Our Lives

by Symolean

BENT with age. Clearly written over her is the
pain and struggle her life has been bathed in for
his sake. On his own accord, he has decided to
make himself an outcast, a stranger to his family.
She’d spend days looking out for him, asking of
his way about, risking her diamond life, but each
time she found him, he relocates and moves
deeper into the jungle like a wild, he was so sure
that’s where he belongs, nothing could quash his
confidence in this anymore. He tries live and
behaves like them, making it more difficult to
spot him out. He also changes his name as he
move from level of thickness of the forest to the
other, what he failed to realize was that his
identity was not the name he bore but what is
inside of him, what God sees him as.
He really didn’t know and understand that the
little paper that the mother has always presented
to him each time she finds him out was capable
of making him a billionaire and it’s cashable. He
had looked at drug lords and fraudsters who not
just to him but in reality swim in money and wield
an unbelievable influence in the society. They
could buy their way into almost everywhere and
when you try to oppose them, you are a dead
meat. He considered them and was more than
impressed about everything they do, even the kind
of clothe they wear, the kind of shoes they put on,
their cars, their Heaven on Earth Mansions as he
calls it. He’d also like to swim in this kind of
money that comes with affluence and influence.
He had made moves to prove himself capable to
them but all his affectations and charades always
come to naught as their was always an Achilles’
heel which he couldn’t cover. He doesn’t belong
to their world, yet he insist on proving it
otherwise. He picks up his broken ambition,
resolves never to get intimidated and tries to do
more crime just to boost his level of infamy.
Five years ago, his father had died in the bid to
get that paper for him, though he got it but
couldn’t personally hand it over to him. The
father didn’t have the opportunity to explain to
him in details what that worthless-looking piece
of paper means but the mom knew the value from
the beginning and had promised to give it to him
as the only true heir to it.
She looks up to the calendar hanging on the tea
coloured wall with her husbands picture next to
it. She couldn’t stop herself from hiccupping as
streams of thought floods her mind. The calendar
says, “2nd April, (2015-04-02),she’s got no time
to waste because her life is gradually coming to
an end, her waist aches, her sight growing dull,
she’s turning more of a recluse because her legs
can barely carry her, everything is no longer as it
used to, things have changed beyond she’d
envisaged, her son who was once tractable, for
instance has turned nefarious, not just nefarious,
he has turned to the Devil’s Advocate, she must
pass this paper to her heir! She searched her
mind for who she could trust with the paper till
her son turn repentant, but none was worth it.
The greed she saw in their eyes, the impatience
they expressed. She cried, raining tears without
making a sound, she turned to me and said,
“Symolean, am his last hope”, I couldn’t open my
mouth before she continued, ”their indifference to
things that won’t bring them private gains have
discouraged me from making them the executor
of his father’s will if I be no more”. Her back was
already aching from sitting for close to an hour,
she was getting discouraged about the possibility
of getting this paper into his hands before she
dies and unconsciously said aloud, “what if he
refuses to accept this paper today? What if he’s
heard of my coming and has gone into hiding...?”
This and more unpreventable thoughts continued
to attack her mind like the Trojans. Her son had
been a blind imitator for such a long time. He
didn’t know and never cared to know why his
idols live the way they do, all he wanted was just
to be like them by any means possible.
Ensconced in an old arm chair with a dirty
antimacassar that is as old as my grandmother,
he was busy looking at his reflection on the
standing mirror opposite him. The mirror was the
only noble thing in the room, at least, it shows
how haggard he is, not just look, now. His
favourite reggae song, Black Queen, by Jimmy
Cliff, was playing mildly in the background unlike
him who always played music at the highest
volume. He was about to light the last stick
Benson and Hedges when he heard a knock at
the door. He ignored the knock on the door. He
was actually celebrating his admission into the
drug world after brilliantly shooting a drug baron,
drilling a hole in hole skull.
On her sick bed, she sent him a mail, telling him
of the worth of the paper and how it could be
used, but as things happen, he realized who he
was too late.
Dear friends, Jesus has given us ALL WE NEED
HANDS IN SIN? Do you actually KNOW WHO YOU
ARE? Sorry , if I may ask, can JESUS ENTRUST A
Let’s repent!
Still your brother,
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