The Rain Of Ruins

me l looked at the silver-colo

oom more like a graveyard. l couldn't sleep; yet l tightened my eyes, trying to fall

that l didn't understand why it didn't break through my ribcage. Horror meshed with my brain and was transmitted, wave like, to my toes. Tensed in every limb, my dress stuck to my vibrating body. I started running, in no direction in particular; shadows drifted eerily, ghost like in the uncommunicative darkness. Then, l came to a halt, because my trembling legs couldn't move any longer; my tensed toes were pinned to the grou

!" a deep voice or

ed from under the black skin of the night. l turned towards the policeman that stood right behind me, with the gun

" a voice broug

door. Mama was standing, hands akimbo,

ning, ma," l sa

u still be sleepi

was a pi

ock; it was 9:00am. "l'm sorry

nt whose child had given the wrong answer to a si

on the dream l had earlier. "it was a

within me, that this year would be better. l walk towards the window; the warm breeze that swept into my room, rattling it's shutters, presented a wonderful atmosphere. l stared at the small- screen television that sat elegan

d l rushed towards the window and l

t the bus driver that lived under our flat. she screamed just because father's Toyota Camry had made a peep peep sound when she tou

dirtiness and bad roads, l had often wondered how Blessing's v

e her food because Father would always applaud her after each meal she cooked. l looked at the wall at my right; the picture of Mother and l, which we took three years ago, hung hopelessly; it was the picture that papa always teased me with, saying that I looked like a d

he bathroom. The pair of boxers he wore was the size of Mother's to

m's apple pushed out of his long neck like a wrinkled n

morning," l gr

of ambiguous words, most times medical terms, when he got upset. He would say, 'l can see you are suffering from

d, smiling as he walked

colour of the curtains further accentuated the beauty of the living room. The figurine

erred to as 'money for weekend' and Charles father would deny having any money, asking neighbours why a woman would demand money for the weekend. l ran quickly

dred," Charles mother shouted, holding her husba

e me alone; tha

are a pot of soup for the weekend, eh?"

fore l show you," her electrifying voice was raising in pitch. Funny enough, Charles mother was more muscular than her husband; you would never be able t

ame to be beaten by a woman. Worse still, the crowd had in

er said that Charles mother should become an act

vior Charles mother had exhibited, not even conce

Charles father spoke in this time. The fear had disappe

, her laughter lengthened with a few more syllables. She withdrew her hand from his trousers and then, like it was a challenge, she hit her hand

inting her finger at him. Her dark skin was cov

Contin