I know I am supposed to start by giving a synopsis about this story but I feel I should let the story tell itself. All you have to know is that “Muse and Memories” is a story mashed up with a lot of emotions and Daniel (Muse)& Amma (Memories) will push you to open up conversations that have been left unsaid.
So please read each chapter knowing this is a world of two young people telling their stories from their point of views.
And oh! This is purely fictional!
Every day of January had been exceptionally cold. The nights seemed shorter and the days seemed longer. Dawns were darker and twilights were paler. The stars twinkled brightly in the sky, the moon was half and dim. The streets were at their usual pace – busy and lustrous. It was the second week in the month and Ibadan was blooming with its usual glory and beauty.
Amma opened her eyes slowly from a nightmare she was having. She scanned the room and concluded in her mind that her reality wasn’t any different. It was still dawn and unfortunately the windows were opened. A flash of the previous night perched on her shoulders and she shuddered at the thought. It was ugly.
Amma could hear a faint music playing on the radio that usually sat on a wooden stool in the living room. An early morning broadcast was on and a popular Afro-pop music was playing. Her head seemed like it would explode into tiny bits from the headache she was feeling.
There was also a bitter after-taste in her mouth, the type that occurs after crying for a long time. She hid her eyes from the piercing ray of the bright fluorescent in her room. She must have passed out on the floor. Her two thighs hurt as she tried to walk; it was like she ran a thousand miles in her dream.
She walked slowly towards the dining room; she stopped on her feet when she saw all the mess on the table; empty whisky bottles, a wooden spatula, dirty dishes. Sighing heavily, she cleared the table and cleared the dirty dishes as well. While doing these, she often turned around, dreading his presence.
Dreading Michael’s presence.
She was overwhelmed with fear; a kind of fear that crawled on her skin every morning for as long as she could remember. The radio was still on and a sultry voice on the tuned station was rambling about how beautiful the day was going to be.
Amma scoffed as she wiped her wet palms on her thighs. She was half-naked, only in her torn vest and lacy panties. She walked back to the living room to pick up her trousers and bra scattered across the floor. As she bent, she winced. But she reminded herself that this was nothing, what happened the previous night would not hold her down. She had dealt with worst. So she summoned her inner energy. She groaned loudly but she finally stood straight. She glanced at the living room. It reeked of strong alcohol. The whole place was a total mess. She rolled her eyes and cleaned up the whole house. She perceived Michael was already out of the house, not caring if she was dead or alive. The truth was he had never cared; he usually left the house before she woke up and he returned home before she was back from school.
Amma had learnt not to cross him, not to start a conversation unless she was asked questions, not to express her thoughts or feelings because nobody cared. No one really said much to them in the neighbourhood, they both were only known as the Ghanaians who lived in Ibadan.
Wiping off the thin thread of tears that trailed her left eye, she walked briskly to her bathroom. She hated it when she cried, it made her angry because she wished she did not have this particular life, this life with Michael.
Yet, this morning was not for tears, neither was it for reminiscencing. It was a lecture day and so Amma turned on the showers and cringed as the cold water spalashed on her healing scars. Slowly, the pain turned into a prayer. A prayer of hope, a prayer of new beginnings.
She let go of her morning jitters and wore her favourite washed-out jeans and grey hoodie. She had to be in school for an 8 am lecture.
Please leave a comment down below if you would wish to read the next chapter. Cheers.