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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
A short story of a demise of a father

Submitted: November 22, 2010

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Submitted: November 22, 2010



 I sauntered out of my uncle's house cursing myself bitterly for having over slept. 'Now, what am I going to tell them, my mum will kill me'. My mind pelted me with bitter probing, and I felt myself in a witness box as I sauntered forward steadily, counting my steps. A fall was inevitable.
 I liked neither myself, nor the night, its mildness was deceptive and the wind of blood danced around the dizzy sky, teasing and tossing the helpless branches of an oil bean tree. This is one of them, one of those nights, I found myself murmuring, wondering who was going to die.
 A sudden bang found me groping hysterically, as tremor erupted within and fear came knocking. Never minding the source of the bang, I raced, paddling via the core night as a galore of noise raced after me. But my perplexed legs were not to fail me this time around as I sprinted down the stony path like a leopard not minding the laughter of the hyenas. Fear overcame fear.
 And there it was, home sweet home. And I could hear my heart pounding in glee as I opened the gate which was to my surprise, never there. Slowly the gleefulness faded like the night cold, or was I numb? Certainly not, because I could feel a sharp pain which sent me a staggering.
 "Where are those men who stabbed our kinsmen, where are they?" One asked huskily, branding a machete whose glittering, the night could not shield.
 "They were taken upstairs" the answer, though I doubted if it came out of my own mouth. Stab! What was going on?
 I was dragged into the house, and was welcomed by a swarm of armed men strolling around the house with reckless abandon. Blood was everywhere. 'My family' I could hear myself saying as a made a frantic move to get free of their scorching hold and race up the stairs, but was humbled by a 'thwack' in the back which sent me tumbling. "He should be killed" a dwarf, suggested raising his machete for the blow. My mind heaved a sigh of temporary relief as the others rejected the motion.
 Suddenly my ear was stunned with a sharp yell, which was familiar, and I turned to see a reddened cousin being toyed with like a baseball. Moreover, his tormentor I could recognize. "He stays in Port Harcourt as you do Sirius, do you have no honor?" I shouted.
"He is Francis is he not?" Sirius replied, exposing his rotten set of incomplete teeth. "Oh yes, he does, but he is one of you, he is your blood. The blood of a traitor, your father is a traitor Lucius" His tone has shifted from that of mockery to that of anger as his eyes rolled, exposing the vexation in him.
 "My father is your king" I called out.
 "Not after this night" He replied, as he continued with his play as others laughed and jeered. My cousin looked straight into my tears and I could hear his thoughts, there was no hope.
 "I beg of you, what is his offense? I questioned, referring to no one in particular but expecting an answer. Though I might be a teenager, I was their prince and had to show it, though not with the normal authority.
 "It is useless now Lucius, you will get your answer at dawn, the sun is always truthful, unlike your father" Someone replied, and I turned, searching trenchantly for the person.
"Let them go" an order came from nowhere. "It is finished". I was tossed to the ground and could not prevent my head from accepting the call of a broken glass lying like a mat, waiting for its spreader.
Discarding the wound, its blood and pain, I quickly raced up the stairs trying to avoid the descending crowd of mindless youths who were singing and dancing, happiness on display. Such heartless people, I said to myself but had to stop that my ears could get a taste of the words of their mouth. Weakness crept in slowly as I knew they were singing about death.
"Blood has been taken
A new dawn has come
Red in a bottle
Do you want some?"
I pulled one back, “My father?"
"Dead and gone, like the ghost of last year" He replied with a smile bringing out his wickedness.
"My mother?" I asked praying within me not to be rendered an orphan.
"Alive my dear, but was made to drink her husband’s blood" He said shoving me aside to join in their madness of songs.
I watched, shocked as I saw my father's blood in a bottle, married to the head of one whom I recognized as a mass servant in the Catholic Church. He was escorted, and did a dance in my presence. A victory dance! I walked up, the haste having disappeared to the bloody presence of a dead man, my father, cuddled by my mother soaked in her own tears. She looked at me, and then I felt something erupt in me, vengeance. I ran to our balcony before the pack of murderers could disappear into the thick fog of the conspiring night and called out, my voice thundering and sending the sleepy frogs scampering. "I still live, and I swear, I will send you all to your pischoes, I will bring pain upon your families, upon your friends, I will send them six feet down, and my friends will never abandon me, nor will my father, death upon you all!"
I was not joking! Watch out for my revenge.

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