THE LITTLE DEMON YOU MADE

The Aftermath

"The absence of war does not mean peace, son"
my dad always tell me.

"One day, they will come, and they will kill us all; they will kill us for the liquid gold underneath the land that our ancestors bequeathed to us, their love for material things has killed the humanity in them. And they don't give a damn anymore. They don't care whose Ox is gored; as long as the money keeps coming to them"

Each time my dad tells me about the inevitable war that is looming in the nearest future, I can see sadness written all over him. Often; he has told me not to trust anyone, not even my own shadow if I want to live long on earth. Me and my sister were his everything.

Our mother left my dad and followed a rich foreign expatriate who has come to work in our little community. And when he was done snatching my mum from my dad they both eloped to America.

And left my poor dad lonely and heart broken and we the children motherless. Not even for one day have I blamed the foreigner that took my mother away from us. All my blames goes to my mother who left us behind and followed a foreigner.

She left us when I was six years old and my little sister four. My poor dad worked in a construction company as an unskilled labourer.

It was when my mum visited my dad in the construction site that she met with the foreign expatriate that broke my dad to pieces. And ever since then, my dad has been the only one looking after me and my little sister.

We were his everything, he was our everything. We were not rich but we were contended with what we have. We take life as it is, hoping for better days ahead with less worries.

The best moments of our lives is in the evening when we are together at home and after the dinner. Dad would tell us some interesting fairly tales; and thereafter; take us to the bed and sing us lullaby till we sleep. Even though dad had a terrible voice, but his voice was the sweetest voice we ever heard.

My dad would wake up every day very early to prepare us for school, and he would walk us up to our school and hand us over to the school authority before he goes to work.

That is his every days routine and he did it with no qualms. I can still visualize his fat handsome face smiling to us while he wave at us as we passes through the school gate. And I hate morning; more especially when we part ways with Dad in the school gate.

Me and my sister were always the last to leave the school premises. We have to wait for our dad who normally closes work late to come and Pick us up.

Few days, he do show up earlier. We might be sad for waiting for a couple of hours but the sight of our dad rejuvenates us. We would jump out of our skin to meet him as he approaches us.

No doubt, our dad was the best dad in the world. But the "New world order" don't care what he meant to us. And so; they destroyed our poor beautiful home and killed my dad and destroyed my peaceful community and took many lives away.

The liquid gold underneath our ancestral land is more costlier than our blood. And so they went ahead to spill our blood so they can take control of the deposit.

Now; the words of my father made sense to me. I thought about him and how the querilla fighters badged into our house and pumped bullets into his chest, while me and my sister watched from where he hide us, and when they were gone.

We crawled out from our hiding place and started calling on dad to wake up, but he was gone and I cried down to my soul and that was how me and my sister ran away from our home. Scampering for safety.

this is the story of my life. Stay tuned.

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English is not my first language, you can as well correct me.