MY PEN SPEAKS - THE SICKLE CURSE

FRIDAYS 10AM

I remember the stories Papa used to tell us, in those moments when all was perfect and it felt like bliss. Of a time when he and Mama were loved and respected. It's hard to imagine, no one ever talks to us, but Papa said its true and I believe him. Both he and Mama were resistant to the disease. They never got sick from malaria and thus everyone respected them. They even brought their children to our home for protection. But then his own children started to die and the love quickly turned to hate. He usually ended the story there but I know the rest of it. Every night before I sleep I recount them. All 5 of them - now 7. 7 siblings - I've lost to this strange illness. The priest says we're cursed by the gods, and no sacrifice would appease them. The hospital says Papa and Mama should never have married and that they're the bearers of what plagues us. The tears are still flowing. It's not fun watching them roll down anymore. The more I watch them, the more I remember every other tear shed and every other whispered prayer. Praying that the gods would save the next sibling - I guess they weren't listening, or I didn't pray loud enough.

I turn back to the window, out into the street. I see nothing but orange. Orange and red. I call out to Papa. He doesn't hear me at first and I have to scream louder than I ever have. He rushes to my side and looks out. The sadness on his face dissipates very quickly - I get confused. He forces a smile and tells me not to worry. He says everything will be fine. I don't believe him. His brows are twitching the way they do when he's scared and confused. He turns to Mama and they speak in hushed tones. She wails loudly; at this point I'm very sure nothing is going to be fine. I see them both fidgeting. Papa is usually in charge, but not now - right now he isn't. By the time he thinks to try the door they are already there. Amidst the orange and red, I can see faces. People I've known my entire life. The ones who never reply greeting or show sympathy when I stumbled. The ones who laughed when I hawked and decided that I must not attend the same school as their children - I see them. They're all holding torches and they look the same as always -  unveiling and unloving.

Our hut doesn't leave much room to hide. It doesn't matter anyways. The dried palm fronds on the roof catch the fire quickly and the people make sure to throw more burning objects in. We're all huddled in a corner now. The smoke is burning my eyes and my lungs, and I can barely think. I look at Papa. I say nothing, but he reads my eyes like he always does. He understands that with these eyes I'm questioning.

              'What will happen Papa? What's going to happen to us?'

              "We're going to see your siblings, Angel. We'll be fine."

 They're both shielding me, but it still burns and it hurts to be alive. The smoke is taking that away from us.

Papa stops coughing, but I dare not look at him. I don't want to see but it  feel his weigh; he weighs more and more and his body is pressing me down but I still don't look.  Instead I look to Mama. She says nothing and just looks into my eyes. I feel my breath slipping as I stare back and again tears begin to flow from her eyes. I watch them flow as far as my eyes can see and suddenly I'm smiling. I feel a peace I'm too young to understand but I know everything will be alright.

I'll see them all soon.

- Victory Wrights

MY PEN SPEAKS - THE SICKLE CURSE

FRIDAYS 10AM

The Sickle Curse

              "Hey, Nawa o, wonders will never end. Have you heard?!" She screams at the top her voice, punishing the ground as she runs towards the house of her long-time friend. The child on her back is forced to cling for his dear life as his mother charges like an angry elephant. She halts suddenly and continues shouting and clapping with reckless abandon.

              "Mama Segun come outside o, gist dey. I told you that family was cursed didn't I?"

              "What is it? Eh? What has happened that you won't let me have peace this evening?" Mama Segun reluctantly proceeds from her house. Her thin legs and pinched accentuation are a direct contrast to the thick richness that is her friend - Mama Dapo.

              "I told you they are cursed, that family! It's why I never sell or buy from them so they don't transfer their ancestral curse to me. Can you imagine, I was walking by the house when I overheard them weeping...." she spits out on the floor.

Mama Segun replies warily "Weeping? Again? Who is it this time?"

              "Their one year old baby and Eldest son."

              "Ahh! Two children in one day? The gods forbid!"

The conversation goes on and on, they only pause at intervals to snap a finger over their heads and spit out, hoping that the evil doesn't befall their families too. All I can do is watch through this window. They're at the middle of the street, shouting so that Papa, Mama and everyone else would hear them. Soon, a small crowd forms and they're all glancing over at my house. I wish it was love in their eyes, or at least pity, but no - It's Hate. A kind of hatred I'm too young to understand. The kind I hope I'll never understand.

I turn to watch my parents. They don't care what's going on outside - or they act so. The voices don't matter but they wept continously. The tears flow with a smoothness I envy, they fall to the ground and get lost. They are supposed to be the embodiment of our pain, at least that's what Mama says, but they don't seem so. If anything, the drops seem genuinely happy as they roll off their cheeks and leap to the floor in ecstasy. A kind of ecstasy I don't understand.

