Tag: Short story

After The Hiatus

Some days I just felt my life was like a black wall, so plain and boring. This day was not one of those days: the days I would go out and go on with my ‘black wall’ life- I always found it boring, so boring; those were the days I was too lazy to write. Today I woke up with an urge, a desire, to write something, anything. I lay in bed thinking, reflecting, trying to immerse myself in old memories, asking for help from my subconscious. The voice in my head kept reminding me of the Literature essay I had not yet completed. I tried so hard to silence it, push it into nothingness. I tried to feel. I had not felt in a while. It felt foreign.

“Focus”, I told myself. Several pictures played in my head, I could not pick one. I tried to, to feel. I didn’t. What exactly did I want to feel? Emotion. To immerse myself in the memories, I had to feel the emotion, at least that’s what the Writing Workshop had taught me. I had to picture how I felt in that particular event I wanted to write on. I felt, but it was fleeting. As the several pictures danced in my head, Mr Brain sent different signals: joy, pain, sadness, embarrassment. It was a flood.

I could not take it anymore. As much as I tried to focus on one, another would come and distract it. It was like all the memories were fighting for my attention, but this time I did not like it. Frustrated, I got out, no, dragged myself, out of bed and trudged, rather unenthusiastically, to the bathroom. I was going to be late for school.

The cold drops of water raced down my naked body as I stood in the shower. I had grown to love cold showers, even in the dry season when it was really cold in the mornings. I guess it was just that chilly feeling which made me think of the cold days during my holidays in London. I would always remark about how I loved the weather, compared to the hot climate we had here in the tropics. My cousin would laugh and wish I was there to witness the really bad winter days, then I would not love the weather so much anymore. I missed her, my cousin. She had been there, in most of my childhood memories. Now I hardly saw her, well because she lived in another continent. I had always admired her, I still do. I squirted some body wash on my sponge and began to scrub my body in perfected motions. The scent reminded me of her, lavender, her lavender perfume that I used sometimes without her consent. That smell still lingered in my memory, I missed her so much.

I stared at the puddle of water that had formed at my feet and watched the drops of water fall into it, making it ripple. It made me remember jumping in puddles, which had formed when it rained, while walking home from school as a little girl. I always got my socks dirty and my mom would scold me for that. After the scolding, I would still do the same thing the next day, not caring. I missed that feeling, wanting to live in the moment, not caring about what people would think. I was careful of my actions now, too careful, overthinking things.

As I turned off the shower and grabbed my towel, it hit me. How I despised stressful school life, the frustration of not being able to feel, how I loved cold showers, how I missed my cousin so much, how I hated how I changed from being a carefree child to this overly sensitive teenager, these were all things I had felt this morning, things I could write about. All that time, I thought I couldn’t feel, but I had felt more than I wanted to.

I’m sorry for leaving for so long.

Sugar cookie kisses,
Aanu

Leaving Home

For today’s Writing101 prompt: Home, a short story.


“No!!! You want to kill me abi? I will not let you kill me! You’re leaving this house today!”
I woke up from my afternoon nap to my dad shouting. “What’s going on this time?”, I thought.

I walked up to his room to find him in a torn singlet, probably pulled and ripped by someone in a fight, sitting on his bed. He looked extremely angry. I wasn’t really confused as to what had happened, they had fought a few times, but not like this, not ripping each others’ clothes, I was scared.

My mom came out of the closet carrying a box, I was confused. Her hair was a mess and she was sniffling. My suspicions were confirmed, they had fought, but this time she was carrying a box. It was then my stupid mouth decided to open before my brain could process what was happening. “Mummy, are you travelling?”, I foolishly asked.

My dad began to shout again, “You this woman you will not kill me, I will send you out before you kill me”. He then turned to me, gesturing to his ripped singlet and scratch marks, “Look at what your mother did to me, is this right ehn? She’s leaving this house today!”.

My mother turned to scream at him, still sobbing, “It’s a lie! He wants to bring another wife in that’s why he’s sending me out, he has another girl that he wants to marry outside.” She threw a pillow that was on the floor at him, “Useless man!”, then she hissed and lifted her box. “Eniola go and pack your clothes in a small box, let’s leave this man and his house, he can eat it”, she said eyeing him in the manner Nigerian mothers do when they’re being sarcastic.

I started to cry, went to hold my dad and knelt down, “Daddy no, please, mummy is sorry, we’re sorry, she won’t do it again, please let her stay, don’t make her go.” My sentences began to lose meaning as I started to cry profusely, “Daddy please”, but my father was not moved, rather he said, “You can follow her if you want to, sha know you’re not coming back, and you will suffer…”
“We will not suffer in Jesus’ name!”, my mom interrupted. It all felt like a dream, my parents were separating and I couldn’t do anything to stop it, it was like something had died inside of me, I couldn’t move. My mom came to pull me up, “Go and pack a few clothes in a box, we will not suffer, let’s leave him”. I obeyed her and packed a few clothes in a small box.

I could’ve stayed with my dad, but that bond between a mother and child, it’s unexplainable. I chose to go with my mom and that day, I left home.

X,
Aanu