So they came four in number brandishing guns and threatening our lives.
It was a Saturday night in our beautiful home, Mama and Papa had me as their only child. I was still in my late teens when the tale i am about to tell took place. It has been years yet it has not healed. It is still as if it happened yesterday.
‘Shut your dirty mouth’ shouted the short man with a long gun.
‘You ought to have kept enough money for us,
N500,000 is chicken change’ he barked at Papa who lay face-down hugging the earth out of fear. Mama wore a silk night-gown still looking beautiful in her late thirties. As fair as a goddess, Mama lay face-down near Papa trembling. Her hands spread and face pointing to the floor.
Papa worked as the General Manager of a top bank and had fleet of cars. He was indeed a rich man.
As they jerked Papa up hitting him with the base of their gun, tears ran down my cheeks.
I began to tremble not knowing the unthinkable was about to happen.
Papa went into the room with two of the four armed-robbers, I prayed in my heart that he should check inside the pillow in my room which had the
N900,000 I was supposed to have paid into his brother’s account for her mother’s sick bills. But I dared not utter a word as I kissed the floor with my face tight-hugging the rug and eyes shut.
Suddenly, I heard Mama shout and scream in pains as Papa rushed out of the room in anger. He rushed under the drawer near the big flat screen TV and pulled his revolver, pointed at the short, dark and ugly armed-robber who sandwiched his bare manhood in between Mama’s legs. The bullet pierced the armed-robber’s back and sent him crashing to the floor with a painful shout as he dropped dead. Another bullet went off from the revolver as it caught the other armed-robber who was busy emptying our liquor since they entered the house. He was sitting on the big chair facing the liquor bar. The bullet caught his heart and came out through the other side of his body. The big bottle of Heineken in his hand dropped with a loud boom. He fell to the ground writhing in pain before he gave up the ghost.
It was then that I saw Papa crashing to the floor as the revolver dropped from his hand. With eyes dripping of tears, thoughts incoherent, mind lost to pain and a half closed eyes, Papa’s bullet ridden body gave up the ghost in no time.
The scenario refused to fit into my mind. I was still mouth-agape thinking of what I had just witnessed when I fainted.
Four armed-robbers came to our house, one of them forced his way into Mama, Papa out of anger shot two of them dead, Mama lay on the floor unconscious, Papa shot dead by one of the armed-robbers as they fled our house.
Many years have passed still I have vengeance written all over me. Mama died the next month. She never recovered from the trauma. Each time I remember all these events, I just feel like another walking corpse but one day I will revenge!