Watching the teardrops makes me want to smile but my eyes turn to my brothers  - Seun and Tayo - and some tears fall from my cheeks too. I only knew Tayo for a year. My precious Seun was always there, in between his crises and all the pain, he was there. This all hurts; my eyes are tired and my mind is weak. I wish I understood better. Everybody says my parents are cursed, that's why no-one would trade with us. It's why Papa was away at the farm, trying to get things for supper while Mama struggled between Seun and Tayo. I wish Chief would've helped. His van would have gotten them to the hospital in time. Maybe, just maybe they might've been saved - but he couldn't. He dare not bring a curse upon himself so he thrust my mother out like a slave.

TO BE CONTINUED...

MY PEN SPEAKS

FRIDAYS 10AM

Episode 10

          She turned to run back into the shaman quarters but found herself stuck and unable to move. The only fight she had was her will. She looked at Emeka and saw him trapped too, she could feel them being separated as the High Elder tried to reach into her mind. Or maybe not hers, he was trying to reach Emeka through her.

          "Stop resisting, or this will not end well for you. To be forewarned is to be forearmed. If you keep resisting, I will kill you, and still get what I want."

          She looked at him again, she wasn't sure what he had to hide, or it's importance in all of this, but it was obvious that whatever it was, Emeka was willing to die for it just as much as the High Elder would kill for it. Hell, he planned to kill 36 people, and that was not right.

          The people were gaining on her and she struggled against the spells keeping her still. More incantations slid from her lips and she managed to free herself enough to get a shot in the Elder's general direction. Emeka spoke every spell he knew through her lips, desperately guiding the bolt and hoping they'd also be enough to reduce the High Elder's protection. They were. The bolt went through his skull, and everyone else fell to the ground.

*************************************

          She looked at him. The trip down Memory Lane wasn't very appreciated. But it helped her realise some things. One, she wasn't ready to die just yet and secondly, she couldn't live with him just like this. She wanted more.

          She looked round at everyone lying down. They would wake up soon, and they would not believe her. The people of Benin were very realistic people and there was no way she'd be able to explain to them how or why she killed the High Elder and maimed two others. She knew that the shamans would not tell the truth. It would be her word against theirs and in that case the people would rally behind their spiritual leaders.

          Whatever happened here today, hadn't just started here. It had a lot to do with the Eastern City and she was going to need there. She hoped to find answers and a way to make him stay with her, permanently.

          She turned to leave finally, heading straight for the district gates. He smiled at her, and that gave her all the confidence she needed as she said goodbye to Benin City.

MY PEN SPEAKS

FRIDAYS 10AM

EPISODE 9

She ran to him, hugged him, then kissed him deeply. She looked in his eyes and could read worry.

          "The shamans have you. You must escape before the ritual begins. They intend to sacrifice them all, and it's nothing like you've ever seen or heard of. In two hours, they'll begin to slit their throats and start the ritual. They want to resurrect the past elders and overrun Benin City. It's nothing like the revolution. It's going to be much worse. The High Elder, he's controlling all this, and you have to stop him. You have to wake up."

          "What? Wait, I don't understand. What's happening? I wish you would explain it all to me". Her voice shook and she began to sob.

          He hugged her and held her close. "The ritual we did, bonded my soul to yours. You resurrected me by giving your life as an anchor for mine. If the shaman had found me alive with you, we both would be dead right now. These are the only times you can hear or touch me, when you're asleep in the real world. I can hear you, and I'll help in whatever way I can, but you must wake up now"

          She tried, and succeeded. Slowly her eyes opened and she saw him smiling before her. That was the only thing to smile about, he was here. Where she was however, nearly crushed every bit of courage she had, but she knew she had to be strong. She was alone in the room. The walls were whitewashed, with red spots splattered haphazardly. It was either a painting masterpiece, or a violent ritual had happened here. She knew deep down that the shamans did not care about paint. She stood up lazily and the observed a cowrie necklace about her neck. She didn't feel mind controlled. She looked at Emeka and he pointed at himself. Of course, he was the reason the necklace wasn't working.

          As she tried to approach the door, he stepped in front of her. She looked through his eyes and she could see wards and runes draped around the entrance. She'd never spoken a spell or enchantment in her life. She always depended on charms. But in this moment, the words flowed freely from her lips like they were her second nature. And she jumped back as the door slid open. She glanced at him. He was smiling at her. She was damn sure she didn't know those spells before. They were in Igbo. It seemed like the bond gave her access to his thoughts. Some of them anyways, she couldn't tell what he was thinking right now.

