The first time he had seen her half naked, his brain had froze. This time, he felt a little light-headed like a teenager’s first experience with alcohol. In an effort to distract himself, his eyes were transfixed on the wall behind Harmony. He tried hard to count the number of lines on his brother’s striped shirt from a picture of him and Harmony hanging on the wall. It didn’t work. He tried hard to say something; to tell her how wrong it was. He would have done just that but how could he when there was a huge invisible toad stuck in his wind pipe? How would he stop this desperate woman from ruining her matrimony? How could he be an accomplice to his beloved brother’s betrayal? He had fought hard to conquer an occurrence like this but here he was, falling into a well-crafted net.

He had avoided having a direct look into her eyes. His eyes darted about, trying to find something distracting enough to focus on but there was only one masterpiece to look at. He made up his mind to be a man, to look her in the eye and tell her he can’t then storm out. It was easier said. The moment he connected his eyes with hers, he realized it was a wrong move. Harmony’s eyes dripped pure lust and they were all over him. he almost could feel them crawling over his skin. Her dreamy eyes carried the wanting that matched the intensity of an inferno.
Tension was ascending. He could feel his own blood descending faster than gravity into his second brain, depriving his actual grey matter the prerogative of decision making. The small gap that separated them was so charged it could light up a city. His gaze couldn’t settle on her face for too long and when it dropped downward to the endearingly smooth and perfectly curved mounds on her bosom, his own hardness was already throbbing within. Harmony stepped forward and swallowed the small gap between them, pressing her breasts into his chest while circling his neck with her arms, transferring a city-wide voltage into his bloodstream. If a doctor was foolish enough to place the cold surface of a stethoscope over his chest to check his pulse at that moment, he would have gained instant deafness. His heartbeat was slamming loud against his ribcage.

“This…this is…this is not right…please sister Harmony we can’t…we shouldn’t…” he wasn’t the one that spoke. He had no idea who spoke. That shaky and coarse semi-whispering voice wasn’t his, though it surprisingly came from his mouth. “Shhhh…don’t talk. Just feel.” Her voice was like evening breeze, everything about it so mild and calming. “And, I’m not your sister…” still using the same softness, she added. She brought her lips to his right ear and gently bit his earlobe. Until now, Vince had always believed the ears’ functions were limited to reception of sound waves and maintenance of balance. It was also an erogenous zone. Now, he found himself almost paralyzed, goose bumps metastasizing from the back of his neck. He wanted to respond, to wrap his arms around her succulent frame and squeeze her into his hardness but he fought the desire. His arms were still by his sides like a shy college girl’s. But he wasn’t new to romance. He had been with ladies a couple of times but it was very difficult when it was someone in the position of Harmony.

Her lips moved from his ear, gently tracing a path down to his lips, encircling him in a burning kiss. Again, he wanted to respond. He also wanted to break away. He still didn’t understand why he didn’t go with the later, long before it got to this stage. Maybe he was sedated. But that wasn’t true. He could feel every microscopic sensation of nerve stimulation. This was wrong, his mind pricked.
Somehow, Vince found some leftover willpower and raised his arms to stop her, to push her away but before he made progress, Harmony intercepted. She took her arms from his neck and gently grabbed his arms, still holding him in a kiss. When she released his arms, they fell limply back to his sides. He lost again.

Harmony was gaining control. She slid her arm beneath...

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Vince was trying his best to keep his path parallel to that of Harmony whenever they were left in the solitary of the cozy abode. Several times, he had left to campus three or four hours before his first lecture. He found it preferable to hang around campus than to avail himself to the honey-dripping enticements of a lascivious sister-in-law. Keeping Richie out of the situation remained paramount to him as he was determined to handle matters carefully. It was too delicate to compound. If Richie got to know, Vince could never tell which side of the coin would face up to determine his fate.

