Synopsis

Memoirs of An African Boy is a reflective and atmospheric account of early boyhood in An African Kenyan township, narrated through episodic memoirs. The selected excerpts trace the interior world of a young boy raised by his aunt, Utheri, in the highland township settlement of Kĩgeria. From quiet mornings on a worn mat watching birds in a towering tree, to the haunting void left when the tree is cut down, the boy’s perspective unfolds in tender, sensory detail.

In Fallen, the narrative expands as another character, Joy, observes the aftermath of the tree’s removal—its quiet lore stirring beneath the surface of daily life. Subtly interwoven are questions of memory, tradition, and belonging as seen through a child's gaze and mirrored in the rhythms of township life.

Rendered in a tri-lingual inflection of English, Swahili and Kikuyu, the memoirs explore the threshold between wonder loss, rootedness and removal. Together, they form a poignant meditation on early memory, inherited silence, and an awe of ordinary things.

SELECTED EXCERPTS :

PART 1 : ROOTED WONDER

1^st Memoir—Ancient Tree.

2^nd Memoir—Fallen.

PART 2 : LOSS AND LORE.

3^rd Memoir—Lost Day.

4^th Memoir—The Twilight Paths.

PART 3 : LIKE DAY AND NIGHT.

5^th Memoir—Hush. Goodnight.

CHAPTERS

PART 1 : ROOTED WONDER

1^st Memoir—Ancient Tree.

2^nd Memoir—Fallen.

PART 2 : LOSS AND LORE.

3^rd Memoir—Lost Day.

4^th Memoir—The Twilight Paths.

PART 3 : HUSH, GOODNIGHT

5^th Memoir—

PART 1 : ROOTED WONDER

1^st Memoir.

Ancient Tree.

Under an early morning sun over a rural homestead, a boy sat outside the main house. On a worn sack mat, he postured as he was usually placed by Utheri. Later they’d head down to her cyber shop at their township Kĩgeria’s¹ center. Yet now, his gaze was fixed upward, captivated by a towering tree, just beyond their humble abode.

The boy, some tender moments beyond his first year, was mesmerized by this ancient colossus, its bark weathered and gnarled from years of enduring the elements. The tree's canopy stretched high into the sky, a testament to the countless seasons it had witnessed. 'It was more than just a tree; it was a living monument, a sentinel that had stood above the boy's home since before he came to behold it.'

The tree served as a resting place for a myriad of birds, which found sanctuary in its sprawling branches and dense foliage. He watched as these birds, with their colorful feathers, weaved in and out of nests hidden among the leaves.

'Their movements created a spectacle of life and color that held him in thrall.' The birds seemed to dance in the air, their vivid plumage catching the light in a way that made them appear almost ethereal.

That morning, the boy had awakened from a dream—a dream that, like many others, was filled with images and sensations that his young mind could barely grasp. In his slumber, he had gazed beyond and far behind the tree, where he saw high lines and spirals that swirled in the sky.

These lines were like stripes, stretching across the firmament, yet their true nature eluded his understanding. In reality, they were utility lines, mundane and functional, but to him, they were part of an enigmatic world beyond the tree.

His innocent, curious eyes shifted from the tree to the vast skies above. Utheri had said that..........'.......heaven resided up there, above the billowing clouds....'

The boy's young mind teemed with questions. 'What were the people in that heavenly realm like? Did they have a different name for the blue sky, the heaven beyond the fluffy white clouds?' These inquiries swirled within him, creating a sense of wonder unique to a child—a wonder that was as boundless as the sky itself. 'And what about the night sky? Was it yet another layer of heaven? How many heavens are there?'

The boy cherished his moments with Utheri. Though his speech was still halting and incomplete, he felt a profound connection with her that transcended words.

