Bleeding Words



A whisper. A hush. A rustle. A rap. Laughter. Hugs. Smiles. Joy. Beauty. Expressions. Understanding. Relief. More hugs.

They have it all, don't they? The Olaoyes'. They're the ones next door. I remember when the whispers began. When their father left home and people began peddling rumors. I recall when the hush came. He was seen around town. Then the rustle, he wasn't returning yet.

Oh! The rap was loud. Jeez, that night he returned was loud. But next I heard was laughter. Every other fell in place. They found love.

I wish the same could be said about my family. There are moments when I wish my father would also disappear and reappear as an angel. All he is now is demonic. Nothing to write 'home' about. Even home doesn't exist here. Every single dusk brings along with it fear. Panic for what would happen next. Would he hurt her again? Would she stay calm and not provoke him?

I huddle together with my siblings in our six square feet bedroom and we say nothing to each other. Our pounding hearts say more than required. And then, there's a flash through the window. Headlamps approach and light flood our power ousted house. He didn't pay the bills, of course.

Then there's a rap. More like bangs. He doesn't like it when we make him wait at the door.

My kid brother runs from the room. His heart in his mouth. Scared of being hit for leaving father standing.

"Were you deaf? You didn't hear the car?!!" He roars at Joshua who scrambles out of his way. He is obviously angry again. Sometimes we get lucky and he actually whistles his high spirits in. Certainly not tonight.

"Mummy, don't go to meet him. Please." Samuel begs our mother who has been on the edge of the bed, her look faraway, her heart thudding.

But there's no escape tonight either as father thunders, "Mama Ibukun!"

We all jump momentarily. He's going to hit her again.

Mum then rises, dutiful wife she is, ready to face her 'better'-half. Next we hear is a round of confrontations. Begins with the usual question of why she wasn't out to welcome him and moves to the request of his dinner.

"The children soaked garri. You didn't leave enough money to prepare anything." Mom tells him and I exchange a look with Samuel. She definitely isn't getting away and as usual, we need to call for help.

Four year old Joshua is near wails now as the first slap lands, "So I should also soak garri?!!"

Myself and six year old Samuel begin with our pleas again, "Daddy please......." But he doesn't listen.

My nine years as their daughter never had a smiling minute. It was all pains and tears. I stare up at my father and his gaze is murderous. He's going to kill her. He always promised to.

Tears on my face, I sprint out of the house. To call Daddy Funke as usual. I had barely left the verandah when I hear a loud bang. Like a hard hit. Then a metal clanks to the floor. Then a thud. And lastly, an ear splitting scream from my brother,

"MOMMY!!!" Samuel and Joshua's voice ring and I turn back in. The metal had been a steel pipe. And the thud had been her body. He had finally kept to his promise.

"PLEASE, NO! MUMMY, PLEASE!" I scream and run to her side. He had hit her on the head and the cemented floor was covered in mother's blood.

I run to the weapon of doom and raise it at him, "I'll kill you too! I'll kill you!!" I rage blindly and strike him hard. He just stands. It seems I don't have the power to after all. The steel pipe doesn't so much as hurt him the way it ended mother. He ought to die.









#qetsiyah.

so touching *wanna cry*.....nice one dear

kizzykeziah:
Bleeding Words



A whisper. A hush. A rustle. A rap. Laughter. Hugs. Smiles. Joy. Beauty. Expressions. Understanding. Relief. More hugs.

They have it all, don't they? The Olaoyes'. They're the ones next door. I remember when the whispers began. When their father left home and people began peddling rumors. I recall when the hush came. He was seen around town. Then the rustle, he wasn't returning yet.

Oh! The rap was loud. Jeez, that night he returned was loud. But next I heard was laughter. Every other fell in place. They found love.

I wish the same could be said about my family. There are moments when I wish my father would also disappear and reappear as an angel. All he is now is demonic. Nothing to write 'home' about. Even home doesn't exist here. Every single dusk brings along with it fear. Panic for what would happen next. Would he hurt her again? Would she stay calm and not provoke him?

I huddle together with my siblings in our six square feet bedroom and we say nothing to each other. Our pounding hearts say more than required. And then, there's a flash through the window. Headlamps approach and light flood our power ousted house. He didn't pay the bills, of course.

Then there's a rap. More like bangs. He doesn't like it when we make him wait at the door.

My kid brother runs from the room. His heart in his mouth. Scared of being hit for leaving father standing.

"Were you deaf? You didn't hear the car?!!" He roars at Joshua who scrambles out of his way. He is obviously angry again. Sometimes we get lucky and he actually whistles his high spirits in. Certainly not tonight.

"Mummy, don't go to meet him. Please." Samuel begs our mother who has been on the edge of the bed, her look faraway, her heart thudding.

But there's no escape tonight either as father thunders, "Mama Ibukun!"

We all jump momentarily. He's going to hit her again.