So far, he was fighting a good fight. He never failed to lock his bedroom and bathroom doors when he was unclad or vulnerable. He was really careful and it was working fairly well until yesterday in the kitchen. He was mixing milk and cereal for a light breakfast over the kitchen countertop. Harmony had strolled into the kitchen too. She suddenly wanted to retrieve a beverage tin from the overhead cupboard which was right above Vince. In the process, she had to position herself behind Vince, pressing herself into his back. Vince could feel the soft and teasing pressure of her breasts on his back, the flimsy pajamas she wore was barely a barrier. His heart had started to pound against his ribcage. If he stepped out, she might lose balance and possibly get injured as her weight was now on him. Even when she had reached the tin, she lingered some more. He endured awkwardly, looking for the right words to say and extricate himself. Finally, she got the tin and moved from him. “Vince baby, don’t tell me you’re leaving for lectures this early. It’s just 7”. Vince cleared his throat to untangle the mucus that stuck in the way. His heart had returned to pace and he finally had found his voice. “Arh, yeah. We have 8am lectures most days.” He had lied. She was not an easy fly to shake off. She dropped the tin of beverage she had picked—which she obviously had no need of—and walked to him, pretended to become interested in his meal. “Hmmm. Golden Morn, how do you mix it to look so mouth-watery?” she had gotten the spoon from him and tasted the cereal. “Wow, this is…yummie… You have to tell me how you do this…I like it.” He knew her game. He had known it wasn’t about learning anything but for decency sake, he had to cooperate on the tutorial. He had managed a shy smile and proceeded to tell her the steps. “Well, it’s quite simple. I usually use lukewarm water to prepare it…I first pour in...” Harmony had walked closer so that she leaned on him and rested her head on his arm under the guise of paying close attention. His heart had started to race again, the words barely coming out audibly. Her hair had a mild fragrance similar to that of a fruit he couldn’t recall the name. It was hard to recall anything. It was even harder to think of a way out. Maybe the gods of chance were in his favour that morning. He had never been so grateful to hear his ringtone at that moment. His phone was ringing in his room and he had to rush out of her snare to get it. Resisting Harmony was harder than his four-credit unit 100L Mathematics but he was optimistic to overcome. He believed she would give up one day.

Today was Thursday. Vince’s first lecture was by 12pm but he would be crazy to stay at home that long. Washing his brother’s car had made him wake up early. It was just 7:30am and he didn’t feel like going to school so early and roam idly as he barely had friends to while off time with in the new environment. He could occupy himself by cooking rice. There was stew in the freezer. He wished to God that Queen Temptation would stay glued to her ZeeWorld or whatever she was watching in her bedroom.
The gas cooker came to life with blue flames and he disposed the used matchstick and placed the pot of rice. Watching the blue and smoke-free flames reminded him of his rickety kerosene stove in his one-bedroom house back in Ikot Ekpene which produced the exact opposite. He chuckled when he remembered how he usually suffered with the burner and the wick adjuster; turning and adjusting several times until it managed to burn. Sometimes, he would run out of kerosene before the end of the meal. He usually had no option than to burn out the wicks. Life here was better, he thought. He was willing to maintain a good relationship with Richie and continue to enjoy the benefits of comfort. Vince headed for the freezer to extract the stew. It had to be taken out and placed in water to defrost. He would dish and warm enough for himself and Harmony. He was on his way to the big Nexus chest freezer down the open passage when he heard the sound of shattering glass. He was sure it was from the house. It was coming from the direction of Harmony’s room. He dashed down the corridor towards her room which was closed. He was afraid something was wrong. When he opened the door, he knew something was definitely not right. Harmony was sitting at the foot of her giant matrimonial bed, sobbing into her palms. There were pieces of what used to be the bottle of Veleta wine on the floor just across where she sat. Vince examined the damage. It appeared someone dashed the brittle vessel against the wall and it shattered and littered the floor. He could see the mark of collision on the wall opposite Harmony. What could have prompted such spontaneous outrage? Vince stepped into the room, cautious of the glass fragments on the tiled floor. Did she receive any bad news from her family? Was that enough to make her haul a bottle against the wall? Was it the miscarriage? It must be the miscarriage. She was in grief for her lost child. Vince remembered when he lost his beloved mother at the unfulfilled age of 53, four years ago. She was a good woman; the kind of woman that helped people even when she barely had enough. Richie had spent a lot of money on her illness, hoping she’d be alright but she still passed on. People had come to the house wailing and sympathizing. He had not felt that urge to shed tears then. It was when he was alone in his room that night that reality him hard. After that night, he had usually pretended to get over it until one noon, several months later, when a particular memory of his mother hit him. He found himself shedding tears and wiping them with his shirt. Maybe that was what was happening to Harmony at the moment; the memory of the lost child after several months into pregnancy, the shattered expectations—it was enough to drive someone into a crazy mood. This was why his brother wanted him around. To be there to keep her good company and help her think less of the past. Vince sat on the bed beside with his sister-in-law and patted her shoulder comfortingly. “It’s okay sister Harmony. It’s okay…” He thought of how best to go about the whole comforting thing. He barely knew the right words to say. “You will have another baby, maybe twins. Don’t hurt yourself with the past. You will have another baby. Please stop crying.” She was quiet but still had her face covered. Slowly, she removed her hands from her face, clamped them beneath her chin and stared blankly at the wall opposite her. Even with traces of tears in her eyes, in spite her early morning face, Harmony was still a beauty queen. She still didn’t say anything but seemed to appreciate his presence non-verbally. Vince stood up and fetched a broom and waste packer. Carefully, he gathered the pieces on the floor and disposed them. She was still sitting and staring blankly. Vince went back and sat beside her. “Do you need anything? I can get you water to drink if…” Vince asked but she shook her head in negation, cutting him off. After a short while, she heaved and spoke; her voice a little above a murmur. “It’s not the baby.” Vince wasn’t sure he got her clearly. He cocked his head in a way that sent the message. “This is not about the miscarriage,” she spoke again. He was taken by surprise. His curiousity pitched higher. He waited anxiously for her to speak. What else could it have been?
“Your brother and I,” she started to speak...