Yet, there was a shadow in his mind, a faint memory of another woman, someone whose face he could no longer clearly recall. Time had blurred the edges of this memory, leaving only a vague impression of warmth and comfort. 'He hoped to ask Utheri about this woman one day, once he had learned to speak more fluently. He wanted to know who she was, where she had gone, and why she was no longer there.' But for now, the memory remained just out of reach.

Beneath the towering tree, a simple wooden bench bore the weight of his uncles and aunts. Sometimes neighbors or guests would join them, and the bench would become the center of a lively discussion. Although the boy didn't understand the words they spoke, he enjoyed the warm atmosphere these gatherings brought. The tree bore witness to them all — its branches swaying gently, as though nodding along to the banter and quarrels below.

The boy's attention, often drawn to the tree, watched the birds flitting among the branches, their movements fluid and graceful. The nests and leaves seemed to buzz with life, like flying insects on a blooming flowery bush.

In a world that was still largely unknown to him, the colossal tree remained a source of endless fascination. He marveled at the birds' ability to hop from one branch to another with such ease. Their vivid colors were like whimsical celestial formations—dazzling against the sky. 'He wished he could join them in their flights, and be a part of their world. But for now—that was a distant aspiration.'

'He couldn't wait to learn how to walk, then he would climb the tree like Gabuh;' an older boy from the neighboring compound. He and the older children wore matching clothes and were away for most of the day. 'Until they returned in the evening, the tree was a constant presence and company.'

The prospect of walking both fascinated and frightened him. He understood, in his own childlike way, that walking was a skill he would need to master, just like speaking. 'But he also understood that falling meant agony, and that was something he wished to avoid.'

Nonetheless, he kept making attempts when he felt courageous, his small legs wobbling as he tried to steady himself. 'Each attempt was a small victory, a step closer to climbing the tree.'

For the moment, however, he was content to remain on his mat, his mobility confined to a small reach around him. He was content to watch the birds, to listen to the sounds of his family talking, and to let his mind wander.

One morning, the boy's world was altered. He awoke to a stark realization—the ancient tree that had been his source of wonder was gone. Its once-majestic essence had been reduced to a stump, its mighty branches and towering canopy gone forever.

The boy could not comprehend why the tree had been cut down. To him, it was as if a part of his world had been taken away, leaving a gaping void that nothing could fill.

As he grew older, and his curiosity would begin to wane, he would eventually learn the reason for the tree's removal. 'Its sprawling roots had begun to threaten the structural integrity of the main house, risking cracks in its walls. It had been a practical decision, one made to protect the building.'

In the immediate aftermath, a sense of desolation enveloped the boy. He sat on his mat, staring at the open space where the tree had once stood. Its stump remained there as a grim reminder of what had been lost. For now, in his obliviousness, desolation enveloped him, as he beheld the void left behind.

That noon, he sat on his mat on the spot outside the main house, gazing at the open space where the tree had once stood. The sky above was a pale, washed-out blue, the kind of sky that seemed to stretch on forever without resolution.

High above, he noticed the power lines, reminiscent of his dream. 'Stretching across the sky, they were like the stripes he had seen. Birds perched on these lines and their high poles, much like they had on the ancient tree.'

But something about them felt different, more distant and detached. 'Perhaps, like him, they anguished in the loss of the tree that had been a part of their world.' A dire contrast, it had been replaced by the hush of the artificial lines.

2^nd Memoir.

Fallen.

After the tree at The Boy’s family's homestead had been cut down, the following morning arrived bright. This day's shadows—short and stubby, stunted over the township's empty, dusty lanes and back roads. From the east, a cool breeze blowing drifted in from the Aberdare Ranges².

Hinting at a typical mid-morning—the sounds of birds and obscure insects and chimed the day on. Though the week had been muddled with alarming news of the impending dam's aftermath on the township, many of the townsfolk had already settled back into their routines. Still, a few stragglers dragged themselves; yet to find their rhythm in this new year.

The breeze quickened abruptly as Joy emerged onto their main road; the Nyeri-Nairobi highway. It rustled with leaves of overgrown indigenous trees that dotted the roadsides—far into the countryside. A resulting rush of movement rocked the surrounding greenery and farms.

