I entered the
house after about an hour of aimless walking.
Strolling had become my second hobby recently and
hardly would you find me at home around 5 o’clock
in the evening. On entering the house, my heart
raced, my head seamed bigger than its normal size,
and i felt dizzy. Something is definitely wrong
somewhere, i thought. I had only felt that way
twice, and those are times i don’t want to
remember. I went into my room and did not see
anything awkward, i instinctively made for my
dad’s room, and there, i got the shocker of a
lifetime. For some seconds I stood, glued to the
ground with my mouth agape staring at the person
I knew to be my father. I just couldn’t understand
why, of all the pot-bellied men in the world, I was
doomed to answer the surname of this man. The
reason why I still call him ‘dad’ remains a mystery
to me. I ran out of his room and when I got to the
sitting room, I was already crying. The bitch came
rushing out some minutes later and ran past me
thinking I would do something but I wasn’t after
her. Memories of recent occurrences came flooding
my mind and I had to quench it quickly. I heard my
dad’s footsteps and dried my eyes quickly, not
wanting him to see my tears. ‘Who gave you the
right to come into my bedroom without knocking?’
he asked as he marched into the sitting room.
There is a saying that you can only see the bottom
of a chicken when the wind blows. The meaning
became clear to me as I glared at my father. I
stood up and faced him. ‘I knew you never loved
my mum, you made it so evident, but bringing
someone else to her bed barely two weeks after her
death…’ I laughed bitterly, ‘ you definitely deserve
a trophy. I hate you and everyone whose gender
starts with ‘M’. I HATE YOU’.


Read Married, another exciting story


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