, especially the male counterparts. The would look at my face, my bosom and finally to my hips. I would get shy and walk away in fast motion. I talked to Shakira about it, she squealed and congratulated me for been a full grown woman. I couldn't understand what she meant by that but with the help of the books I've read, I was able to differentiate between a prying man and one who has no evil lurking in his thoughts. The day finally buckled up with dancing with the village teenage girls around an open fire. They would sing and dance around, each happy and sound. They would sing songs that I didn't know about but with time, I was able to catch the lyrics. I will finally retire to bed, with hope of starting a new day.... |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 11:13pm On May 06, 2020 |
Hope Part 4 ::He died with his heart filled with regrets... Father died on a bright sunny day. A day which I had planned of a rendezvous with a male counterpart in the village. I turned twenty few weeks ago. At that time, I had already known all parts of the village, I had gotten acquainted with people of my age both male and female. I was always out and about, trying to figure why things worked the way they did. I was grateful that I was slowly coming out of my shell, slowly drifting from the depressed state mother had gotten me into. I became free, alive; or so I thought. Fathers death came as a shock to the entire family. He died with so much pain in his heart. He died disappointed, never there to take care of his only daughter. I couldn't tell if mother was happy now. I thought that's what she wanted, I thought she wanted him forever gone. But I guess she never wanted to loose him that way. I guess she wanted him back, wanted a happy family but her pride has brought her ever lasting sadness. After father's death, Mother became more depressed, more alone. Never going to see Mma Amina who had became her best friend. She would always lock herself up in her room, maybe afraid to face the real world. She had refused to eat for days on repeat. The last time I saw her, I couldn't believe she was my mother. She looked old and thin with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. She looked like a walking corpse, like she was going to join my father soon. Sometimes, she would stand at my door frame, still, trying to say something to me but no words came out of her dried lips. She would start crying, using her palm to muffle the sound. She would leave immediately, locked away in her room, again. I became terrified of all these. I didn't know how to approach her, how to make her speak what she wanted. I became scared of her, always trying to run away from her. Father died a good man; at least, I'm sure of that. He wanted happiness but never found it. I was broken about his death but for some reasons, it didn't entirely break me. Maybe because I hardly knew what he truly was. Shakira and I had a fight few months before my 20th birthday. She knew she was wrong but couldn't admit it. I wasn't one to be told differently, so I had to cut the game. Few weeks later, I heard she had eloped with her said lover. For a month, I was devastated, alone and confused. I didn't know what to do at that point,i didn't know the road to follow at that stage. Maybe that was why I had to fall for Paul's trick when he promised to take me away from the village. I never loved Paul. In fact, I never hated him. I only adore him because of his free flow of words. He was swift with words and can easily manipulate ones mind. I was jealous of him, jealous of how much he said while I said little. I wanted to be with someone like that, needed to be with someone like that. So, I had to go with him when he talked about going into the big city to pursue life. I didn't mention a thing to my mother. I didn't tell her of my escapades. I couldn't tell her, I didn't want her to change my mind. I resolved to not telling her a single thing until I left the village at night with a nylon of fresh clean two long skirts and two shirts. As soon as I was able to write, I wrote a letter to mother, telling her of my little secret. Whether the letter reached her or not, I didn't know. All I know was that I wrote something, explained why I acted that way and promised to come back for her.... |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 11:15pm On May 06, 2020 |
City Part 5 ::Words are most often times, thoughts that didn't come from the heart. Paul introduced me to his friends while in the big city. We found a place to lay our heads. I was exhausted from the long journey, immediately going to bed without thinking of bathing out the dust on my body. The next day I awoke with a banging headache and a bloodshot eyes. I lifted myself from the bed, stretch my frame and headed to a provided bathroom attached to the room where I had passed the night. I did my business, going out of the room to see if I could find anything to eat. When I got to the sitting room, Paul and some other man I didn't know where deep in conversation. When they saw me, they immediately shut their mouth and looked up at me. ‘I'm hungry..’ I announced, not bothering to greet the men. Paul looked at me and smiled. ‘I'm guessing you had a wonderful night?’ He asked as he stood from his seat and dragged me out of the room into the kitchen ‘I don't know if they thought you how to greet in your village but here, you have to greet people especially the person that was kind to give you a place to pass the night!’ He says as he tightens his grip on my arm. I wince a little and he let's go. Breakfast was bread and a watery substance which they called ‘tea’. I didn't like tea so I just had bread which I was sure was going go hold me till anytime I get to eat lunch. After breakfast, Paul announced that we wouldn't be staying here for long and I need to prepare myself to go into the real world. He talked about finding a job with steady income. I was surprised at that, I never thought I was going to do any strenuous activity. I was never trained to stress, mother never allowed me to do anything except cooking. She did the fetching of water and firewood while I just cooked. Food that doesn't last more than twenty minutes. Paul introduced me to his friends as his girl friend and made them call me one. He started making sexual advances towards me. Most times he would come into my room at night and try to seduce me. I would push him away and leave the room for him. This continued for about a month until I decided I couldn't take it anymore. ‘Why do you think I brought you here in the first place? Of course to make you mine, Rose!’ He once told me. I wept that day, feeling ashamed, vulnerable and broken. Perhaps, mother was right when she said people will break me and make me miserable. I left the house without either Paul or his friend's knowledge on a rainy Sunday night.... |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 11:15pm On May 06, 2020 |
Tbc..... :"  |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by Khriztarl(f): 11:44pm On May 06, 2020 |
Wow nice one. 1 Like |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 11:47pm On May 06, 2020 |
Khriztarl:Thanks dearie 1 Like |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 10:44pm On May 07, 2020 |
Part 6 ::Negligence, an act of backwardness. Months passed like an obscure broken glass, stabbed into the arm of a thief. It went slowly like a snail, refusing to go fast. I experienced repeated nights of rape and malnourishment. Sorrow was my drug, agony my supplement. On several occasions, I thought of writing to mother, to tell her of the recent happenings in my life. To inform her that I wouldn't give up no matter what. But each time I put a pen on paper to write, I could see that my sentences where that kg hatred and blame. Dear mother, How have you been? You must be good now, happy even. This is all you have always wanted, for everyone to leave you alone. I hope you are enjoying your isolation? Anyways, I just want to tell you that I'm not good, I've never been good ever since I came into this big city. I have been hopeless and fed less. Now, I'm grateful for the yam/potato porridge we always had for dinner. I only feed from passers by who are kind enough to give a dying girl. I also have lost my virginity due to constant rape by those evil men who I can't remember their faces. I'm sorry I didn't turn to be what you wanted, but at least, I'm going through a process and dealing with the decisions I made few months back without your knowledge. I don't hate you mother, at least I try not to. Even though I knew you were the course of father's death. He was a good man, he deserved more. You should be good by now, mother. This is all you have always wanted. Hows Mma Amina, your gossip partner? I'm guessing by now you have placed her in the gloom, ignoring her and her entire family. I don't have much to say but I must assure you, I will pass through this, Mother. I will become that great woman you have always wanted me to be; though not the way you had planned it. Your daughter, Rose. After writing it, I would fold it into four places, placed it in a DIY envelope and walk to the postal services. For some reason, I was allowed to post without being fined. Mother would write back after few weeks. How she got to do that, I don't know and how I got the letter, I don't exactly know. All I know is that a postal man will come to where I sat on a bench next to Mma ike kiosk. He would hand the letter to me, which is folded in neat four folds and say... ‘She made sure I delivered it to you!’ The contents of the letter didn't exactly surprise me, in fact, I expected such boldness from a woman I had grown to call Mother. She was straight with her words, not revealing much like she had always done. Dear Rose, You will forever remain a disappointment, just like your father. Take care... Your mother, Nkechi. I would look at the long paper in my hand, which only bore few sentences written on two lines. My hands will start shaking, my feet will become limb and I will just bow my head, trying to hide the pain. I knew I didn't want to turn out to be like mother, that was why I had to start looking for a job. Eventually, I found one, around the busy street when I was just parading the whole city without any aim. ‘Are you sure you can do this job?’ My employer had interviewed me on my first day. ‘Yes..’ I would reply coldly. ‘Where did you stop at school. Did you finish?’ ‘No! I only had the privilege to finish junior class’ ‘How did you know how to read and write and even speak’ ‘Books. It were a part of my life, my teenage years’ I got the job, which for my first month was demanding. I had to put on better clothes and for some reasons, my employer was exceptionally kind towards me by buying me a wardrobe full of clothes... |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 6:26pm On May 10, 2020 |