Past an old shut down petrol station with a defunct storefront—a mirroring movement caught her eye. Behind the abandoned petrol pumps, she saw her mirror-self looking back from the storefront's cracked windows. Continuing towards their town center, the bulge of her belly area drew her attention—a bastion of the pregnancy she carried.

Some voices in the vicinity emanated nearby. She looked away from the reflection and noticed a small group of people at a compound atop a nearby slope, far behind the ruined petrol station. It was Utheri's family's homestead. Visible in the distance, a group had gathered around a felled tree. Less obvious to her due to distance, the fallen timber tower was a revered tree³.

As she looked on, she noticed that the doomed sentinel had fallen onto and uprooted another tree as it was being cut down.

'The bunch looked concerned or agitated. She couldn’t tell which it was from the distance.' One of them, facing in her direction at the slope's bottom waved at Joy. She waved back as he got distracted by another of them—who had begun speaking to him.

Looking on more, her stride slowed, then stopped, lingering a little longer. After squinting, Joy saw that Utheri wasn't among the bunch. One of them sprinkled something on the trunk of the fallen tree. The substance splattered may have been a brew. Another appeared to pluck something from among its leaves.

From the compound's vicinity, a lady appeared and joined them. It was Utheri who'd emerged from the main house in the background. The bunch broke camp and surrounded the jaded trees—ready to remove them.

***************SOON AFTER***************

Eventually, Joy continued on towards their town's main junction, veering left at its intersection. 'As she paced, she couldn't help but think about the significance of the sacred tree, and how it fit into the customs and beliefs of their tribe. Unlike an incident of an ugly bird earlier, she didn't know the lore attached to this particular lore.’

Past Naiguru’s Building and several other constructions, she walked to the edge of Badgery’s Row—a line of a handful of shops at the fading façade of a rustic concrete building. At the end of the row was Utheri’s cyber cafe. This internet shop currently closed—Utheri was tending to the fallen trees at their homestead. A slight stretch yonder, the highway to Nyeri went on—long, far and quiet.

Arriving at her mother's shop, she walked in to a song was playing from a Kikuyu⁴ radio station. Barely audible from outside—it emanated from a dual speaker radio on a table at a corner.

Joy found her cutting fabric for an item of school uniform in progress. Much older than her, she had been tailoring, dressmaking, and sewing there for as long as anyone could remember. The shop was tucked between a salon and a retail shop with an M-Pesa⁵ sign.

She and her mother exchanged greetings and Joy went onto pick up a dress which was being worked on earlier. Their interactions had gone through various motions since her mother had found out about her pregnancy. Although she remained as opinionated and ferocious as ever, there was a subtle indignation about her—as the pregnancy carried on with its term—an acceptance of the inevitable.

'Joy shared what she had seen on her way as they sewed.' Devout at the local Catholic church, the subject didn't delve much further. 'Through some silences, they mostly conversed about the coming evening, and the tasks awaiting at their homestead.'

***************ALTERNATE CIRCUMSTANCE***************

Had she been more culturally inclined, she may have said—'it was a bad omen, or a sign of bad luck and that the ritual was to appease spirits. She would have explained the significance of the fallen tree and the importance of tributing the entities.'

Her eyes would have glimmered of the last of their tribal era, in new-independence Central Kenya. Further into the folk-laden doctrines, her pupils would have darkened with recollection, of a time long gone and nearly forgotten; 'Traditions, customs and the importance of both respecting and protecting the natural world. Her eyes would have gleamed with longing or trepidation—harkening back to the past.'

PART 2 : LOSS AND LORE.

3^rd Memoir.

Lost Day.

The following day appeared random, blending seamlessly with those that came before it. That afternoon was commonly radiant, nestled somewhere in the leap year. Utheri walked along the highway with her nephew, occasionally pausing to let the boy catch up as he dawdled behind. They were on their way to her cyber shop, making a brief stop along the way—a continuation of their day’s relentless stretch.

