SWEET PAIN

The policeman charged in through the parlour door and immediately what lay before his eyes, his brain could not assimilate.

There was blood everywhere, which was accompanied by silence.

But there was a voice. A soft and feeble one.

Someone was still breathing. 

The policeman rushed to pick him up, but life was draining out of him. He was bleeding profusely from his throat.

The injured boy pointed towards my direction and spoke softly: “I am sorry” as he slipped from the arms of the policeman.

He was dead.

At this point, the policeman was perplexed and held the boy in his arms.

But then he sighted me, right where the boy had pointed.

With much speed and agility, he removed his gun and pointed it towards me. I froze instantly as Goosebumps arose throughout my entire body.

Other policemen rushed into the parlour and pointed their ammunition simultaneously towards me.

He then asked in a harsh tone, “Who is responsible for this!?”

Amidst the tears rolling down my cheeks and the fear within me, I looked at him with a wide smile and replied, “I did not kill them, but I killed him”.

Then I pointed at a masculine stature, close to the table.

Massacred, dead and covered in blood.

Before we got to this point, this tale is one of a kind and once again I am here with my ordeal.

Let’s start this right from the beginning.

The show on the television was “The Dark Knight”, one of my most favourite movies. 

Mom sat there confused on why a grown up man would be roaming the streets at night dressed in a bat costume.

While I effortlessly tried to explain to her that he was just fighting crime and trying to make the world a better place.

One of the hardest things is to explain science fiction to African parents.

They hardly get to understand the basic storylines.

During the course of the movie, the mood of my Mom suddenly changed as she looked out of the window. Then she screamed, “He is here!”

Straight-away, there was instantaneous pandemonium and confusion ensued. She ran quickly and switched off the television while I ran to alert the others.

I grabbed my sister and told her to lower her voice or end the phone call she was presently on. 

She knew who had arrived.

Swiftly, I moved to my room and rushed towards my window to see whether he had entered the house.

He was already inside and it was as if he could be heard from every corner of the building.

From the sound of his voice; Hell was going to be unleashed this bloody afternoon.

He bellowed like a wounded lion and began to rant extravagantly. Mom tried her possible best to calm him down but it was futile.

Her pleas fell on deaf ears.

I had to go downstairs speedily, to see how events would turn out before it’s too late. Standing from a safe distance, I saw Mom on her knees holding his legs and begging him.

But he was far from normal at the moment, and he kicked her straight in the jaw.

He did not stop there, he slapped her.

Not once, not twice.

But continuously as she lay on the floor trying to stop the incoming attacks.

I could not stand the sight so I rushed to intercept.

I pushed him away and rushed to attend to Mom. She was bruised but looked back at me, smiling amidst the pain and said, “Don’t hit him, it’s my fault”.

Anger was written all over my face and I was not ready to go down without a fight.

The man that attacked was no stranger.

It is someone related to me by blood.

It was my very own father.

He came to hit me as I intercepted but Mom rose up and pleaded with him to spare me.

Hitting her once again, he warned her to never try to welcome him then he marched angrily towards his room.

This scenario has been repeating itself time after time.

It wasn’t new. But it got gruesome every passing day.

Yet, there was something about my Mom.

Her love for him was still steadfast and stronger than before.

There is a pain that is pleasurable and at the same time it is pleasant. It may sound weird but it is extremely realistic. 

A SWEET PAIN. 

It is the best description or choice of words I can use to explain the emotions she nurtured for him.

She found peace in his presence despite the constant violence. Family, friends and associates that knew her ordeal were always advising her but the love she had for him.

I haven’t seen such before.

My sister quickly boiled water and we started dressing the wounds Mom just acquired. 

Despite the drama that just unfolded, she was smiling and singing songs of praise. Her firm belief was in all situations we should be thankful to God.

We heard the sounds of water gushing so it was obvious he was taking a bath. Mom was concerned if he had eaten but nobody had the guts to ask him.

I did not actually care but Mom was worried since he just returned after he left the house for two days. She told us to stop her treatment while she would go and ask him what he would like to eat.

I refused to let her go. I reminded her of what just ensued like an hour ago and she replied, “I am worried about him”, then she patted my shoulder and told me everything would be okay.

Then with her condition, she went into the kitchen to prepare yam and fried eggs for him. I could not continue the movie.

Everywhere is always uncomfortable when he is around.

He was scary and reacted at almost every opportunity that came his way.

He finds fault in the slightest conditions.

Could be how you're breathing to how you're walking. 

Anything could spark a civil war right under our roof and nobody had the ability to subdue him.

He rose to the point of being an entity.

He was mean and extremely abusive. The words that left his mouth were always curses and it could befall anybody irrespective of age, stature or state in the government.

Then if anything ever went wrong in the house, the blame would be on my Mom.

She has seen all forms of abuse but she still held on and never retaliated.

Her words are ever the same; that one day, The Lord would bring back the man she loved and will always love.

If my senior brother messes up, Dad would blame my Mom for conceiving a failure. My sister was always caged in the house and only saw the light of the day when she is going to church and school.

Then as for me, his hatred was special. I was the one that would stand up and oppose him so he would always say that nothing positive would come forth from me.

Whenever he got abusive with his words towards us, Mom would cuddle us and chant, “It is broken” like a magic spell and tell us to keep quiet until he is done.

