Celebrating East African Writing!
The whole setting was silent, though the shop was opened and I could peep out to see whatever was happening, I still could not bring myself to go out. The two men-one dressed in a white shirt and hands akimbo and the other in a faded jacket, and red shirt with colors peering out and hands in the pockets-standing out of the shop were still talking and it appeared that they were the only ones who were brave enough to chatter about the morning’s event so casually.
The previous night everything was normal and no one had even the slightest idea that such a hideous event could take place. I remember we were at home slowly taking our breakfast when the sirens of the police car and ambulance shattered the peaceful atmosphere. We all cowered in a corner as the cars whizzed past our house towards the shopping center. My father, in his old and worn out coat, went out to find more detail as I peered through the window. We had to wait a while before father came back. From him we discovered that the shopping center had received a mysterious visitor the night before. Many people described him as a normal everyday man who could never hurt a fly but with the destruction, he left behind, we knew better than to judge a book by its cover.
I gathered enough courage to head to town and have a look at the whole situation. My hands were shaking as I moved towards the yellow tape already put by the ardent police force. Pushing my way through the crowd, I heard the sighs and gasps of the people who had already seen it all. I was shocked to see the body of a young boy, sitting silently at a corner, with deep cuts allover his body, and gazing across the boulders. I slowly followed his line of site and had to gasp as I behold the sight of a naked woman whom, as I figured out later was his mother. She was sprawled on the floor in an unnatural pose. Her head-with irregular patches of hair- looked like it was held by tiny ligaments while her legs seemed broken and at an irregular position. I was shocked.
The police force after seeing the increasing size of the crowd, started to shoo us away. We reluctantly moved away after a lot of persuasion from them, each of us silent with thousands thoughts in our minds. After a few minutes, the chatter started everyone with their own theory as to what had caused the event in this lonely village where everyone knew the business of the other. We opened the shops, the market women took to their stands and for a while, the normalcy returned. I later came to learn that the woman and her son had run away from home, after years and years of brutality from the man, she married. She had sought refuge in our village-miles away from hers but the adamant man came after her.
If you would like this piece to be the Story of the Week, please vote below on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being weak, and 10 being excellent. The numbers will be tallied on Friday and the story with the highest figure shall be Crowned Story of the Week. Be sure to fill in your name and verifiable email. You can include your critique/comment after the vote.