Legacy Of Honour

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 The hot African sun shone in all its ferocious splendour, casting a glow on the darkened skin of the woman hoeing and pulling weeds in the corn farm, she stood briefly to stretch her back as her bones screech in protest.

 In faraway India, the tired feminine figure trudged on, pulling the heavy load of rice and in New York, Annabel typed furiously in her cubicle, her manager casting surreptitious glances in her direction. However, her mind was on Michael, her two month old son, whom she dropped in her mother’s house on her way to work. She returned early from maternity leave after her husband’s redundancy, her salary was all they lived on.

In Nigeria, Victoria raced home, her brown face squeezed together like a wrinkled orange. Friends brought her seventeen year old daughter from university, plagued with a mysterious illness. Victoria’s eyes redden with tears, her heart beating like a banjo drum, though she has nine children, the thought of losing one was simply unbearable.

Two weeks later, her daughter was strong enough and she went back to campus but the next morning, Victoria stood in front of her daughter’s hostel, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. When the daughter saw Victoria, she flew into her arms.

”Mummy, why are you here?’

”I wanted to be sure you’re alright!’ Victoria said and joy surged in her heart when she saw her daughter’s healthy countenance.

The daughter smiled and bade her mother farewell. Victoria left the campus and went back to work.

Victoria is my mother and here I am today, well and strong, my mother always feared for my life, I can’t blame her. I was very sickly while growing up. To all great mothers, women, girls everywhere, I salute you in honour. Let us all leave a legacy worth mentioning to generations yet unborn.

Thanks for reading, and to our men folks, you complete us!

Much love, always!

The Man In The Glass House


Glass house

Glass house (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I loved looking at the big imposing building, every time I strolled past, my straying eyes would always seek out the glasses which seemed to cover the length and breadth of the house. One day after school, I decided to speak to my mom about the mysterious house and its elusive occupant.

I had finished my lunch when I brought up the topic and knowing how my mom detested gossiping, I put on my most innocuous look, mom had once told me I had dreamy eyes so I reckoned If I gave her a shot of that she wouldn’t be so keen to shut me up.

”Hey mom,” I began tentatively, trying to see if she was in a good mood, ”Do you know anything about the owner of the glass house down the street?”

She glared at me with a hiss and stood up totally ignoring me, and I grunted in dismay, it was like squeezing water out of a rock, my mom wouldn’t  assuage my hyperactive imagination.

The next day after school, I told my best friend about the glass house that I wanted to check it out, would she care to come with me?

Not on your life,” she had replied unconvincingly but I knew Tia, she would do anything for me.

”Please!” I begged with my cutest smile and dreamy eyes… well…, she succumbed. I smiled with satisfaction but also knew I was treading on dangerous terrain.

”When are we going?” Tia asked with a frown, I noticed she wanted to get it over with.

”Today after school,”

I said and the day flew past like a fly on a mission.

After school, with my bag slouched over my shoulder,  we walked home, Tia was exceptionally quiet, after walking for about twenty minutes, we got to the front of the glass house and I hesitated briefly.

Tia looked at me and asked in a whisper,

”Do you really want to go ahead with this?” And I nodded in the affirmative.

”So, how are we going to get in? We can’t climb over the fence.”

Tia was becoming more of a pest than a friend and I toyed with the idea of going in alone but I couldn’t risk it, what if something went wrong? I glanced briefly at my wristwatch, it was almost three in the afternoon, mom would be worried if we don’t go home soon.

Without thinking, I pressed the white bell attached to the massive gate and suddenly the gate flung open to show a breathtaking view of the house, dazed with the beauty, I sauntered in, I’d totally forgotten I was with Tia.

Tia had done a disappearing act, I took a few paces inside the gate and I saw a figure standing outside the house, the man’s features was not that visible but he looked quiet old. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go in, I retreated backwards with a word of greeting to the man,

Good afternoon, you’ve got a beautiful house!”

”Thank you, why not come in,”  his baritone voice sounded friendly but something else made up my mind for me.

There was no mistaking the sound, it was a low rumbling growl, I glanced sideways and saw a very massive Alsatian dog, I didn’t wait to find out whether the dog was on a leash or not before I took to my heels.