For a few months, she had delivered milk to Joy's family homestead while their cow calved. It was a routine she had grown accustomed to, sometimes in the evenings after several days, but today, in the afternoon.

Regular after their cows had been milked, some was kept for their own use while some was sold to neighbors like Joy’s family occasionally. Most, however, was canned and taken to the collection shed near the junction.

She entered the homestead through a gateless opening at the back fence, ushering her to a cluster of houses nestled in untamed shrubbery. The difference between the tidy grass and sparse shrubs of the compound and the chaotic world beyond was stark. Carved into a downward-sloping terrain were the homestead's houses; leading to overgrown coffee trees below.

Despite signs of past care, much was still holding fort. Nonetheless, nature's advance was relentless. Fallen coffee cherries lay scattered on the grounds, baking in the unrelenting sun. At the slope's bottom was a boulder. Aptly called the Curious Rock, it was curious looking .geological rock formation beyond a cluster of trees near this slopes base.

'Her connection to Joy was proximate yet significant'—She was her cousin, though their ties had become frayed over time. Their childhood had been intertwined, a tangle of some shared memories and familial ceremonies. 'Yet now, the years had stretched between them, and with that, the weight of circumstance.'

Initially as regular deliveries, these visits had been slowly taking on an ambivalence, albeit latent in realization. 'At first, the change had been subtle—gentle encouragements, a word here and there—until the pattern became clear, the expectation undeniable.'

An initiative by Joy's mother, Utheri was slowly but surely being nudged closer into her cousin's affairs. 'She had discovered the guardian’s dual intention after many visits, when it was too late to step back.'

She didn't know Joy very well and wished away the awkward position she'd found herself in. 'The upcoming anniversary of her sister’s passing had been a silent weight on her mind.' Yet now, the situation with Joy had compounded. She was not ready for such a thing.......'not when she still felt so lost herself.'......

Approaching the homestead that afternoon, there was a familiar unease threading through her thoughts—As though that grief had found a new form, stirring the past. 'The feeling reached back to those endless days some years ago; as her sister Harriet’s absence became real.'

Slight gusts of wind blowing around carried the common fragrance of wet detergent and soap. She'd drawn closer to a brick house. It was concealed behind several lines of laundry flapping in the breeze. Constructed of untreated stones, hints of past time were visible—walls weathered with the passage of seasons.

Joy was in front of it, emptying used water from a bucket. Glimmering in the sun's hued rays—her form became more prominent drawing closer. She seemed a part of the landscape, an integral piece of this plain setting. The strain on her young features was familiar. 'Her late sister's appearance mirrored Joy's as she dealt with her final tumult—slender and appearing younger than her age.'

The thought tinged recollections of exhaustion and dread. 'That time was a seemingly endless series of hours, each more wearisome than the last.'

'Sometimes, she had almost began to see Harriet's tiny frame and form in Joy as she moved. 'In a way, she couldn’t help but see the same fragility in her.' Imminences had their lives decided before they had begun. 'Joy's future had come too soon—like Harriet, whose past had arrived just as soon.'

Mambo. "Hi." Utheri greeted her in Swahili. Joy's eyes seemed to glow when she looked up towards her. She exuded slivers of youth, even as she awaited her transition to motherhood. They elbow nudged instead of shaking hands or fist bumping. This was on account of Joys lathery wet hands.

Poah. "I'm good." Joy replied. Some chickens pecking at fallen grains in the background caught the boy's attention. He went past Joy to do a closer query.

Ko hanah ateah? "How have you been?" Utheri postured switching to Kikuyu, which she was most comfortable speaking.

Ghotireh na ouru. "I'm doing great." Joy carried on in the language. Moreh ooho. "I hope your folks are doing okay?" Joy weighed in as Utheri handed her a clear plastic bottle full of milk from a black sturdy carrier bag. A few more plastic bottles remained inside.