          She hurried down the hallway as he led her. There was no one here. They had left her there while they finished the ritual in the courtyard. When she made it there, she was shocked at the sight. Everyone stood facing the High Elder, all wearing the necklaces. The people who had been kidnapped were tied together, six each, in six groups. Their hands were tied  behind their backs and to a pole. Each group represented a district. Every member of Central District was present and they just watched, only the two other elders seemed to know what was going on. From the second floor of the shaman quarters, she wasn't sure what she could do.

          The place she stood doubled as a watch place. She took a crossbow and aimed at the High Elder. She shot and she want sure if she missed him because she was a bad shot or for some other reason. His eyes widened when he looked in her direction. Not at her but at Emeka. She wasn't sure what to think, but it seemed like the High Elder was protected. She aimed instead for the two other elders. She shot them both through the shin and was surprised they did nothing to retaliate. She only recognized the effort of their chants when everyone else turned to them in disheartening synchronism. The place she was standing on softened and she fell through to the ground. She was now on the same level with a horde of mind controlled citizens. The odds made her dizzy.

MY PEN SPEAKS

Fridays 10 am

He just lay there, still, lifeless. She could barely breath. She never let anyone in, and now that she did, he was gone. She'd drunk the concoction to keep him alive but still, he was gone. As she tried to walk towards him, she beheld markings on her hand that were never there before. Everything in the room stilled. Even the ventilator seemed stuck even though it stilled hummed, and the very air became thick and viscous. She couldn't move. All she could here a thousand voices around her, all calling, beckoning on her with a strange longing she could not understand. It all made her feel very cold, dead. Amidst this, she could hear him. He called to her, softly but desperately, and she focused on his voice. The more she did, the louder it became, and at some point she caught a glimpse of him, struggling, trying not to drown in a sea of souls. She tried to reach to him, increasing her focus and suddenly, he was there. Staring deep into her eyes, and she into his. She moved to hug him but fell right through. She looked at him with questioning eyes. She did not understand.

          He opened his mouth to speak, but she heard nothing. She could not hear him, not touch him. Just see him. She tried to think on this, but the pounding on the door wouldn't let her.

          "who's there?" She queried.

          The only response she got was the door being knocked down as shaman elders walked in. One look around the room, and they asked no questions. She was touched by someone and she fell to her knees as darkness closed in.

MY PEN SPEAKS

EVERY FRIDAY 10AM.

Episode 7

          Her scent still lingered around him. It had been a splendid night, but he'd spent most of the morning mulling over what he had to do. He had no apprehension going on with his plan, but now, all he thought of was her. But the more he thought, the more he realized he had to protect her. They were coming for him, and that would not mind going through and over a High Council member. That would kill Rose in a blink, and then him, but not if he did this. And he had to act now.

          The resurrection ritual was his only option. "Onye si N'onwu kunie", he sampled the words on his tongue.  He wasn't sure it would work, he'd never seen it work, but he had no choice. It was an ancient ritual he learnt while still in his home city, he never thought he would need it. But now, it was his only choice. A fundamental part of it was that they loved each other enough for the bond to hold. He knew he did. But for her? He just had to trust that she did too.

          "Rose?" he spoke softly so add not to startle her. She woke up smiling.

          "Hey" she saw the worry on his face and her smile faded. "What's wrong? "

          "There's something we need to do, and fast. Follow me. "

          He led her into the living room and watched as her expression changed from worry to total horror. He'd expected that. Along with the items for the meal, he'd slid in some things he needed for the ritual. All over the room were markings and runes. Feathers hung from some corners, horns hung at others and right in the middle of the room was a chicken, squawking it's last.

          "Emeka, what's all this?" she questioned in a quavering voice.

          "It's a ritual I must do. Not just for me, but also for you, to protect you."

          "Why? How? " He could almost see her thoughts flying haphazardly in all directions.

          "Just trust me. Now when I tell you to, I need you to drink this" he said, while placing a small cup of the concoction he'd brewed in her hands. "Please, no matter what, you must promise to drink this, or else, we both could die."

          "Why? Could you just please explain?" He could see teardrops begin to fall from her eyes. He didn't want this. Not one bit, but he really had no choice. He put his hand tenderly to clean her tears, and kissed her longingly. One last time, he thought to himself. He pulled himself from her and began chanting. Smoothly wording each phrase of the incantations. The air became charged and he knew she felt it too. Quite suddenly all the things in the room began to rise. The furniture, even the very sand grains were head high in the air. He then took a stone knife and plunged it deep in his chest, while yelling "Now Rose! Drink it now! ".

          He saw in her eyes, fear of what would happen if she drank it, dread of what would happen if she didn't. He got weaker as life left him but struggled on, pleading her with his eyes. He watched her finally drink it before slipping from the land of the living, and then, everything went dark. 

