Pamela Patrick, a Sister, a Friend, a Mother, 1956-2023:I couldn’t stop reading those lettering engraved on her grave as I stood motionless with a bouquet of flower firmly held in my hand and my gaze lowered on her beautiful picture. Quickly I wept from the lag of my heart. I was guilty of this sin. With trembling hands I dropped the flower and returned to the recess of my broken heart. Would I ever forgive myself for being unable to provide her medical bills?Each time I dared to speak, I choked on my words and I ended up sobbing and wiping endless warm tears that burnt my cheeks. The death of my mother had opined in me that I was indeed an embodiment of poverty. I had only one option; provide the hospital bills and she would live for me yet I could. I had only come to agree with my fate in that if her bills were to be a thousand dollars I would have also disappointed her.Just then he appeared by my side and interrupted my thought- father. He had wept so bitterly that his eyes were
The chilly wind of spring flushed across my body in the middle of the night and I wouldn’t have noticed the misfortune that had befallen father if I hadn’t heard the deep-throated noise of father throwing up by the corner. He was throwing profusely.My lip curled.At the time my eyes burnt with unsatisfied sleep as I rubbed my eyes to confirm my sight. It was actually father, even when I dared to doubt the figure throwing up in the dark a contrary voice said otherwise.“Father! Father!” I called as I peered at him while I advanced to the corner. “Father! Are you there?” Horror hung over me as I wondered if he was going to spew out his intestines; the throwing up couldn’t stop and didn’t seem like something that would stop soon.It was still late and the entire dark silent street churned my imagination. It was obvious father had caught the flu. For more than two months we had slept out in the cold; the spring and rain fell on us; the dew had our frail, skin as its destination. I stare
I couldn’t believe I just lost my job at Hoffers Foods some minutes ago. I went to source for loan but I got a sack letter instead. Ill-luck? Father had told me I was full of ruins failure and ill-luck. Now I just confirmed it. I was a bloody disaster that was about to happen.This could be the reason nobody wanted to associate with me. It was conspicuous in my life that I was an embodiment of failure and poverty. Father was dying; I had lost the panache to return to the ruins I created. How would I behold my father with my eyes while he died like a kitten? I sniffed dropped on the floor and felt like taking my life.Jaded!What was I living for? Of what use was this worthless world to me without the three lovely people in my life? The only job that put food on our table had been taken from me like hawk stealing away the chick from its mother hen. And with the flu that had engulfed father, I argued if there would ever be a light at the end of the tunnel.I had lost the enthusiasm to r
Rio Hondo Bridge would be the perfect site for suicide. I had heard of Rio Hondos that committed quietly suicide on the bride and never survived the strokes. It was the tallest bridge in the southeast Rio.Measuring over fifty thousand meters vertically and running into the depth of the ocean with over fifty thousand meters, it would take the expertise of talented divers to find the corpse of anyone that fell therein. And that was the perfect site for me. I didn’t want anyone to discover my corpse. I wondered who would be interested in the corpse of a poor delivery jaded boy that breathed misery.No one knew my intention. Once father’s corpse was deposited at the morgue, I quietly sneaked out and started making towards the Rio Hondo Bridge. I wasn’t scared of death, and I didn’t think any of us were scared of death; we were only scared of the strokes of death.These strokes of suicide were going to be peaceful, gentle, hidden and unmemorable. I wasn’t a good swimmer so falling over a
Upon hearing him call me boss, I rolled my eyes at him and wondered at such blasphemy. Things were getting ironical here. I should be calling him boss not the other way round. I only took it for a bluff because what would make any sane man call me boss in my present conditionMy jaw sagged as I nagged under my breath, “Why are you calling me boss? By the way who are you? You can’t just stop by to poke nose into an affair that doesn’t concern you. Please go your way and let me end this in peace,” I quarreled and struggled to come off his hold and do my wish.My eyes narrowed at him as anger curled up my lips; this man wasn’t letting go.The man who still had his head bowed with my right leg still in his firm hold interrupted me, “No, boss there may not be need for you to commit suicide anymore. If you know who you are, you would probably be taking a step from this rail right now.” He raised his gaze at me and said yet further “I am Steve Marks an oil and gas mogul in Rio Hondo. You don
Steve marks drove me to a towering sky scraper which had around it hundreds of well-suited Caucasian cute-looking men most of whom were on sunshades. I perceived they were security men. As soon as Steve Marks came to a screeching halt a few of the men paced down to the Ferrari opened the door for me and bowed unison.“You are highly welcome boss,” they echoed at Steve and I and I glared around the serene premises which had fleets of Lamborghini Ferrari Rolls Royce phantom and Cadillac and a private jet elegantly scattered all over the place.This was my perfect description of wealth; how could a man so rich be bowing to me. There must be a miss up somewhere. May be this billionaire was mistaking for someone else; yes. It could be that he thought I was some Croesus or heir to one.“You are welcome to the Steve Group, boss,” he echoed smiled at me and I gave him the cold shoulders because I was lost and overwhelmed by the splendor of the environment; it had a water fall and an ocean vie
I narrowed my gaze at Steve Marks and got tickled by the goose pimples that ravaged my body.“I beg your pardon. My name is Brian Patrick. All my life I have been going by the name Brian Patrick. I don’t understand what you mean by my name being Mike Don.” My jaw clenched and eyes narrowed at him.Steve Marks interrupted, “You are Mike Don and not Brian Patrick. You are the true heir to the Saint Don Conglomerate. The world richest man, Saint Don, who happens to be your father, will be excited to see you again…” his voice was enveloped with enthusiasm.Steve Marks started pacing up and down. He drifted to the telephone and dialed some numbers.“Am I unto my protocol officer?” Steve asked once the receiver picked from the other side. “Get the cars ready and inform my pilot to get the jet ready too. Mike Don and I want to pay Chairman Saint Don a visit in New York…”My jaw pulled down and I paced to him, “Talk to me Steve Marks. Who do you say I am? Take a look at me. Do I look like th
Of a truth Saint Don was hugely gutted with Steve Marks. He actually wanted us to while away our time at the yacht and return home without seeing him. I didn’t know about Steve but I was losing my patience to see a man I never thought of seeing let alone call him father.He gave out stringent protocol to his aides and security not to let us in. Being a smarter mogul , Steve Marks had to refill the visitors’ form in a psedoname, which he, Saint Don wouldn’t recognize.While I waited outside Steve finally had the golden opportunity to go into his luxurious five star cabin.“You swine!” he cursed Steve Marks upon setting his eyes on him. “What are you doing here, Steve? Who permitted you to gain access to me?”From outside I could hear his voice beam and groan my heart. I could imagine the peril and wrath on his face and the pillar of fire in his eyes.“Security! Security !” Saint Don called radically …I swallowed hard, as my heart rebounded. I wondered what would be the fate of his off