Ei toreh ooho. "Yeah, we’re doing great." Utheri said. The conversation stalled.

Reke nyumeh na thimo. "Let me get my phone." Joy salvaged.

Sawah. "Okay." Utheri replied.

Walking away, Joy wiped her hands on her baggy T-shirt at the area of her swollen belly. She was going to a modest door of the brick house behind her. Later she re-emerged holding an empty plastic bottle alongside a cellphone. Her hands were drier as she handed both to Utheri.

Ekera nabah. "Place your numbers." A money transfer app was open on the phone screen.

Ne jegha. "They're good." Utheri said after proofing numbers she'd just keyed. The ephemeral peace of the afternoon was interrupted by the sudden, shrill cry of a bird nearby. That moment passed, but the unease lingered—a sense of foreboding as the conversation stalled again.

They hadn't really interacted much in the past; outside of holiday gatherings and family ceremonies. With the advent of many people moving away from the township, these gatherings had become less and less. 'After the transaction, she would be back in several days.'

4^th Memoir.

The Twilight Paths.

On the errand to deliver milk at Joy's family's homestead, the boy had accompanied Utheri. Sometimes he'd be left with his cousins at a neighboring house. Of late she was bringing him along more often. This was since he started walking better.

Days had been settling in with a sense of quiet anticipation. Joy's belly was notably swollen. The weight of forbearance was appearing more eminent. Now she walked with a slight favoring of her gait, straddling the familiar surroundings with care. A rural maternal grace became of her stride.

The compound was riddled with long shadows as sunlight swiftly dimmed below distant greenery. Surrendering to the encroaching darkness of nightfall—a pale incandescence at the top of an imposing ridge dwindled.

Amidst the evening twilight hues, there was a flutter of wings behind the houses. The resonance of a crowing rooster followed. A resulting tranquility brought Joy's attention to the sounds of a TV nearby. Joy rushed inside the house and the sound went off consequently.

........Omo! Omo ndio........⁶'............Omo! Omo is the......A laundry advert was interrupted. The boy heard heard its words at their own homestead countless times, yet he couldn't utter them. Joy emerged once more into the gathering dusk.

They made their way past her grandfather's house. Inside, the distant vocals of a man's voice emanated from a Kikuyu radio station. Had the boy known more words, he would have heard.......Inooro! Mohge ne motaareh.......⁷"..........Inooro! A wise person is advised........." It's low volume faded into the waning daylight.

Leaving behind the glow of homestead lights, they ventured into deepening darkness. The transition was abrupt and stark—an incessant whistling of crickets in the trees and undergrowth enveloping them. It transformed the evening into a whirr of chirrups and trills. The hissing soon became part of night.

Joy walked alongside the pair for a brief stretch. Their conversations and footsteps punctuated the crickets' whistling and surrounding silence. He didn't know much of what they were saying. However he understood that 'they were talking about her belly. They mentioned something about 'family' then their tones turned serious, only to liven again.' The boy's language grasp was getting more tuned.

They followed a narrow earthen path winding along the terraced slope. Flanked by thick forests of unruly overgrown coffee trees. Branching paths occasionally diverged into the surrounding greenery. They went to homesteads and earthen back roads—hidden from sight by the lush darkly vegetation.

The last of daylight was bowing out. Consequently, the path gradually faded into obscurity; engulfed by the encroaching night.

The troop went on weaving through the gloom. A huge steel overhead pipeline briefly passed above them. It was in fact carrying water toward Nairobi and beyond. 'Past it, the traversal seemed to stretch on indefinitely for the boy, and his steps grew weary with the passage of time.' The way snaked through more darkness.

As dimness shrouded them completely, the path forked again. They paused to bid each other farewell. Utheri and the boy continued along the steep leftward path. Joy watched them for a bit, then continued with the rightward veering path. She was going to a compound in the near vicinity. Her silhouette soon disappeared into the night.