MY PEN SPEAKS

Episode 6

          Preparing meals wasn't something anyone did anymore, there were designated places where meals were given. Hence, she was a quite taken aback when he offered to cook. More so when she consented and even offered to go get groceries. She wasn't sure why she trusted him, or why she had even saved him in in the first place. But for some reason, she was glad she did. It wasn't easy though. Her medical training from the revolution period was something she'd never felt she would need anymore.

          A few days had gone by and he was better, but still he had said nothing. Damn shamans and their secrets. She could see the worry in his eyes, and the fear each time there was a sound but still, he said nothing.

          She too had her own to worry about. She had avoided Central District like the plague for the past few days, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could keep it up. She still had no clues as to what was going on. More people were missing and there was still no decisive decision from the Council. Whatever was going on, she could bet a lot that the shamans were involved and that Emeka here knew something.

          It was the loveliest thing she'd ever tasted. He was one hell of a cook. Another strange quality he possessed. Vaguely she wondered what else he could do, why was he so worried and what was it like in the east?

          "This is amazing " she said, midway through her meal.

          "I just wanted to say thank you for saving my life, and more so for trusting me. I know it's been hard."

          She watched warily, so much she wanted to ask but she didn't know how to start. "What happened? Who stabbed you? ". Direct is the best approach, she concluded.

          "A shaman. There's something going on among the Shamans and I hope to find out what. "

          Slowly, she saw his face turn from worry to a grimace. He was in serious pain. She held his hand and it seemed to wane. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but she decided that was enough questioning for now.

          They both moved silently to the couch, and he spoke first.

          "You tell me. What's going on? I see you always fondling with your protection charm and I really don't believe you stayed home these past days just to babysit me."

          She sighed. He was right. She'd lived the past few days in total fear. Of the present and of the future. "Something had also been happening in the High Council. On the day I found you, we had an assembly, and it was all very odd. First off, the were shamans present. "

          "In a High Council meeting?"

          "Yes. And worse still, they seemed to be the very ones in charge. The issue of the missing people came up and they decided to do nothing. A unanimous decision to let the shamans handle it." She watched as the creases on his forehead deepened as he drunk in each word she spoke.

          "Hmm, What else was off?

          "Well, I was quite late to the meeting, no thanks to you, but I did notice some strange necklaces". On hearing this, he seemed to start.

          "Made from cowries? "

          "Yes, how did you—"

          "They're used during shaman initiations to prevent the initiates from remembering the process, should it fail. It's some ancient form of mind control ". With his saying this, the grimace returned to his face and it seemed like he would explode.

          "what's happening? What's wrong?" she couldn't hide the worry in her voice.

          "The oath. It causes me great pain each time I reveal some shaman secret."

          "Oh." She said, as she put a hand to feel his skin.

          "You're burning up, let me get a wet towel", she hurriedly started to get up, but she felt her hands being held back by Emeka.

          "You worry too much, Rose". His eyes were intense as he stared into hers, she felt vulnerable at that moment and if you asked her now, she wouldn't be able to tell you who moved in for that first kiss.

MY PEN SPEAKS

FRIDAYS 10 AM

EPISODE 5

Slowly he tried to open his eyes and failed. He wasn't sure where he was and the migraine he felt was the only thing that assured him that he was still in the land of the living. Flashes and bits of his memory came back to him and he began to piece together what had happened. A protective charm he always carried in his pocket, which they had been warned against bringing, had slowed the effects of the ritual enough for him to escape. But not before he took a knife in the abdomen. He had stumbled on an interdistrict carriage and only alighted at the farthest District from Central District. He wasn't sure where he was now, but he didn't think he could stay much longer.

          He forced his eyes open, only to meet her questioning gaze.

          "Rose? "

          For all his effort, all that came out was a mumble which was met by a slight smile from her as he faded away into unconsciousness.

******************

          He came to a few hours later and was able to sit up slightly. He studied her from where he was. She was asleep on the couch across from him. She looked very worn out and he found it strangely alluring. The table beside him, filled with bloody balls of cotton wool and other medical instruments told the obvious tale of his rescue.

          She stirred after a moment and he found himself staring in the eyes of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and the person who saved his life.

          "How are you feeling?" She asked.

          "Alive, thanks to you." He continued after a moment's pause. "I'm really sorry for the trouble. I had no specific intention of winding up here. It's just, there was nowhere else."

          "No trouble taken, Mr? "

          "Emeka"

          "Hmm, I guessed as much. You're from the eastern city. Well, Mr Emeka, I would really like to know how you got so wounded. This nurse, also doubles as a Council Member and I can't be harboring a fugitive."

          "I really wish I could tell you, but I can't, I only wish you would trust me"

          The slight sigh he got, was the only confirmation that she was giving him the benefit of the doubt. 

