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Drumsticks | A Short Story by Wordsmithpraise

 

DRUMSTICKS

drumsticks-short-story-by-wordsmithpraise

I am an introvert. Spent most of my time eating, sleeping and watching my favorite shows on TV, which was why when Aunt Eseosa said I should visit for the holidays, I jumped at it like it was a lottery win.
Upon getting to Aunt Eseosa’s house, the first thing I did was take a cold shower. At dinner, I became reunited with my cousins. Precious and Paul. Precious was older and was a brilliant talkative, and Paul was the one who played with himself. Paul had a nice accent. Aunt says he’d learnt it from watching the foreign cartoons. Often made me wonder what exactly I took away from my love for cartoons.
I settled in nicely at Aunt Eseosa’s house, but on one night that the electricity company turned off the light, I got sore. I can’t explain it, but my skin began to crawl and burn. And then, a sound emanated from upstairs. I followed it to Paul’s room, and was confronted with the sight of him hitting the floor with drumsticks. He appeared to be drumming but with no rhythm, and he was completely lost in it.
I went over and collected the drumsticks from him, and in a matter of seconds, he started crying and the whole house lit up. Aunt Eseosa’s husband rushed into the room where I was with with Paul.
“What happened?” He queried.
“I just took his sticks,” I replied innocently.
“Why would you do that?”
“We bought the sticks for him so he can drum,” Auntie Eseosa’s voice surfaced from behind.
He shot daggers at me with his eyes, then returned the sticks to Paul, and then, they both left.

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I went back to sleep, or at least, tried to, but I couldn’t. The heat was so unbearable that I had to go to bed shirtless.
I was halfway to dreamland when that, same sound from before jolted me back. In fury, I went to Paul’s room. “Paul! Can you stop drumming already!?”
Paul didn’t answer. Instead, the sound got louder. I walked towards Paul and placed my hand on his shoulder.
“Can’t you hear me?” I turned him around to face me and…
“Jesus Christ!”
I saw myself. It was like staring into a mirror. I flipped around and there they were, Auntie Eseosa and her husband staring at me dumbfoundedly. I changed my gaze to my hands, and the drumsticks were in them, with rivulets of blood all over them. I was bleeding.
“What?”
I looked back at them. This time, Paul was hiding behind his father, smirking.
“I-I-I”
“Efe! Wake up! Time to go!” My mother’s voice jolted me out of my sleep. For the first time in my life, I was happy to wake up.

Written by:

Praise Uyioghosa Osawaru (Wordsmithpraise)

About Praise

Praise Osawaru is a poet and writer of fiction and creative nonfiction. He's also a blogger and content developer. Follow him on Instagram/FB/Twitter @wordsmithpraise

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