Alone now, they pressed onward. The looming treetops were casting eerie shapes against the starless sky. The boy's nerves began to fray. 'Unlike the ancient tree that was cut down at their homestead, these did not appear amiable.'

His young eyes peered nervously into the nether. 'There may have been movement in the shadows. He thought of the mysterious creature whose tail he had seen a while back.' Some of the nightly glimmers appeared to be eyes.

'Perhaps a similar creature was in the trees.' He saw more shadows appear to move, then more eyes in the dark. 'Perhaps the creatures were many.' He looked up, away from the growing terror. 'All lurking in the nightly reaches.'

The tree tops seemed to take shape. Some appeared as outlines of giant people. Sometimes they slowly rocked in the nocturnal breeze. One of his cousins spoke of irimo / giants, roaming before dawn. The cousin said their grandmother used to talk about it before they stopped seeing her around'.⁸

She said Kaini and one of Nuhuh's sons were some one of the giants who roamed the night—cursed to never show themselves during daytime. It was said that they had hurt their kin. 'She said the cousins should always be kind to each other—lest they be cursed too.' He'd find out later that she'd died, which is why they didn't see her anymore.

'Perhaps those were the giants they talked about.' Some shadows seemed to shift and stir. 'Perhaps they were in discomfort.' Utheri lifted him up, carrying him through the steep ascent. Some of them appeared to have their arms folded—their expressions a grotesque scowling. 'Or maybe the giants were angry.' She may have sensed his growing restlessness.

The climb felt interminable, a relentless ascent toward the dark expanse of the night sky. Finally, they emerged onto a wide earthen back road. 'A paradigm to another level of the hilly ridges, it felt like entering another realm or plane of existence.' Hidden in the recesses of the night, their homestead lay not far ahead—a beacon of familiarity in the unsettled night.

He had a sense of relief when they rounded a bend. They were approaching the unassuming entrance to their compound. 'Its threshold marked the end of their journey along the twilight paths.'

PART 3 : HUSH, GOODNIGHT

5^th Memoir.

Like Day And Night.

In a mid-afternoon haze, the boy sat on his sack mat under the corrugated iron-roof extension of their house. His gaze was idled as it drifted around the homestead.

A quaint scent drifting was earth and sun burnt coffee. The caffeine cherries dried on wide pale yellow polythene sheets laid out on bare ground outside the extension. 'It would be a while until Gabuh and the other kids with matching clothes returned later.'

Beside him, his female cousin, also grappling with the nuances of speech, mirrored his languid posture on a similar sack. Brown eyes wide, and bored of her doll, she was occasionally drawn to the subtle shifts in light and shadow. They were streaks of gold and amber raying the farms.

As his eyes wandered, they settled momentarily on an empty wooden bench just outside the extension. It was deserted, as it had been in recent times. 'This was since the sudden absence of the ancient tree that once loomed above it he'd concluded.'

Memories of its majestic presence, lingered in the recesses of his young mind. It was a subtle reminder of loss amidst the abundant tranquility. 'He pondered the enigmatic connection between the disappearance of the tree and the abandonment of the bench, wondering if the two were intertwined in some unseen way.' The riddle eluded his young understanding.

Beyond it, the power lines were high up and silent, just like the birds that perched on them. 'Far removed and indifferent, the birds occasionally flew in spirals—as if mimicking the clouds' shapes. Perhaps, since the ancient tree's vanishing, they'd moved on and found new friends; the clouds.'

With a yawn stretching his small frame, the boy yielded to lulls of drowsiness. His eyelids became heavy as he surrendered to the summoning sleep. His cousin, nestled beside him, mirrored his descent into restful oblivion. Her breaths were even and steady, as she drifted into dreams of her own.

*****************EVENING*****************

After sunset the boy found himself in a neighboring house. He'd been entrusted to the care of his aunt and her family. Utheri's hurried departure left a chasm, her promise of a swift return faint in the evening's quietude. Familiar comforts of the family house seemed distant now, replaced by the unfamiliar cadence of life amidst his young female cousin's family.