MY PEN SPAKS

FRIDAYS 10AM

Episode 4

          More often than not, she found her thoughts going back to the man from the hallway. It was greatly unsettling, seeing as she was in the middle of a meeting, and as the representative of her District, she had made no meaningful suggestions.

          They had started in her absence. And as if that wasn't strange enough, three shamans were also seated in the Council Hall. This was never done. An unspoken rule of sorts. The shamans never attended Council meetings and the Council members stayed away from their rituals. Sure, there was correspondence between them, but never to the point of actual representatives during the meeting. Worse still, they seemed to be spearheading today's proceedings. Everyone seemed to look to them for approval before even so much as speaking.

          When the matter of the disappearances came up, it was wrapped up in a matter of seconds, as was the Council's Assembly. They had decided to let the shamans handle it! It was outrageous. She decided to take it up with Scott after the meeting rather than start a scene in a meeting she had been late to.

          "Let it be Rose. They are more equipped to handle it. It seems to be a spiritual matter of sorts. "

          She, couldn't believe her ears. The Scott she knew was pragmatic, more of a shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of person. And here he was, suggesting nothing.

          "But people are missing! And why were they at our assembly? It's never been heard of. "

          "I said let it be! Stop asking these questions and get to your district! "

          She was appalled. Whoever this person was she was talking to, it wasn't Scott. She saw a strange cowrie necklace hanging about his neck and noticed as she retreated slowly, she was the only one of the Council Members not wearing it. Fuelled by worry and fear she turned and made her way quickly back to her home at the Oluku District. It wasn't much of a home , but it seemed much safer than this place.

**********************

          Or so she thought. As she got closer to her home, she realised there was probably more trouble ahead. Despite the debris and all that, she could make out a trail of fresh blood leading down the street. Violence was least in her district so this was definitely an off situation. Half her wits and the adrenaline rushing through her veins told her to get in her house, and shut the door. But curiosity prevailed and she found herself edging forward, following the blood trail. A stone fell and she jumped in horror as a scream escaped her lips.

          "Just a stone, just a stone." she said repeatedly like a mantra hoping it would calm her racing mind. Her hand slid into her purse and she brought out a small protective charm, holding it close to her chest as she advanced.

          And there, behind the crumpled wall, she found someone she least expected to see. 

MY PEN SPEAKS

FRIDAYS 10AM

Episode 3

          Being a shaman was considered the greatest honor in their society. Not for Emeka. It was all beginning to weigh down on him and he wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. True, he owed them his life. If they hadn't found him beyond the farms during one of their rituals, he'd be dead. He wasn't sure what drove him to leave his home city, or why he'd felt the need to travel towards Benin, but it hadn't been easy. He'd nearly lost his life, which was why he had been less apprehensive about giving it over to the Shamans. Anyhow, this had all happened three years ago, and now, he wished he could live for something else, something more than this.

          He hurried down the hallway, for even with his distaste for this life, he'd rather not lose it by being late to his ceremony. His sense of loyalty was a gift and a curse, for while he wished for something more, he couldn't fight his allegiance to what he had now, or to the oath he swore. This made him a favorite to the elders, and he was on his way to being made a priest. He wished they'd spend less time on ceremonies and more time investigating the imbalance he'd felt. Something he knew they all felt too. For a few weeks now, since the first disappearance, a certain dread had come upon the elders. They tried to mask it, but he could not mistake the grimness in their aura. They were hiding something and he hoped—

          His train of thought was broken when she bumped into him. For a lady, she was reckless, although, half the fault was his. He'd been to engrossed in his thoughts. As he helped her up, he noticed surprisingly, she was a member of the High Council, "Rose" her badge read. He always wondered why the people of Benin only ever wore their first names. Like they dreaded remembering who they were descendent from.

          "I'm quite sorry, that was really clumsy of me" she said hurriedly. "I'm in a bit of a hurry"

          "Me too Miss, I apologize" and he regretted the words, he sounded all too much like a buffoon, and why was he staring at her so much?

          She chuckled when he spoke and in response to his puzzled gaze asked "You're not from around here are you? "

          "I actually am, ma'am, I'm a shaman" First Miss, now Ma'am, what is wrong with you Emeka?, he wished his mind would stop racing

          "No, I noticed that. I meant, well, your accent is different"

          It was only glancing at his watch that saved him from this moment, his fear of the elders was far greater than whatever daze he was in and he managed to scramble towards the ceremonial chamber without so much as a reply to her questioning gaze. By the time he looked back, she too had remembered her haste and was scuttling towards the High Council's quarters.

