Happy Monday sweetiieeesss!
I was ranting the other day on twitter about how I have so many unfinished novels. I always start writing a book, but once I take a long break I am never able to complete it again. I think I have completed only about three books ever, one of which got misplaced while bn passed around in secondary school.
Anyway, I am about to post up a few chapters from my most recent work, seeing as I haven't written a short story in a long while. I started this book in summer 2011 and then took up designing class, so I couldn't complete it then, and yeah, guess what, a year plus later and i am still yet to complete it.
Please read and let me know what you think about it.
Chapter 1 - Nonye
Ten minutes past twelve, and father wasn't home yet. Mother had slept off in the parlour with a bucket of water beside her; patiently waiting to be poured on father the moment he walked in. Things like this aggravated mother; father's late night "meetings", father's recent drunken state, father's new non-chalant attitude to everything. In fact father was slowly becoming a waste.
Father never used to be like this; he was once my role model. But after he lost his job at the local treadmill two years ago; he started drinking, and soon started keeping late nights; coming home extremely drunk and dirty.
Quarter to one, and father staggered in; singing an old christmas hymn "while shepherds watched their flocks by night, all seated on the ground, the angel of the lord came down and glory shone around." Even in his drunken state, father's voice was still heavenly. He had been in the choir as far back as I can remember; he even taught me how to use my vocals well.
Mother immediately jumped up from the battered smelly couch at the far side of the parlor. The couch smelt of everything, ranging from stale beer to the stench of dead rats. With a swift movement the bucket of water came down on father's head.
Mother was a brief woman; not too short, but quite short. She was well muscled, propably due to her farming activities.
Ever since Father lost his job, mother took up farming, as well as her sales job in the market. She went out early in the morning and came back late at night, but never past ten. Mother used to be a housewife when father was still working at the treadmill company. She single handedly raised all five of us.
"Woman, you have started again. What rubbish is this?" Father said in his fake British accent. According to him, when he was in the 6th class, he had a British teacher, whom he learnt the accent from. I personally believe father faked the accent in other to get girls in those days, but using it now just felt too phony.
"Eeeh, you havent seen anything yet, I tell you. Coming home by one am and you are still talking to me. You are lucky it was warm water, next time you may not be so lucky. It could be hot water, boiling straight from the stove. Stupid man."
Father was a man of few words. He left mother standing in the parlor without giving her a reply.
Lying on the couch, underneath my wrapper, I silently cried for the fate of my family.
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P.s I haven't really decided on the title of the book yet, hence the title "no name"
- Debbie Motilewa
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