Macabre E-Book

Isioma Jemimah Okonicha

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

I remembered the scene that'd played out the previous night, with Sister Susan, the chubby youth secretary of another church, who'd accused me of eating the remaining portion of beans they'd reserved, since we'd camped together, and had food prepared by some selected executives which I wasn't part of. "What kind of woman is she? I leave her to God." I said tearfully, as I thought, as if I was speaking to another person. She was so convincing, that everyone had believed her claim, as she accused me falsely: "I saw you go through the back, towards the kitchen, but I didn't expect that from you." she repeated loudly.  My experience at the camp, with Sister Susan, the same woman that I'd helped to carry her bag, on the day we arrived at the camp. "Can I forget?" I asked myself, "no." But I've forgiven her. We're humans after all, and most importantly am a Christian; the same word Brother Thomas, the only friend I made at the camp, had told me, after the disgrace I faced.  "To err is human and to forgive is divine." I reminded myself, as I rushed to struggle with the crowd, to board the train that'd already arrived. I looked up at the setting sun, as I walked towards the main road, to board a taxi, that would take me home, after I'd closed from work. I remembered the strange dream that I heard, the previous night, with an old man in the dream, asking me to look up at the sky, to tell if I saw anything. Before I'd woken up in sweats. "What was the meaning of that dream?" I wondered. "The sky was nothing sort of clear, when I'd peeped through my window, at that odd hour of the night. Instead, I saw a cloud that was all blurred and dark, and with little stars, shining back at me. Why did he ask me to look at the sky, when he knew that I was going to see nothing? What was the meaning of that dream?" I worried because I never have ordinary dreams; they always have their unique meanings, I knew it was a dream I shouldn't take for granted, but I didn't have the slightest idea what it meant. I couldn't even pray for long hours, like I did before, or even read the bible verses; I'd grown deeply moody, I hardly spoke, and even when I did, it sounded rude. I knew it was time to speak to someone about it, but I was reluctant; that was the lie I told myself. I knew deep within me, that I was enjoying the melancholy moment. I thought of telling Pastor Timothy; my parish pastor, and close friend, he was like a brother to me because my older sister, Aunt Rukky, was married to his cousin, but I still couldn't tell him I felt angry, or maybe I didn't want to look unspiritual to him. "Uncle Dele good evening," a middle aged woman, horned and greeted, from a red car, that she drove as she parked beside me, as I stood by the main road. She was a neighbor from the next compound, so I knew her quite well. "Don't worry, I will take the bus." I quickly said, passing and ignoring her, as I hopped into a bus that'd just parked in front of her car, leaving the woman obviously disappointed.   "I've been noticing your mood, you hardly call me these days, is everything okay?" My fiancée asked me, as we spoke on the phone, immediately  I returned home. "Yes everything is fine; my mother is disappointed, that she wouldn't get to meet you again." I changed the subject.  

Leseprobe

Isioma Jemimah Okonicha

Macabre

He that forgives is greater

To forgiveness, and to a heart of gold.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG80331 Munich

Chapter 1

As I sat that morning at the train station, waiting for thetthe train that was to arrive Leye from Lokoja, where I'd booked my ticket earlier to return home, after attending a two weeks national youth conference, organized by the Christian youth association which held in a small village in Lokoja, and in which I’d been chosen to represent my church because I was the president of our youth fellowship and also a deacon, I remembered the scene that’d played out the previous night with Sister Susan, the chubby youth secretary of another church, who'd accused me of eating the remaining portion of beans they'd reserved, since we’d camped together and had food prepared by some selected executives, and in which I wasn't part of. I was still in a confused state after the incidence, "what kind of woman is she? I leave her to God." I said tearfully, as if I was speaking to another person. She was so convincing that everyone had believed her claim, as she accused me falsely.

“I saw you go through the back, towards the kitchen, but I didn’t expect that from you." She continued to repeat. It was an awful experience.

She was the same woman that I’d helped to carry her bag on the day we arrived at the camp. 

"We’re humans after all, and most importantly you're a Christian," those were the words that Brother Thomas, the only friend I made at the camp had told me, after the disgrace I faced.

 “To err is human and to forgive is divine.”

I reminded myself, as I rushed to struggle with the crowd to board the train that'd just arrived.

It was hours later before I reached my destination, and the first person I saw was Chima, the bachelor that lived next to my flat; he was a banker. Although, we went out a couple of times, but we still weren’t close friends, since he never attended church; and I on the other hand was born again.

“Dele, you’re back.” He said immediately he saw me enter the compound. I walked towards my flat in a hurry, with an old fashioned-traveling bag, that hung on the right side of my shoulder, as I ignored him.

“Dele, Dele!" he called, while following me.

“Oh Chima," I finally stopped to answer him when I got to my door step.

“How was your journey? it was exactly four hours from Lokoja by train right?” he asked, trying to start a conversation.

“Yes.” I replied in an uninterested tone, as I slammed the door in his face.

“Omo mi, my child, welcome home. How your journey?” my mother asked as she stood to welcome me, before I prostrated to greet her.

She'd just arrived from the our village in Ibadan, a week before I'd travelled to Lokoja for the conference, leaving her behind, because I didn't want to disappoint my pastor and the youths.

“It was okay ma.” I said.

“Is everything all right?” She asked in a worried tone as she noticed my mood.

“Yes ma.” I said, forcing a smile. "Hope you weren’t too bored?"

“No, your neighbors are good people, they’ve been keeping me company,” she told me, as she gestured to me to sit.

“Hope you’re not too hungry?” 

“No ma.” I replied while I scrolled through my phone.