          He slid in as quietly as he could, while banishing all thoughts of her from his mind. He was late, but that wasn't the only thing that was off. As he got in line behind two others, the air became charged. He saw pieces of a broken calabash on the floor begin to rise in the air, along with some of the lighter objects and that was when he began to hear the chants and incantations. Unlike what he expected, the elders were not dressed for a ceremony. They all had red garb which he could very well recognize along with the words they spewed so rapidly. He and the two others were in the middle of a ritual, and they were the sacrifice.

MY PEN SPEAKS

Episode 2

          Always late, always. Half because her nights were always restive, and half because the lateness reminded her of the old world in some quaint, picturesque manner. A time where life was more animated. Mondays were considered hectic and there was such a concept as weekends. Then came the revolution and each day blended into one extensive greyness.

          It was a bit as predicted. For the one, they were right that the government would fail, chaos would come and we would all return to our basest natures. However what they could not see coming, or rather, what they refused to see coming, was that we would go back to the old ways.

          As she stepped out of the house the sight she met caused her heart to quitch. It was the same sight she had met everyday for the last five years, but still, still her heart trembled like it was only yesterday. They never moved the debris, never shifted the bones, barely ever spoke of the past. They lived in a decaying wasteland and they let it stay that way.

          She hurried, as always, past all the decay. For a member of the High Council, she sure clung a little too much to the past, a quality she feared, was precisely why she was on it.

          Somewhat naturally, Benin City, had fallen into castes after the revolution. The High Council were chosen by the Shamans to oversee the order of the society. The Shamans themselves, witch doctors as they were called in the old age, had acceded to become Spiritual Leaders. The cult which controlled basically everything else. Their ruthlessness was second only to their secretiveness, each swore a death oath to keep shaman secrets within their families. They were a necessary evil, they gave everyone something of sorts to believe in, occasionally coming with some message of hope and whatnot from the gods. Freedom of Religion was less of a right and belief in the gods had become more of a law-required obligation. Then there were the workers, divided into specialties, the citizens, the soldiers and other small groups that made up the members of the six fenced districts of their dystopian City. The word made her chuckle as she pondered on what had become of their society. Dystopian didn't quite cover it.

          Something had been happening. She'd wondered how long the peace would last, and it seemed it was coming to an end. Fast. People had been disappearing. Some from the Sapele District and most recently from the Uselu District. Workers had become uneasy and those of the farming specialty were less willing to go beyond the district walls where the farms were. Food supply was beginning to dwindle. She could foresee the meeting today, Scott would request deploying soldiers to each district, further inspiring unrest and increasing the very fear they were trying to mitigate. She hoped she could find a way to convince them otherwise and bring up an alternative. None presented itself at the moment. 

MY PEN SPEAKS

Today my pen takes us on a voyage. I hope you sit along for the entire ride

Episode 1
 She just stood. A preternatural calm about her. Her form as still as his heart probably was.
   Time seemed irrelevant, it's very incessant ticking still nagging at her faint subconscious, but it's meaning and consequence was quite nugatory.
   She just stood.
   She was in a haze, and amidst her mental turmoil, the words came to her, "to be forewarned is to be forearmed" what a laugh. A shaman indeed, she vaguely wished the lot of them would lay like this man on the floor-
   Breathless,
   Lifeless.
   She could see it all in her minds eye, the drama, the headlines
 "HIGH COUNCIL MEMBER MURDERS HIGH ELDER IN COLD BLOOD"
   and in that moment, she was ready to spend the rest of her life locked up, not because of what she'd done but because she knew, deep down, almost subliminally, if given the same choices, she'd do it all again.
  Slowly, he tugged. Not in the physical sense but deep down, at her soul. At her very essence. The, Rose Abu. The name rose to her throat, bitter like one of the concoctions she'd drunk, sweet like those strange spells she'd spoken. Too weak to hold it down, she let it fill her mouth. Her lips hadn't the power to move anyways.
He tugged. She love-hated how he now seemed to always come to her rescue. Always there.
 Watching,
 Guarding.
 For a ghost, he certainly wasn't as restless or malicious as they painted in our African folklore. Maybe some kinds of love transcended even death. An abominable death.
 He then tried to force her, awaken her mind in some way. A stronger pull. In the process, he ignited memories which had been dormant, and just right then, they were back where it all began.

Picture Credit: inkwell writers WhatsApp group.

MY PEN SPEAKS

FRIDAYS 9AM

MEMORIES PART 2

I have known Chukwuka forever. And I mean since my first memory. He was in every moment I had lived since I was born. Our families were close neighbors, his father and mine co-owned a company and even our houses were built with a similar design. He was like a brother and we got even closer after his mother died while having his youngest brother. Although the rest of his family seemed to shut the world out, our bond wasn't broken.

