Patricide

Patricide

Despite I being his only son, Papa had always threatened to disown me if I did not desist from what he termed “unchristian ways”. And he never cared what kind of audience there was when he made those threats. Truly the threats had been coming, steadily, regularly. Recently, he complained that I took out his jeep and accidented it, despite the fact that I had my own car. He had also had cause to criticize me on my poor performance in school, saying I preferred partying and chasing girls to building my life. Every time he complained, I always responded by telling him we had different lives to live. Often times when I get really angry, I even tell him that he had done all the work I needed to do in this world, thus I was born to enjoy. And truly he provided all we needed at home and wherever, but we never could see eye to eye.

Even just last week, Mama called me to her room, after I had slept for over eight hours, an aftermath of binge-drinking from a night-out with my friends. “Ugo! Ugo! Ugo nmo!! How many times did I call you? Our fathers say ‘He who the Gods want to destroy they first make mad’. Your father has been warning you but you have turned deaf to his pleas. Since when have you grown too old to be reprimanded?”. She went on into a litany of my wrongdoings, while I quietly dozed off on the cane chair. “Don’t say I never told you, Ugo”, she concluded. Soon, nobody could talk to me. I was simply left to myself. I was left to chart the course of my life myself, and enjoy the fruits reapable therein. Sometimes, though, I felt remorseful for the troubles that I took my parents through. I saw the pains and anguish they went through whenever I am in my elements, when the fiery demon domiciled in me awakens the spirit of unrest in me.

In those times, I turn gentle and considerate, calm like a puddle of water, ready to supplicate for those errant times. However, those moments of introspection were very rare and only went on for very short periods of time. I never imagined what else I could do with all the money I had. Wasn’t father a billionaire oil magnate and a power broker in the political realm? Wasn’t I the only son, the lone heir? The latest scams and cases of corruption in the country’s political realm were part of what kept me going. Billions were stolen daily, and I had even started nursing the ambition of using father’s influence to launch my political ambition. For that alone I had to start training myself on how to spend money.

Even right now, I had cars to myself, so also did my three sisters, a fat bank account, schooled in one of the most prestigious universities in the country, and moved with equally spoilt kids. I felt the world was mine for the taking. The day Papa finally made do his threat I never believed him until he sent me packing without a car. In fact, he commanded a group of military men he had specifically recruited for that singular assignment to carry out the task of expelling me. I wanted to call his bluff and simply walk away, hoping that once I had disappeared they would be ones looking around for me. This was until I found out that my bank account had been frozen. The previous day, I had forcefully collected a huge amount of money from Papa’s accountant without Papa’s knowledge. That same night, myself, Chike, Prince, Udeme, Mike, and a host of other pals, headed for a five-star hotel, a bevy of girls for company.

There and then we began the squandering and it lasted all night. I did not go home. I simply partied and jollied with my friends. We did all kind of crazy things, and we all ended up stoned from our recklessness. I eventually went home the afternoon of the next day when I had ensured that the reek and stench on me had disappeared. I made sure that the odor of hard drugs, booze, and all had been drowned my peppermints and perfumes. When I got home, I did not provide any explanation. I greeted, went off to my room, and slept off for the rest of the day.  It was early the next day after my gallivanting that Papa told me his resolve and followed that up with his mercenary soldiers; I never believed him. I went away seeking the company of my friends.

We went off, finding worthy companionship in drugs, women, and alcohol. When I sought to get more of these companions, I found out that I did not have enough cash on me. I drove to the bank, a whore in tow, looking to withdraw some extra funds to fuel our cravings. It was there that I knew things had got beyond what I thought. There, I knew father had grown tired of my wayward ways. There I knew Papa really meant to keep his words. And there, I decided to confront him.  Once Papa’s act dawned on me at the bank, I turned back and headed straight for home. I had to force my way through the gate and the officious gateman, for Papa had left instructions that I should not be let in on whatever condition unless he gave explicit directions otherwise. Once within the compound, I stormed the house in anger. I negotiated a short tour of the house.

Getting to his room, I found Papa bent over the sink in his adjoining bathroom, washing off his after-shave. Seeing the source of my present discomfort, a wave of senselessness and madness hit me, and immediately, before he could utter a word, even as his forehead formed creases of surprise and muted anger, I slammed his head unto the ceramic. Slowly blood oozed out of his forehead as his lifeless body slumped. Papa was dead, killed by his spoilt heir.



10 thoughts on “Patricide” by Onanuga, Paul Ayodele (@nugadel)

  1. “Even right now, I had cars to myself, so also did my three sisters, a fat bank account, schooled in one of the most prestigious universities in the country, and moved with equally spoilt kids.”

    Tense confusion.

    The story feels more like a narration than a story. There’s hardly any emotion behind it and in this case it detracts from the power of the story. For me anyways.

    Not bad. Keep writing.

  2. This story is very loose….dunno much abt what went amiss, but there is something amiss for sure.

  3. A lot of telling(which was not well done) and no showing. A lot of tense switches. The story was ordinary. A spoilt child who killed his father. If you must write a common without any fresh twist it should be well written.

  4. Sorry I meant common story

  5. This should have been made longer. IMO, spoilt brat like such are always seeming weak to commit such a crime.

    All thesame, welldone and keep writing…

  6. Interesting story. You can write but there is room for improvement.

  7. Nice story; that of a spoiled child told from his own point of view.
    Do take note of tense mixture but it’s a good story.

  8. And then, what happened?

    Tense confusion, typos, inappropriate use of (big) words etc. Simplicity bro…Simplicity. No be English test.

    Keep writing.

  9. Enjoyed this, u kan do beta.

  10. you have come on stage- you can only get better. just heed the corrections as pointed out

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