Rain growled in and created hunchbacks for pedestrians. Detrimental lubrication was evident. The dog-nose wetness made everywhere appear vague. One building stood tall and looked a bit visible than the rest.
The apartments inside were the same, no difference at all. But while almost all the apartments opened their windows from day to day, this one had its sole window permanently closed.
In this apartment lived three children. If clustered together, their heights were like steps, ascending steps. All were dressed in cloths of fresh dirt. A boy and two girls in a room of utter bareness. The children’s room.
Pum, the smallest, was lying on the floor sleeping, drooling. Thess, the smaller, was standing by the closed window. Tim, the small, was squatting with his legs spread out, staring at the floor pensively. The apartment obviously had the absence of parents. Their dresses were different but of the same quality – inferior.
Everywhere was silent save for the puerile snoring from Pum. “I wish I could open the window, but Dad said not to,” Thess spoke up.
She shifted her perpetually forlorn look away from the window and met Tim’s eyes on her.
“Dad ain’t here,” he said.
Thess shook her head and left the window to pet Pum, who stirred in her sleep. “Dad’ll bring presents. He used to do that, you know,” said Thess.
“Yes,” Tim said drily.
Pum began to perspire. Quickly, Thess woke her up. “Where’s Dad?” Pum asked.
“He’s coming,” Tim sobbed. “With presents.”
Thess hugged herself and swung from side to side. “He used to say stories under the tree,” she said in one breath.
Tim slowly warmed up. He brightened gradually. “The story of the witch of Oz and the one of the birth of death. These are my favourites,” said he.
“Mine is the one of the boiled bread,” prattled Pum. “The baker was truly foolish.”
Everyone laughed. They were obviously oblivious of a female eavesdropper by the door. This woman had three loaves of bread with fried egg inside each. She had a black-red scar near her left eye and a dull ring on her left hand, indicating marriage.
She grinned as she overheard them. A moment passed. Then, she inhaled, unlocked the door, threw in the loaves and locked it back. She smiled when she overheard them this time.
They obviously wolfed them with relish. “What is a lazy man’s job?” asked Tim.
“Sleep!” Thess and Pum answered together. Laughter ensued. This puerile assembly spoke well into the night. By then, the heavy crying outside minimised a bit.
*
The next day came. The woman came out of a room adjacent to two permanently locked-up rooms before the children’s room, battered. Minutes later, a man came out of there as well, well dressed, handsome, too.
After adjusting his dress, he exclaimed, “Another nice day! It was a beautiful night, wasn’t it, dear?”
The woman turned and looked at him, speechlessly baffled. The man confronted her. “How was I last night?” he whispered.
She slowly shook her head and looked down. He seized one of her injured wrists. “I want to check on the kids,” she said weakly.
“What kids?” he thundered. He pointed to the door leading to the children’s room. “Those things in there?” he asked. “They are not useful anymore. I have to get rid of them. But I cannot, because hard-earned money might go down the drain.” Her eyes were pleading for release of her wrist from his grasp.
*
First, Tim stirred. Then, Thess. And finally, Pum. The children stretched their bodies and Tim got up. He went to the window. A man, moderately dressed, had dozens of balloons in one hand. He looked up and saw Tim. He smiled and released them. They floated in the air. “Bubbles!! Those bubbles!” Tim exclaimed and hit hard at the static window. He hit the window with an extra vigour each time.
It was becoming relentless. One balloon was approaching the window. Tim screamed and, with one final effort, hit at the window with both fists. It broke.
*
The couple heard the breakage and rushed in. The man stormed towards Tim. “D-Dad?” Tim said feebly and went to his siblings. He brought them close to him.
The man blushed visibly in fury. “Damn! The window’s broken!! Rubbish! Nonsense!” he exclaimed and turned on the woman. The children watched helplessly as she became a punching bag. He elbowed her, kicked her, choked her.
He was on top of her, strangling her till she longer moved, before finally raping her.
When he finished, he got up and heaved a sigh. He turned to the children. A tear left Thess’s eye. A sob left Pum and Tim sighed heavily.
“Dad, remember the witch of Oz?” Thess muttered.
“And the boiled bread?” added Pum.
“And the birth of death?” Tim chipped in.
“Shut up, all of you!!!!!!” the man thundered.
Thess stepped forward and screamed in a high-pitched voice, “No!!!!!!!!!!!!” She ran away. Tim and Pum followed her. For moments, the man stood rooted to the spot. Then, he covered his face and wept.
*
The children ran away from the building, jumping with great enthusiasm, their footsteps visible on the wet pavement.
THE END
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Emmanuella Nduonofit @Emmanuella-Nduonofit
Go to Emmanuella Nduonofit's profile, and read more of his/her posts.
Er, Emmanuella . . . I don’t really know what to say.
I go with Lade,but it’s really interesting.
ooh nice one Ella
Wow…you conveyed the clash of passionate and dispassionate emotions so well my heart nearly stopped…wow! that’s all I can say Ella…you’re something else!
SPEECHLESS.
I HOPE THIS IS GOING SOMEWHERE.
WELL-WRITTEN.
Where do YOU think ‘this’ is going to, Presido Seun?
NA ME WRITE AM?!?!?!?!???