Love life Part 7 ::Beauty is he who loves with all the heart, not withstanding the circumstance. Okon was the ideal definition of perfection. He was every girls dream, including mine. Most often times, I'd visualise him as one of those characters I've read in a romance novel. He was tall, with a slightly drawn jaw which looks perfect on him and a brown eyes. I wouldn't say he had a perfect body, I'm not that type of girl but I'd say he had intelligence, brewing up his brains and magnificently acting just the way he is. When he talks, he drew attention. When smiles, he takes the air off your lungs. I met Okon in one of the meetings I attended as an upcoming entrepreneur. I was ready to leave my boss and start off on my own. Okon happens to be one of the Coordinators who was good at his job. Eventually, we got along, I was happy to finally find someone who could understand me. We started a relationship at the first week of my leave to establish my own business. He could have came with flowers and a card, with an inscription of how beautiful he thought I was. But he came with chocolates and an invitation to have dinner with him that night. I agreed to the dinner, silently expecting to be swept off my feet by this prince charming. I listened to every tik tok of the clock in my office, mentally calculating the type of dress to wear once I get home. Getting home, I settled for a red body hug dress, which revealed all the curves I didn't know I had. I sat at the parlour, holding a glass of wine, sipping it's contents noiselessly and patiently waiting for an uber that I had called. Apparently, the uber came through, knocking at my door and indicating that it was time to kick-start the long night. I walked down my pavement, clutching my little purse and trying not to trip on my heels. The uber driver stopped at the exact restaurant and I walked out the vehicle, paying him off. Telling him I would probably call him to take me home if things didn't go well. I had read about how the supposed lover would take the woman home for the night after a wonderful evening but just in case the evening goes south, the woman would have to get home by herself. I walked into the lush restaurant, all eyes trailing my every move. I felt a rumble in my stomach and I clutched my purse tightly against my abdomen. My eyes finally caught Okon, sitting at the far end of the room in all his magnificent three piece suit. He looked good as usual, his eyes focused on his phone in his hands. I came around the table, plastering a smile on my face and trying not to trip over due to anxiety or excitement. He lifts his eyes off his phone and settles those brown orbs on me. He let his eyes roam shamelessly and gave a slight nod with smiles. I pulled out a chair and sat down, trying to remain calm. My heart was beating very fast against my chest. This was my first time doing this and didn't know how to react. Okon didn't say anything for about few minutes after I had taken my seat. He kept mute, watching me, taking in every single attire I put on. ‘You look lovely, red suits you’ I had heard him say. I smiled shyly, feeling butterflies in my stomach. ‘Thank you’ I muttered, taking my eyes off from him and looking at anything but him. The waiter finally came around with the menu. We picked our meals and the waiter hurried off to get the orders. We stay in an uncomfortable silence, each lost in thoughts. He was supposed to say something but instead, he chose not to. I didn't know how to start a conversation, I've not particularly being good at starting conversations so I stay muted, biting on my lower lip. The waiter finally returned with our orders. We ate in silence. I was grateful for the jollof rice with chicken and crisps of plantain. I ate it like a modest woman whom I've turned into. We finally finished our meal and that's when the conversation started. He began.. ‘How long I've you been in this city?’ ‘Five years’ ‘Hmm.. You look really beautiful tonight. I love the dress’ ‘Me too and thanks. You are not looking bad yourself’ ‘What made you choose beauty collections?’ ‘Books!’ ‘Huh?’ ‘I've read books of how most women are underrated. They say they feel ugly and unwanted. They couldn't come out of their shell. Beauty collections is an opportunity for every woman to gather all that she had lost. Not only facials, but all around.’ ‘So you are saying its not just beauty products but also a therapy centre?’ ‘Yes, something like that. A place you can let it all out, without feeling ashamed!’ ‘Sounds wonderful... What made you do that? Something must have triggered your interest!’ ‘Because of how I grew up’ ‘Tell me more about it?’ ‘Maybe some other time’ We stare at each other in a comforting silence. I wanted to ask him questions, ask him a lot of things but didn't know how to start. ‘Why did you choose to help young entrepreneurs?’ I had began. ‘Because I know how hard it is to start off something on your own’ ‘True.. Any other work apart from that?’ ‘Yeah, I manage my father's group of companies. We sell parts, mechanical parts of vehicles’ ‘Wow, that's big!’ ‘True.. Big but tiring’ ‘I've you been in a relationship before?’ ‘Yes.. Few of them that didn't turn out well’ ‘Why?’ ‘Let's just say I'm looking for my own woman!’ ‘Hmm.. Seems like you're still searching’ ‘Maybe..’ ‘Why maybe?’ ‘Seems like my search will be over after tonight!’ We stare at each other again, with smiles etched at the corner of our lips. He's eyes were telling more than he could say and I tried to keep any emotions from revealing in my eyes. ‘I want to see you again, everyday even. Will it be possible? Maybe I can help you to build that company the way it supposed to be!’ ‘Yes...’ I say breathlessly. He stood up from his seat, came over to me. Picking up my hand from were it laid on the table, he placed a peck on it, gently dragging me on my feet. ‘Come, I'm taking you home. It's late and you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow. There's so much to be done!’ I wilfully stood on my two legs and let myself be dragged out of the restaurant by him. The drive was silent. We talked more, he asked questions of how I want the building to be and promised to help me set it right. I had saved up enough money for the project but he promised to pay more than I should. He dropped me off at my apartment, looking straight into my eyes, he had said... ‘I will see you tomorrow, Rose’ ‘I will see you tomorrow too, Okon!’ Wishing me a goodnight with a kiss on the cheek, he drove off. I stood outside, watching his car until it disappeared into the night. I went to the house, with hope for a beautiful tomorrow... |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by Nobody: 8:41pm On May 10, 2020 |
Hi Sochey, I just read this story and i think it's really nice... You're a poet also? You work has that poetic feel to it... Plus you're very descriptive. Maybe i'll upload a story of mine... Despite the fact that this is a faceless forum, i'm extremely shy. 1 Like |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 8:46pm On May 10, 2020 |
Dew04: Thank you so much. I'm not into poetry that much but I'm trying.. I thought using poetic description would give the story a better feeling. And, do upload your work, I'd be glad to read it 1 Like 1 Share |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 8:44pm On May 20, 2020 |
SITUATIONS Part 8 ::Ink boiled, when I wrote your name.. Mother wrote another letter to me. This time, it wasn't brief and straight to the point. It was lengthy, at least words written in eight lines. Dear Rose, I want to talk about things, maybe before I kiss reality goodbye. I'm not supposed to say this, but I really do hope to see you soon... I've read your letters and I must confess that you are really a strong woman, just like your mother. Can you come back, Rose? ***~ I read this letter over and over again, tears dripping from my eyes. At that moment, I wanted to scream, wanted to rip my hair apart and run back to the village. But I knew I couldn't, I couldn't leave my work, I couldn't leave all that I've built over the years. So I waited, worked vehemently with a feeling of guilt and tardiness. At some point, I felt like I was making the wrong decision, I felt like I was punishing life for its circumstances. But there was nothing much I could do. I went home that night, feeling like Eve after the fall. I would always sigh, taking more sips of coffee than I probably should. I could tell that I was longing for someone; at least a steady partner, who wouldn't be so shy to stay with a lonely woman as I. I momentarily wished for Okon, for his presence, for his touch but that was immediately replaced by a strange realisation that I would probably never see him in a long while. Whatever went on in my mind's eye was evidently destined to remain opaque. But I was generally if diffusely keyed up by the prospect of going away, of seeing Mother, of seeing anyone, although I knew much too deeply that I was only being overly emotional. It rained that night, not rhetorically, with a cloudburst that would have satisfied everyone's taste for drama, but softly, insistently, and with a northern steadiness. Playing a game of twists and turns on my bed, in an empty vast room that only bore of an appropriate apparatus for a single woman's room. I lay sleepless, with clouded mind, listening to the faint hiss of the rain which filled the night with a kind of surreptitious activity, as if it was urging on a change of season and marking off the past from the present. My thoughts consumed me, made me numb, made me unsatisfied. I knew I should probably know a little about my parent, how they met, how they eventually got together and how a planned perfect relationship turned to that of hate and disgust. Morning came quicker than expected. I rose out of the bed with a slight headache and an aching toe. Immediately massaging the aching area, I saunter into the bathroom. Running a hot bath, I allowed the water to caress all parts of my body, believing to spiritually heal my aching soul. Miraculously it did, returning into the room with a feeling of hope and perspective to start another long day... 2 Likes |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 8:49pm On May 20, 2020 |
