Papa, Why?

Papa, Why?? Is a fictional Write up that surround the life of a teenager who lost his mother to the cold Hands of death, caused by his father. This story contains alot of twist, stay tuned.

I hurriedly left home that sunny day because I never wanted Papa to meet me at home. Papa is a pain in the neck and a cut in the flesh to be his child. Ever since Mama died seven years ago because of Papa's carelessness and Ill manner, he sent Mama to an early grave by beating her to death. He denied everything before the village head, saying Mama fell down and hit her head on the hard floor. When he was asked about the bruises on Mama's face, he also denied them, saying Mama mistakenly spilled hot oil on herself while cooking. 

Little me, I wanted to defend Mama and speak before the village head, but I was scared of the beast I have as a father. A man of stupidity who only practice his kung fu skills on my late Mom. He had already warned me not to dare say anything else; I would pass through the same fate as Mama. Since Mama died, he has turned me into his house boy, forgetting his blood runs through my vain. He never for once acknowledges me as his son and only child; rather, he treats me as nothing but the son of a witch, just because Mama didn't give birth to a second child after me. Am I to be blamed? Am I the giver of children? I wonder why God made me a son of this idiot.

Sometimes I wonder if he will ever see me as his son. Mama left to the world beyond, opening a lot of opportunities for him. He now brings different women to the house as though he is changing his rapper. The little he is receiving as a pensioner is always squandered on his so-called mistress. Imagine a whole grown-up like me cooking for that idiot mistress of my father that's not even close to me in age. I sometimes wonder if Papa doesn't know that whatever he has with that girl is called Child Abuse. Well, what can I say? The girl is also in support of my father's relationship with her, an old man dating a stupid and lazy teenager.

Last last, she go chop breakfast; I trust Papa. With his little money, he can take another woman of his choice to this village. School, I have never for once attended classes since Mama died. The little amount I will save from working on people's farms to cater for my education, I will use all for clothing and other necessities of life. My clothes are no different from that of a mad person. I shed tears sometimes when my mate makes a mockery of me because of my look, the way I dress, and all about me is not right.

I have been thinking of running away from home, but I got no relatives outside this village. I can't report to Papa's family about his behaviors because he will skin me alive. Today, I have made up my mind to end it all. I want him to feel pain just the way Mama was rolling and crying on the hospital bed years ago. Papa is a foodie and can't do without eating, so I have prepared his food, dish it, and well kept on the wooden center table in the parlor. I prepared his favorite of Pounded yam and Egusi soup full of roasted bush meat. I ran out of the house because I didn't want him to meet me at home. I am running away, running from his troubles and problems, ready to face my own life. If anything happens to him, I am not to be held responsible because I am fighting for Mama. He made her die in pain; he, too, must die with pain. 

© SOLOMON ONAH EGBODO

STYLO MAGIQUE.

With Ink, I am an Icon.

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