Her charming smile always handled the trick.

Whenever she chanted the spell or made the utterance, we would feel a sense of protection and safety.

Mom always tried her best to shield us from him while she endured him for a lengthy period of time.

Over the years, his character began to have bad side effects on us; the children.

It was inevitable.

My sister, Jane;  grew up having extreme hatred for men. She saw all as being the same.

Selfish, arrogant, violent and abusive.

My elder brother, Dave; saw women as pets. He moved from woman to woman as his emotions were slowly dying off. He would hit a woman comfortably whether in private or public.

After-all, his dad was a boxing champion; home and away.

He is simply following what he sees.

Learning from the best.

Then for me, I tried my possible best to stand out and be different. Not allowing what I see to be instilled in my bloodstream and my mind.

I was gentle, calm and steady. The closest to my Mom. I was her pillar whenever the world seemed to be crumbling and she helped me too.

But my issue was that once I get angry, I would not stop until the entire anger was being poured. It was one toxic trait I inherited but I always tried my best to engulf it.

We had been enduring his violence till one fateful day.

Or should I say, one fateful evening.

He went out to have a drink with a group of friends since afternoon and returned in the evening. As usual, we saw him approaching so we all scampered for safety.

Mom to her room, Dave and I moved to our respective rooms. Jane was in the hostel at school that night.

Everyone was on standby waiting to see what would happen next.

The parlour door opened slowly and we heard a loud thud. As for me, it was none of my concern but Mom quickly rushed to the scene.

Then I heard her scream, so hurriedly; I went to see what was happening. It was Dad he fell to the ground as he was too drunk to see properly. So Mom rushed to attend to him.

She began to pray and she held him in her arms; then she ordered me to get milk from the fridge as it would help to neutralize the alcohol.

I got the milk and she administered it to him and within the twinkle of an eye, he regained consciousness.

But his response was quite unpredictable, he got angry because she revived him.

He began to talk that women claim to know everything and he was perfectly okay when he was drunk.

My mother being a playful type replied, “Apologies my King”, topping it with her usual charming smile.

Instead he took the kind gesture as an insult as he picked the nearest bottle to his feet and sank it directly into her head.

Mom did not scream.

She just dropped like a log of wood and blood gushed from her head.

Everything happened so quickly that I could not even fathom it.

He continued to punch her even as she laid almost lifeless on the floor. My brother quickly came to move him from causing more damage but Dad swept him off his feet leading to Dave’s neck shattering the glass table.

Dave was motionless as some pieces got into his throat. 

At this point, I lost it. I could feel rage move through my veins.

Running towards Dad, I  began to kick him.

I kicked him so hard that he could barely see what hit him.

Then with a piece of glass, I stabbed him straight in the eye. He screamed and began to panic but I was not done with him. It was high time Dad paid.

I dragged him across the floor and kicked his ribs continuously as he struggled to survive.

I could hear his bones crack. 

His screams of agony. He struggled to breathe.

He wailed as he managed to see with one eye.

Unknown to me, the noise generated since Dad returned caused the neighbours to call the police as they knew all was not well.

Dad began to plead for his life, but it was late.

My heart was hardened and I expected the worst.

My hands were vibrating as I picked more pieces of glass stabbing him in his stomach and throat simultaneously.

I let him go once he stopped breathing.

He was dead. 

I felt fear and guilt, but I felt a great satisfaction deep inside of me.

I rushed to Mom to tell her about my victory, but she was already dead.

My Pillar was gone.

I broke down and began to cry.

I was sweating profusely, with blood all over my entire hands.

Blood from my Dad and Mom fused together.

Several memories flashed through my head.

Memories of my Mom.

Every morning, she would involve Dad in her prayers asking God fervently for him to change.

She believed the man she fell for was still inside somewhere, but it is now too late for her to realize that.

When she's at work, she would tell lies on how he was caring and would conceal the scars by putting on attires that covered most of the parts of her body.

The way she would always cook and then she would keep the best pieces of meat for him even when she knew as he returns he may not eat the food.

All the brutality, she would pass through but once she passes our gate to the outside world, she would hide everything as though it never happened.

And now she's dead.

Lifeless in my arms.

My pains knew no bounds.

I rushed towards Dave, he was still breathing but with the pieces of glass in his throat; the chances of survival would be slim.

Who would I call?

Where would I start from?

I heard voices of people outside. They were coming towards the house.

Quickly, I hid behind the sofa.

That's when the police came in and Dave died in the arms of the officer that picked him.

Before he died, he pointed at me and it brings us back to the beginning of the entire story.

When I said, "I didn't kill them, I killed Him".

I referred to my Dad, I was ready to face the law. And I'm just 17 years old.

Our street which has been known to be extremely silent was noisy today. People trooped in from different corners and shock was plainly seen on their faces.

I was arrested but later released because it was self defense.

Jane, my sister came to bail me from prison.

She was broken, sad and traumatized. She lost weight, the news didn't treat her well.

Jane suffered a heart failure and died during the ending of October, 2021.

One month after the family gruesome murder.

On the 20th of November, 2021; a mass burial was organized.

And my family was buried before my very eyes. I, the sole survivor; dressed in black staring at four coffins.

I fell to the ground and held the soil.

I couldn't hold back my tears.

I won, but at what cost?

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