Mum then rises, dutiful wife she is, ready to face her 'better'-half. Next we hear is a round of confrontations. Begins with the usual question of why she wasn't out to welcome him and moves to the request of his dinner.

"The children soaked garri. You didn't leave enough money to prepare anything." Mom tells him and I exchange a look with Samuel. She definitely isn't getting away and as usual, we need to call for help.

Four year old Joshua is near wails now as the first slap lands, "So I should also soak garri?!!"

Myself and six year old Samuel begin with our pleas again, "Daddy please......." But he doesn't listen.

My nine years as their daughter never had a smiling minute. It was all pains and tears. I stare up at my father and his gaze is murderous. He's going to kill her. He always promised to.

Tears on my face, I sprint out of the house. To call Daddy Funke as usual. I had barely left the verandah when I hear a loud bang. Like a hard hit. Then a metal clanks to the floor. Then a thud. And lastly, an ear splitting scream from my brother,

"MOMMY!!!" Samuel and Joshua's voice ring and I turn back in. The metal had been a steel pipe. And the thud had been her body. He had finally kept to his promise.

"PLEASE, NO! MUMMY, PLEASE!" I scream and run to her side. He had hit her on the head and the cemented floor was covered in mother's blood.

I run to the weapon of doom and raise it him, "I'll kill you too! I'll kill you!!" I rage blindly and strike him hard. He just stands. It seems I don't have the power to after all. The steel pipe doesn't so much as hurt him the way it ended mother. He ought to die.









#qetsiyah.

Nice piece. So touching. Women are really suffering from this so called kind of men. This nefarious attitude of a failed man informed my last write up. www.nairaland.com/2826451/not-man #WomenMustConquer

hmm

gorgybee:
so touching *wanna cry*.....nice one dear

Thanks, love.

sooo touching. Nd i can say d woman endured all d battering 4 d sake of her children till d end.

Zeeenas:
sooo touching. Nd i can say d woman endured all d battering 4 d sake of her children till d end.

Yeah sh*t happens. I just thought of what could've happened to most women that end up on the news as dead, murdered by their husbands. Those men deserve a taste of their actions...

kizzykeziah:


Yeah sh*t happens. I just thought of what could've happened to most women that end up on the news as dead, murdered by their husbands. Those men deserve a taste of their actions...

and to tynk most of dis marriages was not out of compulsion but love. D sad part of ol dis are d children who witnessed ol d happenings, dey end up growing wit a negative mindset abt men, neva trusting men nd see ol men as not worthy of deir love as dey might end up as deir parent.

Nice, Nice, Nice. What more can I say? The painful reality of some marriages. May God help us all.

I'm following you honey. Beautiful piece...

I run to the weapon of doom and raise it him

*to him

Zeeenas:

and to tynk most of dis marriages was not out of compulsion but love. D sad part of ol dis are d children who witnessed ol d happenings, dey end up growing wit a negative mindset abt men, neva trusting men nd see ol men as not worthy of deir love as dey might end up as deir parent.

You got it, sis. Really nailed it...

Jojodivine:
Nice, Nice, Nice. What more can I say? The painful reality of some marriages. May God help us all.

Big Amen to the prayer.

slap1:
I'm following you honey. Beautiful piece...

Thanks boss. Your view is appreciated more than a regular comment. Fhank you feli much

slap1:

*to him

#noted

Literally and painfully true. A whole book choked up in few words, just keep on doing your best.

I duff my heart. This is beautiful. I love the consistence in the use of present tense.
1st Paragraph: The intro make sense. The use of two-word sentence makes the heart skip.
I don't get the essence of paragraph 2&,3
4th Paragraph. You opened our visual sensory. And you made us feel their fear. But I think if you added the way the breathe came, t would aggravate our fear.

I love the foreshadows. You made us feel an impending evil was looming that we should tighten our seat belt. Indeed, I did.
As much as possible, try to use more of 'said' it keeps the reader in the story. And avoid capitalisation of expression at all cost. It distracts.

P.O.V: 1st person witness.
Psychic distance: You pulled us to your angle. You dwelt more of emotional word. And made us stay glued.
Your story definitely portrays the problem some mothers face in marriage. Also, some of the trauma some kids carry into their own marriage. This mentality will eat into these kids. The girl would see all men as bad. And any man that portrays himself as gentle would not get a good review because as much as these ladies don't want beating in their marriages. They have conformed their mind to believing it's part of every marriage.

And guys, in fear of not beating their wives, would become wimps, be friend-zoned. etc.

Thanks
My Rating: 7/10

A nice, well structured short story. the theme was obvious but the inclusion of a sub theme is "un-short story like", the sub theme of love portrayed by the olaoyes, water down the powerful flow of fear, hatred and disgust lubricated by the marital unblissfulness,
but it can pass as a connecting device of coherence.
Your use of punctuation marks can be improved.