I didn't notice or feel emotionally while starting this story but after this last few chapters, I realised that there a so many emotions attached to it and I was struggling with words in this last chapter... Maybe I should probably add a little bit of humour so that even if it leads to tears, it should lead to laughter as well |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by mhizv(f): 12:17am On May 21, 2020 |
sochey: I love it. Khriztarl come n read this. Lol just noticed you're here already  1 Like |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by Khriztarl(f): 12:52pm On May 21, 2020 |
mhizv:am here baby. please add the humour sochey. 1 Like 2 Shares |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 12:39pm On May 22, 2020 |
Khriztarl:lol.. I will add it in the next chapter... Thank you for reading |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 3:41pm On Jun 12, 2020 |
Hey everyone... Good afternoon and hope you are having a wonderful, stress-free day? I've not updated in so long due to the issues my phone is having.. I really wish someone could help me complete the money I have to buy a new one.. But nevertheless, I'm going to be updating once my phone is good enough... So till laterz.... |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by Nobody: 4:17pm On Jul 17, 2020 |
sochey:We're waiting.  |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 7:12pm On Aug 13, 2020 |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 7:12pm On Aug 13, 2020 |
Truths Part 9 ::We all came from the gutter, but most of us are looking at the stars.. Sombrely, there were truths that I should probably find out about my father. So how I got to the village where I was told that he once resided was something I couldn't explain all too well. Opening a creaking almost half eaten ant infested door, I pry inside with my shaky hand resting on the rusted handle. The smell of wood and dust waft through my nostrils and I scrunch my face, as if trying to fight the smell. I walk into the small room regardless, careful not to trample upon any important information that might have been carelessly dropped on the floor. I walk towards a table placed at the centre of the room which has piles of books staked on each other and different sizes of papers occupying a almost part of the table. I search through the books, through the papers, looking, wanting to find anything that could lead me to how my father felt before he died. I kept my heart in a closet, got the key out and threw it into the thames. All I found were poems; or might I say, letters written in form of a poem. Short, brief, concise and having deeper meaning than meets the eye. I read through, careful not to let the outpour of unneeded emotions. I read in between the lines, finding out that most of the write ups where somehow directed to one person. I can hardly place emphasis on the writings or give a definite explanation but what I can say is: It was that of hurt, so much pain and perhaps a little of regret and pride. He, my father, wrote in strange languages that I can hardly decipher the meanings. I kept skipping the unneeded outburst of emotions written on paper and finally, I found something useful. Something that I've wanted to know all my life, something that I've searched the heavens for but found nothing. I held onto the half eaten booklet or might I say, journal. I guess termites and ants had had great feast during the years that the room had remained locked, abandoned. I skipped through the introductory paragraphs, desperate to find what I was looking for. Bingo! Alas! Here it was, on my palms, silently waiting for me to feed my curious eyes on them. Exasperatedly, I cringe my eyes a little, trying to let my orbs adjust to the faint florescent light hanging below the ceiling. The writings were somehow all over the place, as if the writer was hurrying to make out meanings from his words. A lot of dotted lines indicating an uncompleted paragraph and so on. Father talked about mother in his journal. Stated out her qualities and how he feared her excellent beauty and spirits. How he envied the character which she was and perhaps still is. He talked about their days of honeymoon, how he thought it wouldn't end, how it ended eventually. He talked about not wanting to leave mother all alone to fend for herself and his little daughter. He stated how cowardice his reactions were to mother's profound pride and negligence. He wanted his family back, wanted to right his wrongs, wanted to amend his shaky path but somehow failed in doing so. He became depressed, dismal and sometimes unaware of the tick-tock of the clock or how fast time went by. He eventually talked about another woman, someone he was probably having an affair with. The woman's description was not well stated, but with the little I read, I could feel that father somehow tried to love again... I read through all these, finding out more things that I wanted to know. I kept trying my best not to let the river of tears stream down my face. I kept my head high, with my hopes low. What caught my eye most was when father mentioned of another child that he might have had with the aforementioned woman who was not my mother..... |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by Nobody: 7:25pm On Aug 13, 2020 |
