It happened last night. The moon sat up in the sky observing the terror of the night. It was a new moon; a crescent whose beam shone directly into our den, as we called it.
“No!” I had screamed, shaking the lifeless body on the floor. “She is dead, you murderer!” I cried.
“Sshhh, Don’t shout!” he whispered as he bundled me off to my room.
It all started when my neighbours came to bid me farewell ahead of the teenagers’ camp. I desired to go, but couldn’t even dare as I had been warned against such outings.
I walked to my room, followed by my younger sister, Nkem, the only one who could read my mind. The noise of goodbyes and the sound of the ignition filtered into my ears. My tears escaped.
Nothing was more troubling than the early arrival of that evening. My hands trembled, as I flipped through the pages of my Geography textbook. I was as blank as space, drained and sick of everything.
Within thirty minutes, I was expected at the den. As usual, my Dad would test my recollection of what I had read. I looked at Nkem, her eyes and cheeks wet with tears. She was scared for me.
“Peter!” my father yelled.
My heart skipped a beat as I walked to the den with Nkem hovering behind me like a shadow.
“What is weathering?” he asked, his voice reverberating around the room.
I became mute. As he repeated the question, I saw it coming but it was too late to draw Nkem’s attention to the big lantern hurtling across the room towards us. I was the target but I dodged. It hit Nkem square on the forehead.
Without warning, the other half of me was gone. The one with whom I shared my emotions. My little sister was killed last night. I’ve wept since then, a part of me would never feel again.
Picture Credit: Pinterest
This story emerged in 10th position in the 2017 edition of the JB Afenfia Flash Fiction Contest.