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Vince dipped the rag into the half-filled bucket of soapy water, gave the rag a little squeeze before wiping the roof of the Toyota Avalon; his arm moving mechanically like a windshield wiper. If he knew nothing else, it was etched into his cerebrum that his elder brother could not be late to work. His car had to be clean and ready on time. That was the thing with bank jobs. It was like sex with a nympho: no matter how early you started, how good you were or how hard you worked your ass, it never got enough until you were worn out and it called right back the next day. It was Vince’s fourth week in Anambra state. He would have still been managing a provision shop for Mama Sabi back home in Ikot Ekpene if not for his recent admission into Oko Polytechnic in Anambra state. His elder brother Richard was a banker in Access Bank, Ekwulobia, one of the busy towns in Anambra state and had helped him secure the admission through a friend who knew a friend who knew another friend. Richie—as popularly called—was the closest family to Vince and Vince held his elder brother the way Catholics revere their bishops.

At 22, Vince still possessed that charming looks and innocence of a teenager. He held a slight resemblance to Nick Cannon in Love Don’t Cost A Thing. The striking difference was in his height which was a couple cm higher and the fact that he had abs that could earn him a lightweight championship belt. Plus, he didn't keep braids but carried a neat undercut hairstyle. He would ever remain indebted to his elder brother who had to bite nails to secure him a long awaited desire. He was glad the admission took him out of his hometown, a place which often reminded him of the sufferings and hustling he had to endure in the school called life. He would gladly call that the past. Richie on his end was also glad his younger brother was right with him. One stone would kill two birds as Vince was going to be of help to him at home while pursuing his academics, especially considering the fact that Harmony, his wife had recently suffered a miscarriage. Richie would appreciate someone to help her around since his work was highly demanding.

Richie’s wedding to Harmony a year ago was the talk of town in Ikot Ekpene. He had met her in a unisex salon. Gears were shifted and barely seven months after, they had tied the knot. She was everything he dreamt of in a woman. Harmony was one of those ladies that made men stare at the cover page of a magazine with fantasies in their head if her picture was on it. Her caramel skin, her audacious height, her voluptuous curves all emphasized triumph over beauty. Richie was proud of her and treated her like a fragile poultry product, thought she barely had anything to touch with her manicured fingers in the cozy four bedroom apartment.
Vince was at the finishing stage of dry-wiping the Avalon when his brother stepped out of the house, ready to leave to work. Harmony floated after him, still dressed in her nightie; an overwhelmingly flimsy silk. Vince couldn’t help but smile approvingly at his big brother. He always dressed like one of those men on TV during corporate commercials; crisp and on point. Today, he wore a white shirt with a blue tie. At thirty, Richie had worked his way up to the manager of Customer Care department. Vince admired his brother. People often said they both shared a striking resemblance but Vince never noticed, maybe due to the fact that Richie’s size amassed a chunkier deal of flesh than his.