sochey:Hi dear, welcome! You've started updating the thread.... |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 12:06am On Aug 14, 2020 |
Dew04: Yesss...how is the last chapter like..? |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 11:33am On Dec 26, 2020 |
::What wrongs done, can be undone... The wrinkles on the face of my mother, indicating old age, shaming adolescence. Her usually unreadable face, her eyes twinkling in the sparse fluorescent that hung on the ceiling. It's light so dim that it only reveals half of what should be seen. Her greying hair cascading the tips of her shoulder. We sat there, eating cold potatoes in silence. Drinking warm water from a rusted cup, listening to the crooking of toads from a nearby swamp and the creaking of insects which probably has decided that silence wasn't good for their health. “You look good, well fed. What could be the secret?” Mother asked, breaking the silence. I looked up from my plate, my face too heavy to lift a smile and my lips too numb to echo a reply. “I thought that the years which you spent outside my care will be enough to make you speak up!” She continues when she realized I wasn't able to offer a reply. She shakes her head in what looks like sympathy. Still looking my way in an unmeasurable lack of pity. I looked away, not too shy to curtesy or defend myself but there were a million things going on inside my head and all I wanted to do was to handle a gun, literally. “Seems like you now believe in saying better than you ought to!” I managed to say, dropping the fork in my hands, rubbing my clammy hands on the fabric I wore. Mother smiles, only revealing two sets of half decayed tooth. I wondered how old she could be. “Words are power, Rose. I believe in words but never found any usefulness for it!” She said. “I was hoping you would have said more. I needed those words when I was little; still in your care. But now, I feel like I don't need it anymore, especially not from you!” “I know you hate me, Rose. But always remember that I was the one that bore you in my womb for nine months!” “To hell with you mother!..." I said as I stood up from my seat, my expression only that of anger and ignominy. The sudden impact shook the whole table, making the plate and the spoons fall to the ground with a loud clatter. Mother still looked unflinched, unperturbed by my adequate display of emotions. “It was all your fault.. your foolishness killed my father, your foolishness rendered me completely hopeless. Your foolishness made me never to have the best form of upbringing and now you stand in my front to talk trash?” “Actually, I think you're the one in my front talking trash. Yes, I know I messed up. But never you blame me for your father's death! Your father was a disappointment!” “You were and still is the disappointment! Father loved you, wanted the best for you; for us. But what did you do, you killed him with silence!” My heart bleeds as I remember my father, how cheerful he had always tried to be and how he eventually died with so many secrets. “You don't deserve any good thing in this life, mother! You're wicked and evil and should be left to die as one!” “You don't pay evil with evil, Rose!” She said, looking highly unperturbed by the whole scenerio. I got my phone and my purse and made for my room. The silence that has once being the maleficent of my territory and perhaps, still is, shoves down my throat as I walk into the cold room. All the memories from the past sweeps through my vision, rendering me completely hopeless. I saunter to my childhood bed, using my palm to support my head as a banging headache takes total control. The moonlight peaking through the half eaten wooden door which was probably caused by termites. I could see that there were not much changes in the room. Everything looks exactly the way I left it, except for a few baggages lying at the corner. I immediately refused to wonder what could be in the box as I lay on the mattress, stretching my spine. I thought by now, my mother would have deemed herself some good change but, humans never completely change. Closing my heavy tired eyes, I drift into the unknown world of dreams.... Merry Christmas and a prosperous New year to all Nlanders |
| Re: Petals Of Rose by sochey(f): 1:13pm On Jan 03, 2021 |
