Returning to tears (5) The aftermath
That was the third time the ringing sound went off in my head.
Holding the corpse of my baby in my hands.
“Breathe for me, breathe for Dada, please.”
Trying to breathe her into air tiny airways. I was too late, gasping at straws. She was gone.
I wept hard for my daughter.
Holding her, crying.
Don’t cry too much, Bola, the sun will shine again.
I lunged at the devil with rage, determined to strangle her to death. But she faced me with a big smile on her face, and then it hit me. All along, she was never afraid of death.
She caught her breath.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Bola” — tears flowed and the bottle broke, piercing her flesh. But I was done with this horror show. And no magic trick could ever make me return.
“You! You evil witch.”
“Bola, please, please. I’m sorry.”
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“No, I’m sorry. The biggest mistake of my life was to give you hope.
God knows I should’ve watched you fall a long time ago.
I’ll no longer stand between you and death’s door. Goodbye, Kevwe.”
“Bola, come back! Bola!”
I ran through the rain, crying and screaming, leaving everything behind — the scream of the devil, the laughter of my child, the dreams that were long buried, the hustle I had learned. All died behind me. As the rain poured on me, it washed me clean. In the moment I knew, I could never return to that life. That person, and the treacherous hopeful city of Warri.
Eight years later, I’ve build a new life for myself and I have the king of textiles at Oba Market, Benin City. A successful businessman and mentor/guardian to many young apprentices as someone once was to me. I do my best to support their dreams and ambition, two of my wards visited me with their wedding invitation to the city of Warri.
And for the first time, I may have to disappoint them, A friendship forged from pain, a love that must be forgotten, and a name that must never return to my lips both now and until my dying breath.
THE END
This is the last part of the series returning to tears. To read the previous part, Part 4, Click on LINK.
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