"I'll never be able to stop him. One more year of life. And I'll never be able to do anything. One more year and the cycle goes on. Cheers." His words tumbled into each other.

 It honestly made no sense, but then he took off his shirt. It was odd because, this was one thing he never did. He'd keep his shirt on even when we swam. I never understood why, but now I did.

Wrapped around his torso were stars. Star shaped scars over every inch of his skin. Some healed, some still quite fresh. His back was a mosaic of horror. I couldn't believe what I saw. I was breathless. He smiled when he saw my expression.

"They don't hurt anymore bro. they don't... " he kept mumbling over and over again

"Who did this to you?" it was all I could mutter as I was still quite in shock. He kept smiling but said no more. He was drunk so I decided not to push too hard. I convinced him to rest a bit, after all it was just the early hours of the morning. After I tucked him in, I managed to lie down too, with my torrent of thoughts. This is the memory that hurts the most, if only I hadn't slept too. If I was alert, maybe I might've known that he got up later and drank some more. Took a whole lot of pills and still managed to find the strength to hang himself.

It's like where people take precautions to ensure they stay alive, Chukwuka took precautions to make sure he died.

I'm sure you now understand why the belt around his father's waist filled me with more anger than I had ever experienced in my life?

On one of the funeral days, while we stayed around the house to help out, I forced his brother to an empty room and asked him to take his shirt off. Chigozie cried like I had asked him to pick pins or sit on the air. When the shirt finally came off, I beheld the same horrors as before. Star shaped scars all over. I cried so hard I thought I'd drown myself. He spoke with too much confidence, strength a six year old wasn't supposed to have.

"Daddy says it's our fault. He says I killed mummy, he says we all did. He says if she decided not to have children, she'd still be with him now. He says if I wasn't born then she would still be here with him. He says... " He was going to go on and on but I hushed him. I wanted to hug him, and tell him he was going to be okay, that his father would never lash him with that belt again. But I knew what I had to do. I mean, in my country, most fathers don't go to jail for beating their children. I didn't think he deserved jail either.

Maybe I shouldn't have taken the law into my hands, maybe I should have spoken up or said something to someone, but I'm here now. Gazing at this cold wall in front of me, waiting for my execution. At least, I won't have to live with these memories for much longer.

@victory_wrights

MY PEN SPEAKS

FRIDAYS 10AM

MEMORIES

I pick up my pen with shaky hands, at this point, I'm scared. I do fear what it might say now.

Memories are strange - sometimes like poison. When it's first ingested, it feels fine, then you sit for a while, start to process and it hurts more than anything - most times even enough to kill.

I remember sad times, dressed in all black at his funeral. The flowing tears and the fury; thoughts shooting, pondering if I might've saved him. Maybe if I was a little more awake... His father was there, dressed in the expected all black. I had so many questions I wanted to ask. A lot that was answered when I saw his belt. At first it made me chuckle sadly, I remembered all the times when Chukwuka and pretty much all our friends would laugh at his father's belt. The funny star shapes all over, Rusty studs on a belt he refused to let go. Chukwuka always laughed loudest, so loud it made us all laugh louder and a cycle began.

Now he was gone, and it all felt hollow. Reminiscing like this, first made me a bit warm because I missed him, but then it filled me with anger than I knew how to deal with. For the rest of the funeral, I was so blind with rage, I just went through the motions semi-consciously.

A few days after it was all done I paid his dad a visit, their house was devoid of all the guests, both father and children were all home. His siblings, age six and seven, could only watch as I took out my rage at their father. I stabbed at him more times than they could count. 

I thought they'd be relieved even lend me a smile, but they only wailed and cried. They still look at me like a monster, but he was the monster.

I remember a time from before, a time when we were all happy; a time when I was free. I remember his 19th birthday. They all had more alcohol than they could stand. I was the teetotaler, they even called me a buzzkill, but this also meant, I was the only sane one that night. The only one of our friends who heard him begin to weep.

To be continued...

- Victory Wrights

MY PEN SPEAKS

EVERY FRIDAY 10AM

Salvation

I pick my pen from the river of... Halt! Let's get to it.

The wall seems to be closing in on us; feels as though it would come crashing down any moment. I feel like the only thing holding it up is the tension in the room. It's the kind you can't cut with a knife, you would need a chainsaw or two.

"I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have done that." she apologized again.

I managed to tear my gaze from the wall, the flat screen TV and past the viscous tension, at her face. Beautiful Rosa. I grinned widely and said 'its okay'.

I even made a joke and we both laughed a bit too loudly. I've been at her parents' for twenty minutes. She kissed me twice in that period. I try to imagine this scene the other way around, if I had assaulted her with my lips... The imaginary slaps sting so much, It took clearing her throat to snap me out of my reverie and I realised, I was unconsciously rubbing my cheeks from the imagined pain.