I got home to meet a very angry mother, Tia had told my mom about our little escapade. Well, if you’d read a few things about my mom, you would have known the rest of the story. When my dad came back from work and mom told him what happened, dad took me to the garden with a stern look on his face.

I turned to face him, expecting an earful but he simply asked me why I went to the house.

”I’ve heard people say strange things about the man and I was curious, I wanted to find out for myself.”

My dad kept quiet for a while before speaking and let me repeat that his words stuck with me till today.

”Life is not a story, it is not fiction, life is real. In stories, you make up people and tell them what to do but in life, people do the strangest thing in the confines of their homes. You were lucky today, don’t ever go where you were not invited, ever again.”

I realised my mistake, I mused, the man could have been a serial killer but I wasn’t convinced, maybe, he was a man with secrets but who doesn’t have one?

”Yes dad,” I said with eyes downcast and then it occurred to me.

”Can I write about him dad, my story, my own words,”

My dad smiled and gave me the go ahead to write the story.

I wrote ”The Man In The Glass House” when I was thirteen, in my own words. The man was not a villain, in my mind, he was a hero, I don’t know anything about him, nobody does and I guess what people don’t know they made up.

I wrote the man’s story in a notebook, when I finished, I gave it to my dad to read, he loved it and gave it to his secretary in the office who typed it for me. But publishers thought my imagination was too strong for a girl my age and that was where it ended until this morning when I found my notebook in the loft while rummaging for some stuffs.

And I made a promise to myself to write the man’s story. The man died before I left home, I stood outside the house after he was buried, wondering why he was such a recluse, with no family nor friends, at least I don’t see anyone near his house.

One day, I am going to release the story of the man in the glass house, would you read it when I do?

Thanks for reading my story friends!


The Thinking Man sculpture at Musée Rodin in Paris

The Thinking Man sculpture at Musée Rodin in Paris (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I quickened my pace, my heart in my mouth, the winter wind slashed my cheeks into shreds as involuntary tears slipped down my cold cheeks. I dread passing through that horrible alley but I’ve got no choice, none of my friends were going my way, so I had to walk home alone.

I clenched and unclenched my fists and trod on, my heels making a tapping danceable sound. At first, I thought it was my mind but the whispering got louder and louder.

”I shouldn’t have gone, I shouldn’t have gone,” I kept repeating under my breath, at the same time casting surreptitious glances behind me, trying to ignore the deadly whispers in my head. I don’t want to show my fear though it was all over me, its slimy hands rests on my soul with ease.

It was insanely cold and I was scantily dressed for that time of the year. I hugged myself and trudged on, mad with myself for my stubbornness. I was almost out of what I perceived was ‘the danger zone’ when three men appeared out of nowhere, standing a few paces from me, their faces were hidden with their hoods.

They were breathing heavily but I noticed something unusual about them, they seemed to hiss like snakes. the hair at the nape of my neck stood on end but I was ready to fight to the death.

I knew it, I saw this coming, I thought bitterly, my stomach in knots, but strangely enough, I was not afraid. Everything happened so quickly that I barely remembered the details.

The men defied gravity as they flew into me while my arms and legs did the rest, my taekwondo training had not been in vain, all thanks to my mom.

In less than twenty seconds, it was over.

I didn’t wait to see if the men were okay before I took to my heels. When I got home, I crept up to my room and wept bitterly.

I was wasting my time, I could have died easily and would have become another statistic. I glanced at my watch, it was one o’clock in the morning, I knew my mum would be fuming and she had every right to.

I finally managed to sleep because I was so exhausted, barely half an hour later, I was rudely woken up when I felt a cold hand on  my shoulder and the whispering began again. I propped myself up on one elbow while I used the other hand to switch my bedside lamb on and the three men I thought I’d beaten were standing calmly against my door, in my room, I could feel their eyes boring into mine.

How did they get in? I should have called the police after I managed to get away, I thought frantically and this time around, I was afraid. My parents’ room was next door and if I scream, I am sure they would be in my room within minutes but do I have the time to do that?

My time was running out, I could feel it deep within my soul. My life flashed before my eyes in seconds and I wished I had listened to my mum. She had warned me to use my time well.

What should I do?

NP: I wrote this at the spur of a moment, it’s a short story. Would love your feedbacks!