In the living room, his aunts and uncles gathered, their murmurs punctuated by occasional gestures towards an unwieldy, large, paper booklet. Currently open, its back pages were adorned with faces captured in square and circular shaped frames with inscriptions beneath. The boy observed the grown-ups' somber expressions. 'The images seemed to cause a palpable sense of unease on this assembly.'

The large booklet was, in actuality, a newspaper, though the boy remained unaware of its true identity. 'He could feel the weight of their collective sorrow, though its source remained elusive to his young resolve.'

Some of them appearing distressed, they kept pointing at a picture of an old woman. 'The boy pondered that perhaps, they are wondering how to free the old woman from the confines of the frame around her face.' He wandered further. 'Or perhaps how to get her out of the large unwieldy booklet.'

A prevailing sadness or unease emanating from the adults transcended. Their gloomy expressions were testament of an unseen influence. 'He wondered why it's so that the pictures of people in the shaped frames were making them that way. The spell of melancholy prevailed in the room for long, lingering like a cold presence over the gathering.'

They mentioned somewhere else, where another group was trying sort something which he didn't understand. 'It seemed even sadder there.'

*****************THAT NIGHT*****************

Later on, the drab evening got darker and almost everyone in the compound had left, even Gabuh. 'Although their destination was a mystery, their aura of melancholy had remained long after.'

On opposite sofas at their living room, he and his young inarticulate cousin sat—their small frames tiny on the cosy rustic furniture. Initially, the unfamiliar fabric scents here usually felt different to those at their house; 'but after a some moments, it was easy to forget.'

Appearing dazed or dozy, his fellow youngling gazed at their TV on mute—its colorful light shifty under the room's constant bulb light. The infantile pair was now in the custody of an older cousin who had stepped out. As the night went on, their homestead was cloaked in silence; the bleakness outside looming with ardent intensity. 'It was as if the place was sad too.'

An apprehension grew within; seemingly becoming tangible in the stillness outside the windows. A dreaded thought came to mind and he tried to dispel it. 'Perhaps the shadows in the dark would move; like they did sometimes—like on the way back from delivering milk with Utheri at Joy's homestead, far into the night.'

He attempted to draw the curtains closed in the meanwhile, but the darkness persisted, pressing in against the window drapings from outside. 'It was a futile effort to ward off the perceived terrors that lurked beyond.' He tried again. This time his small hands fumbled. Ever stubborn, the curtain fabric always seemed to leave gaping gaps—'never quite adequately covering the window to his satisfaction.'

Filling the void, the occasional creaking of their roof rustled—the interruption offering little reprieve. 'A semblance of respite hinting, his older cousin's return would bring a sense of reassurance when she returned he hoped.'

Drifting through the night air, the distant beat of drums and the faint strains of what sounded like distant singing wafted to his awareness. They served as a haunting reminder of the world away from their secluded sanctuary. The boy's heart quickened at the sound. Unbeknownst to him, the music was in actuality emanating from an ongoing vigil in a neighboring farm.

The grind of the door lock shutting brought his attention back. He hadn't seen his older cousin walk in. She sat at one of the sofas and began typing on her phone. 'He waited for the respite he'd hoped for to settle in. It didn't.'

She soon got lost in the device. Looking entranced by its brilliant screen, she sometimes giggled and whispered to herself. The lingering dark presence from earlier still pervaded the room. 'Even with her now around, the lingering unease hadn't been dispelled as he'd willed.'

In the darkness and its assumed perils—his fears slowly wore him down to a drowsy lull and he drifted off on the sofa. Briefly stirring later in the night, he found himself back in his own bed at the family house. 'As sleep reclaimed him again, the worries of that night faded into slumber.'

*****

(Unless you type the author's name
in the subject line of the message
we won't know where to send it.)