It has been fourteen weeks and with each passing moment my curiosity grows. With a sweet glee and bursts of happiness, I float and soar in this “chamber of sorts”. I don’t feel trapped;I don’t feel claustrophobic or held against my will, rather, i feel loved. The sustenance and care that I feel is just unfathomable for my tiny self to contain.

So dearly do I love my abode that I give it a name; I call it “mine”. However,as time passes,I begin to understand that “mine” is beyond what I can touch or feel. I begin to feel that beyond all this lies another world,a much bigger “mine”.As I slowly develop,I yearn to stare into “mine” eyes,the eyes from which mine take semblance;hear the laughter that my cackle synchs with each passing moment,my love grows for my

‘chamber of sorts’ ‘mine’ ‘my love’ ‘my mother’ And out of the blue! An uneasy sensation grips my tiny heart;I did not feel right,I was not happy. Perhaps “mine” was in trouble. O ‘my love’, ‘my mother’. How I pine for what troubles her,my impatience grows,I want to see her face,I want to alleviate her fears,but still,it continues to grow & spread all over me,gripping harder than before.Little did I know,I was experiencing my first bout of fear.
I look up to some certain fey & rest my head in “mine”, thumb in mouth hoping all is well. It is well. It should be well. Then a searing pain in my spine! My tiny heart threatened to give out but my will held on. I wanted to live.I tried to focus on ‘mine’s love’ ‘my love’s love’ my mother’s love hoping it will relieve the pain,but wave after wave,pain assaulted.

Then I saw it, it was cold and hot, hard slick, gruesomely curved like the Devil’s sickle . . .&. . . painfully sharp;tearing and  ravaging my skin, ripping my inside out.
I tried to scream, at least screaming would give a second’s relief from the pain,but I couldn’t, my vocal cords not fully developed, on and on,the “sickle” sliced;with hot red waters flowing down my ruptured flesh.
My lips parted in a horrifying mum scream and then, like been sucked out of existence . . . No! Not ‘like’ but “sucked out of existence”. I dropped from “bloody mine”,  ripped apart and bloody and AGAINST MY WILL, I gave out. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I opened my eyes, I felt different, my surroundings were different, but just as in my “chamber of sorts”.I could float and soar,I was limitless,weightless and  clueless. I did not feel happy or sad. Rather,what I felt was a feeling I was afraid and ashamed to feel. A white pail caught my attention, I floated to it and peered inside,something that looked human and monstrous lay still inside. I could best term it as a “figure”. To my left was a female,a cloud of strange familiarity all around her,  but not thick enough to shroud the negative energy around her. She lay as if dead, a mien of apathy hanging on her face, breathing with rhythmic slow blinks; legs and thighs bloodied. I couldn’t make sense of all this, seemingly impossible to comprehend. A male stepped in, dressed in white; O! WHITE! A smile came rushing to my face but was well ambushed by the sight of bloodstains on the male’s white robe;his mouth and nose were veiled & his eyes looked on at the female,his hands. . .O my! What did he hold? I recognise what he held,I’d seen it before. . .”It was hard. . .slick. . .gruesomely curved like a Devil’s sickle”. . .O No! Now I do remember . . . Now I realize. . . Now I understand . . . It was   painfully sharp”

Wave after wave,painful memories swept in,”the devil’s sickle” “the white pail with the bloodied figure” In a toll, I fully understood,except this “How could she not love me?” How could a mother despise her child,  I looked at the female I once called “mine” in complete apathy,if not then in deplorable pity.

Why? Just 9 months mother, you could sell me, at worst, you could leave me somewhere for someone to find. All I ask is a chance at life,  just a few years. What excuse will you render? You could not sacrifice vanity to hold me in your arms? you preferred a tinsel-coated lifestyle to a life with me? You would rather reckon in a ranking of fools than to kiss my face?

Coward! You are selfish! You are self-centered! You love only yourself, you tortured me, tricked me to my death.”Mine” “mother ” you aborted me, you murdered me! you and your cohorts: your guileful mate what an irresponsible father! Your family, friends,  my acquaintances,  doctors, nurses, receptionists, cleaners, priests and pastors. Strangers who kept mute as my murder was plotted, all of you who ‘minded their business’ as a plan was drawn to root me out of existence, you all sat at a blood gathering with your strong beating hearts and squeezed mine till it exploded in rivulets of blood.

Alas! I can’t protest, no one can hear me, I only have to depend on those who pay heed to their conscience, those who remember to be human. Please help me! HELP US! We are voiceless, cut down from life before we could utter a whimper of protest, please help us,don’t soak the earth in a cosmos of innocent blood,”mother”, please don’t let others suffer my fate. We need your voices. Be our voice.. The Voice of the Voiceless.

Iregbeyen Isibor.

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