I tried not to think of the events that led to this moment as I look in her eyes. She's talking but the words are flying past. Her eyes don't fail to convey the message though - I see yearning. The kind I really do not understand. The kind that's painful to see. Because I don't have it and I can't give it back. Like a message from another world, three words float to me in my own universe.

 "I love you."

"No. Don't." that's all I can say.

 I love you. It's a promise and a curse. A burden. My dad hates me. It's easy to live with him. He expects nothing from me. No word, no action, no emotion. I just exist to him. And it's easy to be just that. My mom however, loves me. At least I think so. All I see in her eyes is pain. I think she sees me falling, I wish she would hate me instead. That way she wouldn't care, and she'd be happy. She'd expect nothing from anyone, not even Father, and his drinking bouts will make her less depressed. She loves my sister too. So it hurts to see her sinking too, although, if you asked my sister, she'd say she was flying. Drugs are like that. My dysfunctional family. I do not love them. If I did, I would've done it a while ago. Everyday I sharpen the knife, reciting the mantra to myself.

"I hate them. I hate them. I hate them".

It prevents me from taking the knife and delving in biology experiments. Slice deep and see exactly what a slit wrist looks like. Hate keeps me alive.

My eyes are still on hers - call it Habit. I've learnt that eyes reveal truth. I wonder what mine are saying. Her eyes are asking questions. They ask if I'll be there for her. They ask if I'll be a shoulder for her to lean on, if I'll listen to every word, sit through every tear and promise that it'll be alright. I've been friends with her for years. I've seen her cry, and I've promised her it'll be alright. I briefly think on what brought me here. She was supposed to tell me what hurt. Listening to her is all that keeps me sane sometimes. Sure, her issues are nothing compared, but still, it felt somewhat good to be there for someone. Allow her let it out of her system then give promises I can't keep. It's going to be alright. But this time it's different. This time, she wants me to be the answer. She wants me to be her "alrightness". It's a request I couldn't keep, even if I wanted to. I don't have it in me.

I stand up and walk firmly out the door. Maybe not very firmly, I tripped on her brother's toy train. I think I recovered coolly enough though. My mind isn't racing. I know what I must do. Hate has always been easy for me. I wouldn't say second nature, but pretty close. It's why I let my sister sink. She wanted freedom, and love would've demanded I keep her chained to our reality. The reality that she couldn't be anything because we were nothing, the reality where her parents were in a constant debate on whether or not she should be sent abroad for prostitution. My father has her papers ready. Mother has to struggle between threatening to burn the house if her daughter leaves and keeping the said daughter sober. A strange cycle I have to watch every other week.

I hate my mother most of all. She could be so much more. But here she is, shackled to three misfits. Struggling to keep the balance between a drunk husband, a drug addicted daughter and me. What's my burden you ask? My mind. It makes me understand enough. It's not a lot in itself, but it's enough to hurt. So I understand that my father doesn't drink because he's poor. He doesn't drink because he's trying to escape his problems. He drinks because it makes him happy. That's also the reason my sister does what she does. A friend once told me that life was the pursuit of happiness. We all deserved to be happy. I laughed when he said this. I realised, a lot would be fixed in my home if we were all a little less happy, and hated a little more.

When I get home, they're all still at the table though they've finished eating. Beans and garri. It's the same thing we ate yesterday and the day before. I kneel before my father and kiss his hand. I do the same to my mother and sister. I go inside to pick my knife. Sitting back at the table, I just stare at them. Wherever they are, I hope my mom is happy. My dad and sister, not so much. Their happiness tends to hurt others. I did this for them. I hope people will someday understand. No one will. There's no rational explanation for this. Its hard to explain to others why I poisoned all the food in the house. But I know. I know why. I did this because I realized eventually. I lied to them and to myself. I love them. I wish I didn't but I do. It hurts because, I let them all slide and I did nothing. But this will make it all right. I know it will. I love her too, Rosa, in a sad way. Sad because I have nothing to give her. I'm too weak for her to lean on. I can't make anything alright. It's easy just playing friend. But promising to always love her is different. There's a possibility that I'd fail. There's a possibility that her tears would dissolve my paper façade and she wouldn't like what she sees.

I've been playing with the knife. It's time to go now. I hope that when people see this, they won't cry. I hope they don't start thinking of ways they could've helped or think back to points when we might've been "crying for help". I hope they just see this and pass, like they always did. I hope the gossip continues and the rumours eventually prove true. We were a cursed family. I hope most of all, that they don't call me a monster.

I saved this family.

The sound of my pen dropping to the white tiled floor reminded me how still silence could be. Till next time...