Harmony helped Richie slip into his black suit before depositing a kiss on his lips. She arranged his collar then wished him a good day at work. After some complimentary remarks, Vince handed Richie his car keys. He was lucky to finish washing on time. It was 6:45am when the shiny saloon car glided out of the gate. On a good day, it would glide back in around 7:00pm.
It was Vince’s fourth week of stay in Richie’s house. By now, he could swear the suspicion he had perceived on the second week was not a false smoke. Who knew if it started right from the first week but he hadn’t paid adequate attention? His big brother didn’t have the faintest knowledge of this as it usually occurred in his absence and Vince was willing to contain it and tread cautiously over the situation for the sake of peace. Harmony was still at the doorway, leaning on the post like a predator awaiting its prey. When Vince’s eyes met hers, she winked at him and smiled the way Eve had probably smiled when he wanted Adam to taste the fruit in her hand. Slowly, she lifted her silk gown—which was see-through enough to expose everything beneath—revealing a pair of smooth and stunning legs. She winked once more at Vince in a way that said, this could be all yours and then swayed graciously into the house. Vince was transfixed with the empty bucket in hand, barely able to reason. That wasn’t the first time she did that. It wasn’t the second either. She was incessantly seducing him in his brother’s absence.

Back then in his second week, there was a morning Vince was having his shower when the bathroom door suddenly flew open. He was completely nude and wet. Harmony was standing at the entrance, acting like it was an accident, claiming she had wanted to pick the disinfectant and use in her own bathroom. If it was an accident, why did she stare longer? Why hadn’t she knocked?
The second time, Vince was in his room applying deodorants after morning bath. The door creaked open and Harmony had walked in unannounced. She had complained she had difficulties unhooking her brassier. In addition to the bra she had worn that day, the only other fabric she wore was a lacy pair of panties that screamed seduction. With shaky hands, Vince had managed to help her unhook the bra but to her, that wasn’t sufficient. She had peeled the brassier off her shoulders and chest and turned to face Vince, with a mischievous grin on her lips. “Thanks Vince baby. I don’t know what I‘d have done without you.” With that, she had turned back and left the room.

Every time he remembered the bra experience, his spines usually experienced chills that ran lower down. He wasn’t just scared knowing that he had seen Harmony’s semi-unclothedness but was also worried she was so beautiful and even more, so alluring.

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I gathered motivation, picked up a notebook and pen and was ready to write a beautiful story. The story existed in a ghostly and patchy form within the mind. A lot of neat construction had to be put in to unleash its captivating ability. “Start something, the rest will form and link up in the process.” That was my mind. I picked up the notebook and pen, getting ready to break out of inertia and flow.
It had been weeks I put down pen on paper for this purpose. There was no logical explanation to why the switch flipped down but the situation made me unhappy, knowing I have disappointed myself and the circle of audience. Holding the pen now felt a bit new, the page of the note starring back demandingly. Would “It was a cold Sunday evening...”make a good opener for the story? I contemplated the first word to put down. Writing with pen and paper was usually faster and more bonding for me than sitting over a PC to type a fresh idea, knowing video games could replace any moment of boredom. I put down the first word. It felt odd. I crossed it off...

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I cast another glance at my wrist watch, not necessarily to determine the time as I had already glanced a minute ago, but to admire its luster and masculinity. It was a cherished wedding gift from Dad. I had forgiven him for missing my wedding. His job had mandatorily taken him abroad that week and he couldn’t miss the once-in-a-life-time promotion opportunity, even if it was my burial. It wasn’t new of him. I had understood him by now. He was a good father, he played his role in my life excellently but his beliefs were different from the ideal. He believed in living his own life too without letting that of his kids interfere. “I have a life with your mother. She’s the only one I’m obligated to. You kids just got in the way. Grow up, get education, get a job, get married and get the hell out of my life.” That was always his defense line whenever he did something “unfatherly” like missing my graduation ceremony or my wedding day. He was a workaholic with the energy of a new employee.

But today wasn’t about my father. It was ten minutes after twelve o’clock, a sunny Saturday and I was with Idaraesit at MildWind Boutique. She was picking up new clothes. “Big Daddy, please pull up this zipper for me. I think this dress is a bit loose around the hips,” she said, trying to get me involved in her shopping. I pulled the zipper up and continued typing a mail on my tab. “Big Daddy you haven’t said a word. Won’t you even look at the dress?” I didn’t realize she was asking. I thought it was more of a conclusive statement. Maybe it was a rhetorical way of seeking my opinion. I raised my face and examined her in the glossy grey gown. She looked as beautiful as the first time I met her. I was proud she was the one I walked down the aisle with a month ago. “Uh…yeah. It’s few inches loose, don’t you think that’s what you need? You know…” I hesitated to complete, then teased her in a lower voice, “…married ladies expand exponentially.” She threw me the mischievous ‘you-have-started’ look. I chuckled and...

