Whispers of life
Chapter 1 – The Morning Before the Storm (Extended)
The kitchen smelled of fried plantain and beans, the sweet oil and smoky beans mingling with the faint scent of hair cream and detergent. The sunlight spilled in through the cracked window pane, slicing across the cluttered counter and the rusting kettle that hissed quietly on the stove.
Peace sat at the rooky wooden table, her small feet barely brushing the ground. She was tearing into a chunk of bread with both hands, chewing as if the world might run out of bread at any second.
"Peace," her mother called with a soft laugh, leaning over to part her daughter's thick black hair into neat lines, "slow down. Do you want to choke your sef ,your almost late for school
Peace mumbled through a mouthful, "But I'm late already. Mr. Sunday will beat me again. You know he doesn't care if I have a good excuse."
Her mother laughed with a Congnizant smile
From the doorway, her father leaned silently, his tall frame filling the space of the Wall. His shadow stretched across the room, swallowing the golden sunlight that had been resting on the floor. His arms were folded, his face unreadable eyes distant, mouth twitching as if caught between a smile and something heavier.
Her mother noticed his stillness but said nothing. Instead, she smoothed the last braid and tied a ribbon at the endon her hair "There," she whispered, almost to herself.
Peace turned to look at her father. "Daddy, why are you so quiet?"
He blinked slowly, his gaze shifting to her for only a moment. "Just thinking."
"Thinking about what?"
He gushed but a long
There was a long pause alumming through his taught den came d unexpected answer . "About work," he said finally, the word dropping like a stone in a well.
Peace shrugged and went back to eating, but her mother's hand on her shoulder tightened—just for a second, as if in warning.
The radio on the counter crackled with static before a woman's voice came through. "…police are still searching for the suspect last seen near…" Her father reached over and switched it off without a word.
"Eat quickly," her mother said, her voice brighter now, too bright. "We can't keep your teacher waiting."
But even as she laughed, Peace noticed it her mother's hands were trembling but couldn't tell was wrong And when she looked at her father again, he was staring out the window, jaw tight, as if listening to something far away.
It was the kind of morning you take for granted, the kind you think will repeat a thousand times. Peace didn't know this was the last morning she would ever see her family beautifuly whole again
Life has it own destination.