I’ve detach myself from all my works, Presido Seun. Though they bear my name, they are no longer mine, you get? They’re for the public to consume, ok. Get that into your brain, my dear president of NS! All your own works here are for showcase, abi? I create something, and sometimes I give my own interpretation of it, sometimes I can’t or I don’t. I talk am here before sha. Make I no talk am again, e dey tire me! So, I go ask you again, presido. Where do YOU think ‘this’ is going to,hm? Abeg, eh, please, I no wan hear NA ME WRITE AM again. Just try, if you fit, o! Make I no force u, u hear me so? If the place where ‘this’ is going to is vague, then take your time and clarify.
Em, if I sounded harsh, eh, I cut my tongue. E kpele gan, gals and guys. No offense, NS president.
after you commot my heaf finish you come still dey ask me where i think say e dey go…
thanks but no thanks…hensfought (henceforth) i keep my unpaid opinions to myself…
Please, Presido Seun DARLING, your comments mean a lot to me, a whole lot. I’ll apologise and re-apologise, dear. My sweetheart, in order to go to heaven, Jesus told us to forgive 777 times, which means forgive without ceasing those who very sincerely show that they are sorry. No do shakara now, haba! Na only babe dey do dat wan now,kai!
Seun, stop pouting and get over your high horse, ok. Hm?
IMAGINE…you dey apologise still dey yab me????
Na Wa O…really real wa!!!!!!!!!!!
Ewo, Presido, u dey yarn like babe, o! I winked to cheer you up after apologising, o! I no yab u, o, biko,nna!
lol I laughed when I saw ‘The End’. I see you know sey our NS peeps too dey like part 2. You effectively made sure they don’t ask you anything. lol smart girl.
Sometimes, I wonder what you could be thinking of to churn out the stuff you do. They are thought provoking.
I’m at a loss. What does it mean?
You know, after reading and re-reading this piece before I even sent it to NS, I was wondering what will happen to those kids now. Will they just run amok like that? Where would their destination be, I wonder?
Kai, I think I was angry when I wrote this. I guess this was as close as I could get to children’s literature. Nice try abi? Kai, abeg, make I no just praise myself here, o! I’d rather do the opposite… 
Nice one indeed … good story!
As self indulgent as this might be it’s still a pretty good work. Well done!
Loved the title and that the children could experience freedom al last.Well done!!!
@Emmanuela, you said something about “children’s literature”. Lol, I don’t think any child could read this. But get this: as I read from line one I got more and more stuck in the tale and I could easily have been reading my favourite writer, Charles Dickens. He too wrote books about children that were not necessarily meant for kids! Lol, in short it was fantastically written though the end was inexplicable
. But being a writer lets you get away with that sometimes. In conclusion:P, you are darned good, girl!
So, according to you, Marya, it’s not really children’s literature then. DARNNNN!!!
I’ll get over it, I always do. Besides, I have so many other ‘babies in my womb’ yearning for birth. I’ve already cut the umbilical cord outta this one. 
Merci beaucoup, Marya, for this. I’m sorry I ain’t a Dickens fan, but I liked his literature at the time though. He’s good, quite good, a good guide to good writing.
Wow, if you aren’t a Dickens fan, that’s weird cos the story reminds me a lot of the way he writes about children’s pain or suffering. However I must confess I have never read anything like this by a Nigerian author and like yettitweets said, you might need your own genre soon! It was really really good and I could read a whole book written like that – only the ending would have to make more of an impression! Lol, you’re officially my favourite and I’m off to read more of your stuff.
oh wow.. another genre created on NS? before i join the complimenting bandwagon, here’s my two pence:
I think you have a brilliant idea here. It’s a good foundation for an abstract piece that would otherwise have no meaning apart from the underlying meaning. that being said, I kinda saw this as a representation of inner conflict. on the premise of us all having multiple personalities (without the disorder), I would saw the man is the alpha personality, the one that berates other ‘parts’ of itself’ for lacking in formerly assumed value. He longs to be rid of ‘himself’ but he can’t cos too much water is gone down the drain. Sometimes, he is so detached that he believes he can separate ‘HIM’ from the rest of ‘HIS FAMILY’…
the woman, is the more sympathetic side. She is in on the logic for the ‘disposal’ and ‘separation’ of the ‘children’ but she is bound to them by… ‘maternal instinct’??? So, she bears the emotional burden, the pain inflicted by the more logical ‘MAN’. She is is more often the scape goat for all self berations.
the children – the represent the uglies we all try to get rid of everyday.
Oh wow… I guess i really got into your story then…
Brilliant, brilliant analysis, @yetitweets. Very brilliant analysis! I was very overgasted! You’re on your way into becoming a junior-rate literary critic, take it from me. Don’t shoot to the top of literary critic just yet, my dearest. It’s a step-by-step process. Geez, I ain’t even rich enough to dash you points, shame on me! *embarrassed face*. Forgive me, will you, please??? I just so much wanted to. I couldn’t believe that this story, as short as it was, made such an impression on you. That was really something! Another of my little ones doing its job, I see. Keep it up, em, BUBBLES IN THE AIR! You’re a star in the sky, my little one. Even if you were badly written, you still shine,hm. ((((((Lots of hugs))))))) This is for being the longest commentator in my post. I wish I could do more, really, sincerely.
Reading Yetitweets post brought home a few points from your story and made me like it more Good one, Emmanuella…
Maybe you should contract her o write blurbs for your stories…
Hmmm, maybe I should, @Elly. Thanks for the suggestion, dear.