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I sat down quietly on the wooden bench. It was an empty one, far away from the busy section of the park, a deliberate decision. It was my first time there. I watched the kids play with kites and paper planes. Some were dangling to and fro on the swing. Two toddlers were trying to seesaw on the paint-ridden metal cantilever, their moms helping them balance. They giggled and exposed their fallen front teeth. Life could never be full of sadness, I told myself.

Somehow, their joy almost lit up a candle in my dense soul. My stare drifted to the teenage girls in skimpy skirts, taking turns to skip ropes. Their dexterity caught my attention; perfect timing, sufficient clearance–it was admirable. But my attention couldn’t be caught up so long. The memories I wanted to burry were difficult to trick with flimsy distractions. My heart was in plague, it was drowning me. I could feel the heaviness rising, taking the form of invisibility. Life couldn’t be full of sadness, I tried to believe.

I looked again in the direction of the seesaw kids. They were gone, now seated with their parents and family on the tender meadow, forming a circle round baskets of food and fruits. I saw joy in their laugher, I saw happiness. Life couldn’t be full of sadness, I wanted to believe.
“Hello, that’s my usual seat,” a voice from behind said. There was something about it– there was everything about it. It carried a note of tenderness and innocence. Being compelled to behold the bearer, I turned...

Continued@ http://gistcreek..com.ng/2016/07/a-silver-lining-by-nickz.html?m=1

I sat down quietly on the wooden bench. It was an empty one, far away from the busy section of the park, a deliberate decision. It was my first time there. I watched the kids play with kites and paper planes. Some were dangling to and fro on the swing. Two toddlers were trying to seesaw on the paint-ridden metal cantilever, their moms helping them balance. They giggled and exposed their fallen front teeth. Life could never be full of sadness, I told myself. Somehow, their joy almost lit up a candle in my dense soul. My stare drifted to the teenage girls in skimpy skirts, taking turns to skip ropes. Their dexterity caught my attention; perfect timing, sufficient clearance–it was admirable. But my attention couldn’t be caught up so long. The memories I wanted to burry were difficult to trick with flimsy distractions. My heart was in plague, it was drowning me. I could feel the heaviness rising, taking the form of invisibility. Life couldn’t be full of sadness, I tried to believe.

I looked again in the direction of the seesaw kids. They were gone, now seated with their parents and family on the tender meadow, forming a circle round baskets of food and fruits. I saw joy in their laugher, I saw happiness. Life couldn’t be full of sadness, I wanted to believe.
“Hello, that’s my usual seat,” a voice from behind said. There was something about it– there was everything about it. It carried a note of tenderness and innocence. Being compelled to behold the bearer, I turned...

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Even with the rickety ceiling fan wobbling above, doing its best to vent the small office room, Chisom was feeling hot beads of sweat rolling down his armpit and dampening his school uniform. His forehead was also dotted with perspiration. With his nervous hands clasped behind him, fidgeting with his fingers did little to help the situation. At the moment, the only thing he dared to put his eyes on was the floor. He was counting the number of sand holes on the badly finished and old office floor just to keep his mind away from where he was and the possible disaster ahead. If the ground before him could open, he would not hesitate to jump in and be swallowed up, just to escape from the four pair of eyes staring at him.

Chisom was not one of the key trouble makers in SS1C but in the last few weeks, he had been involved in two severe punishable acts; the Biology teacher’s missing note was found in his locker and few days later, he was involved in a classroom fight. Miss Ebere, his Form Mistress did not take those acts lightly with him. Each of those times, he had been dragged to the principal’s office for adequate discipline and the memory of the experience he had there always sent chills down his spine. The truth was, only Chisom and few other witnesses in class knew who the actual culprit was and why he was after Chisom but who would dare speak up? Who would confront the dreaded Bobby Black?

“Why did you throw this paper at your teacher’s buttocks while she was copying notes for the class?” Mr. Okpara was holding up the paper ball for everyone in his office to see, as if it was courtroom evidence. He repeated the question to Chisom and it was the fifth time already. How was he expected to defend himself when all fingers pointed at him? Who in the office would believe him? Was it his Form Mistress who had now rated him a miscreant, or his seated father who was rocking his chin on his staff with visible embarrassment and anger? Was it Bobby Black standing beside the Form Mistress, who claimed to have been a witness when Chisom threw the paper ball? Who would believe him if he told them the whole setup started two weeks ago when Amaka, the new student began showing interest in him over Bobby Black? Why would Bobby implicate him to this extent?