... Red's for Anger... The little talk that transpired between i and my mom last night brought a surety that I might likely talk some more this morning, probably give her a piece of my mind. I didn't plan on staying long because apparently, I have some businesses to run in the bigger city. I left my room after a refreshing morning shower. The mint tooth gel I had used to brush my teeth, leaving my breadth a mix of mint and some sweetness. I'm humming a popular song, making my way towards the kitchen. The kitchen looks clean, so is the entire house. I walk out the house, as my mother was no where to be seen. My mother was sitting with someone on a bench outside the house. They were talking in hushed tones, making it unable for anyone to hear. I walk briskly towards them, not recognizing the person. Immediately they noticed my presence, they stop talking and looks towards my direction. The lady stands up abruptly, shoving me into her arms in a warm hug. ‘Rose, so good to see you again after a long time..’ She says, still hugging me. I look over at my mother, expecting an explanation. She turns her face away from me, staring at the ground. ‘Its been so long you left us. You look very good..’ She adds, finally letting me go as she uses the opportunity to look me over. ‘Thank you.. you must be?’ I ask, looking straight into her eyes. ‘I'm Amina.. you don't remember me? I'm Amina. My mother used to be your mother's best friend while she was alive!’ She says. ‘What do you mean “while she was alive?”' I asked. ‘Well... My mother died a year ago.. it was good she had to leave us, you know. She suffered a lot!' She replies, without any atom of pity. ‘You mean mma Amina is dead?’ I ask, still not believing it. ‘Yes, she died from a very serious illness. We all missed you. I was thinking that you'll probably never return’ She says. ‘I don't understand how you missed me. We were never close, Amina. I didn't even know much about you apart from your name!’ I reply. ‘Yeah, true...’ she says, staring into oblivion. ‘So, why are you here?’ I ask, feeling that her presence wasn't very much needed. ‘I came to ask your mother for help..’ she replies, suddenly looking very sad. ‘What help?’ I ask, looking from her to my mother. ‘Financial help. I'm suffering, Rose. I don't know what else to do or who else to turn to’ ‘What seems to be the problem?’ ‘I was diagnosed with a very serious disease which needs urgent care and money to take care of’ She confesses. I wasn't very much surprised by that, probably because I have always known the kind of life she lived while we were still little. Amina would be the same age as I but looking at her now, I could see that she was rapidly aging. Wrinkles were already appearing at her lower eyes and her face looks contorted. She was looking like a forty years old woman while she would be in her early thirties. Standing in front of me, she was looking sad, bitter even. I could tell she probably regretted her past, wanting to right her wrongs but it was too late to do so. Suddenly, she starts to weep. I sit there, like a bag of potatoes, staring at my mother's best friend's daughter, watching her weep. She looks vulnerable, the pains in her heart resurfacing to the facade of her being. I didn't know how to calm a woman down, I've never been one to show signs of pity. Mother went over to her to calm her down. She gets her, whispering sweet things of nothingness into her ear. ‘I didn't know my mother had enough money to help..’ I blurt out, not thinking straight. ‘She doesn't, when I heard you had returned home, I decided to come. Please Rose, I really need your help..’ she says amidst sobs. ‘How would you need help from a woman who needs help as well...’ I say, shaking my head. The two of them stares at me like I had suddenly developed two heads. ‘My mother was the cause of my father's death. I located his study which is at the outskirts of the village. I visited there in order to see if I could find anything related to my father. Some memories he left behind...’ I left them, dashing into the house to my room. Immediately grabbing my father's journal from my handbag, I dash out of the house towards the women. Shoving the book into my mother's hands, I start to weep uncontrollably. Mother goes through the pages, reading each contents. As if on cue, she starts to sob too. We both became vulnerable instantly, weeping, letting the contents of our hearts out. ‘I'm so sorry..’ Mother states, still reading the journal. ‘Oh, God..I'm really so so sorry..’ she continues. ‘I didn't know.. I didn't know that it's like that.. I didn't know what came over me, Rose. Please forgive me..’ she weeps. ‘I'm not the one you should be asking for forgiveness’ ‘I don't even remember where your father is buried..’ ‘Well, find out and do the needful!’ I say, as I stand up to leave. ‘I suggest you read to the end. Father has another family and don't you ever accuse him of cheating on you because you deserve it all!’ I deadpan. ‘Dont go please, please help me!’ At that moment, I just stare at Amina with pity lacing my eyes. I know I have the right resources to help her but does she deserve any help? ‘Come back tomorrow morning before I leave for the city. I will see what I can do..’ I say. |
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