SMOKE AND FIRE
A short story
I heard keys jostling as my mother struggled to open the black iron door. The compound was silent save for tv noises from different flats. The hot sun made the red and white tiles of the compound bristle with heat. I heard a click and the doors were open.
"We need to change the keys. It's so stiff-" my mother was saying when my eyes fell on shifting shapes doing acrobatics on the chair. The tv was blaring a song but you couldn't hear it from outside. I strained to get a clearer vision of what was happening but my mother's hand shielded my eyes. I could feel her hands tremble and when she spoke, her voice shook, "G…Go to your room and lock the door." I turned to look at her, her eyes seemed to have popped out of their sockets.
As I hurried to my room, I stumbled into something soft yet firm. I looked up and I saw breasts dangling at my face. I turned around to look for my mom and I heard someone shove another person into the wall. I regretted not taking my glasses with me when I was leaving the house this afternoon to follow my mom to the market. Although I sat in the car when she was shopping, I irked to be with her as she selected tomatoes and fresh ugwu.
I turned around and was about to enter my room when I heard "Do you have no shame? In our matrimonial home?," There was a pause and I felt eyes burrow into my back so I ran into my room and shut the door.
I felt around my table for my glasses and wore them. The room was slightly hot but the standing fan was doing a lot to repel the heat. I wanted to know what was happening in the living room but I feared my mother. If I open the door, she would know and her slippers or a remote control would be flying towards my head in a few minutes.
I curiously looked out of my window, the only one in the room, and saw a lady dressed in jeans and a green top with a black scarf wrapped around her head. She was in a hurry.
I could hear voices but I couldn't understand what was being said so out of boredom, I took a magnifier that my father had given me some days ago and a wooden board. I usually find this amusing; with the magnifier pointed towards the sun, and the board under, I could create fire to write my name on the board. The sweet smell of burning wood always reminded me of the incense used by the Reverend Fathers in church.
I was cresting my name on the wood beside the floor facing the window, a little foam on my wrist for support, when I heard a loud thud. I scurried to the parlour and found my mother on the floor. She looked very angry. She stood up, carried a small wooden stool -jokwo- that was sitting beside the sofa and flung it towards my father's direction. He barely dodged it but the television could not move, it fell on the floor, shattering glass and plastic.
I could barely breathe. My mother's loving eyes had fury and she looked like a character from a comic my cousin had gifted me for my eighth year birthday.
Within minutes, my mother was standing in front of my father, throwing punches while my father ducked each one. Tears rolled down her eyes and I wanted to go wipe them but I feared she would hit me.
My father grabbed my mother's elbows and twisted them together, there was a crackle and my mother winced in pain. She looked like the fight had gone out of her eyes. My father released her elbows and hit her on the face and stomach. She recoiled in pain.
My father looked at me with bizarre eyes. He didn't look like the man I knew.
"What is that smell, Timothy?" He asked and I shook my head. I felt my knees grow weak as he walked in my direction, walking past me to my room.
The curtains were rising with fire and my bedstand was darkened at the edge. The clothes my mother usually kept sandwiched between the wall and my bed was a raving fire.
My knees buckled under my thin weight. My father rushed to the bathroom, "Tim, go and get detergent from our bathroom", I wanted to move but my legs would not carry me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I could fear it trickle down while the fire continued to engulf my room.
My father rushed out of the bathroom, dragging me out to the parlour. He rusehd into their bathroom and grabbed the bag of detergent. My mother whose composure had returned ran after him and I heard them splashing water in my room.
The stench of smoke filled the house and neighbors began rushing in to our house, a few carrying buckets of water. Someone led me downstairs where I sat in another neighbor's balcony. From the balcony -which was on the other block facing ours-, I could see a thick black smoke rise out of my room into the air.
Whatever my parents had been fighting about was probably a lost cause. I would be their subject matter for the day or even the whole week. I squirmed in the chair, fearfully anticipating the lashes that would grace my legs this evening.
A short story I wrote in a publication, click the link if you are interested in reading. Xoxo 😘
https://bridgetaustine.com/hunted-date-romance-short-stories/