Mr. Okpara was not a man to toy with on matters of student discipline. He had been nick-named after a popular drink, Dr. Pepper as rumors carried that he usually applied pepper over the thick stem of his cane. Chisom had fallen a victim of that dreaded cane two times and he could swear he rubbed something worse than pepper. He remembered how the tingling sensation affected his sitting posture for several days. After those incidences, he made up his mind to steer clear of Amaka for his own sake but the young girl kept pressing her interest on him. He did like her a lot. Who wouldn’t like such a free spirited and jovial young beauty? But the conditions were not fertile, Bobby was at least three years older than everyone in class, he was a small lord.

“Ewu! Don’t you hear your principal?” A very indignant Chisom’s father spat out. The lanky middle aged man wanted to say more but held back, he would finish it off at home. Mr. Okpara had been patient enough, it was time for discipline. Rising with agility, he picked up his cane and came around his table. For the first time, Chisom looked up, his eyes so sorrowful one would think he’d just been diagnosed of an incurable disease. The moment he dreaded most was here, no amount of extra undershorts could absorb the venom. “In this school, discipline is our watchword,” Mr. Okpara began to say. “If we let you continue like this, you will end up a scoundrel in the society. I will send that demon out of you now before it’s too late. Hold the wall! I’m giving you twenty-four!”

The first lash was like a hot iron bar on his skin. He was tempted to rub the searing pain on his buttocks but if he did, the principal would start afresh. The second stroke was electrifying and he was already yelling in agony when the fourteenth stroke came. “Shut up! Hold the wall!” His principal yelled repeatedly at him. The pain was going on a crescendo and it did not take any more dignity from him when he started crying on the twentieth stroke. There was no fairness at all.

It was on the twenty-second stroke that the door to the principal’s office flew open and everyone’s attention was diverted. “Please stop! Please Sir! It was not him Sir! It was Bobby!” Amaka was panting breathlessly, she was almost in tears.

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I see teenagers sagging jeans...
I smell something behind the leaves...
I know they’re blowing weed...
I see a single mom with three kids...
Cramped up on motorcycle seat
I see kiosks and provision stores...
With sales girls looking bored
I see men with six packs…
Molding blocks to earn jacks
I see a man in huge wears...
Feeling Jamaican with long dreads
I see fellas drive by…
Rocking jams on the high
I see a stubborn kid in school uniform running...
His father pursuing and yelling, "keep running!"
I see small churches scattered like seeds...
Big speakers blaring into my dreams
I see a pregnant woman drink Chelsea...
Draining to the last drop like a delicacy
I see a patrol truck stop by a joint...
And cops drop to help their guts
I hear a landlord raise his voice...
And the tenant bark in response
I see the orange sun set...
And daylight begin to fade
I see damsels giggle past in bum shorts...
Nips pushing out from spaghetti tops
I see a drunk curse aloud…
He says, “Lord let me die now!”
I hear a bottle burst…
A vexed youth ready to hurt…
I see the truck again…
Siren in the air…
But no one is left…
This is how we live…
Welcome To My Street

What Happens On Your Street?

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He watches the woman he loves yell in pain; legs spread, eyes wide, fists clenched. Her moans are those of a tormented soul. He’s moved but there’s nothing he can do. One night in bed, nine months of swell, one moment of hell, to bring joy or tears.
His maker wants to bless, so he’s rewarded a babe. The cry fills the air and they all jubilate. But one good deed has brought one bad thing. The bearer of the load, her baby, she can’t behold. Lifeless she lays, bleeding away.
He cannot believe it! Right before his eyes, they spread the white sheet. A hand rests on his shoulder: “I’m sorry, we couldn’t save her.” Maybe the white coated bloke was just making a joke. But it’s all real and he feels the hit. He falls on his knees and blames the supreme.
She was a good woman. She was a rare human. They had walked down the aisle two years behind. They had made love vows and exchanged their bands. Now, she’s sailed a brute route on the harvest of their first fruit. All that was left; a gift they could have shared. “Sir, she’s so beautiful. Come on, hold her!” there’s moisture in his eyes as he receives the tiny life. One loss, one gain, life couldn’t be fair.

He feels light flicker in his soul. He will call her Lantern. He would lay down his life for hers. He would love her with all his might. She has illuminated his heart. “Let’s go home, Lantern.”

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An interesting and suspense filled story reflecting typical childhood days in the rural area. You'll wonder where Emediong is. Follow the link, read and enjoy.

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Hello dear reader,
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