- The Storried Platform
AT HER DEMISE – By Hilanzok
You scanned her face with your fingers, its cold, silky texture soothing your palm. You located her lip and brushed the skin that adorned it. She let out a light moan and arched her back. She was enjoying it, every bit of it, and it was obvious in her countenance and in the way her body shivered with your every touch. If you had your way, you wouldn’t be doing these things to her, you never thought of her as someone you would explore this aspect of your life with, never!
Life is a bitch, sometimes it presents you with options and choices; options and choices you might never have considered (all things being equal), how you respond to either of them goes a long way to determine how smooth your navigation through its tempestuous seas would go.
You went on your knees, her full length sprawled on her gigantic four-poster bed. As you brought your face close to her perineum, the musky smell of the region hit your nose, and you felt the tears form at the corner of your eyes. You blinked, a bid to avoid the tears from flowing, but as her hands clasped your head and shoved it into her, you allowed the tears flow in tiny rivulets.
The Corporate Affairs Commission said you needed three million naira to complete the registration process for your newly founded I.T company to be duly recognized as a certified incorporated company. The news had hit you where it hurt you most, a blow almost irrecoverable. You had gone on your knees, opened your Bible to Psalm 121 and slowly enunciated the wordings of the verses. The words seemed to have come alive because you had felt a force so strong and so ethereal envelope you and drown you into itself. Then later that evening, a thought had crossed your mind to call all the persons on your contact list. Each had a different story and a different excuse, some insipid and stupid, others justifiable and rational- on why they couldn’t help you. You had felt hopeless, sore-headed at life, and was almost being cynical of your stronghold in the word of God. When you called her, she had said, “Why not, come over and collect the check”. Enthusiasm surged through you like wild current. You had glorified the Lord for answering your prayers, but unknown to you, God’s ways aren’t man’s ways. He answers prayers in different ways, some unfathomable.
You rolled to a corner, naked. Sobbing intermittently as she tied her towel across her bosom. She crossed the room to the other side where her dressing mirror stood magnificently. She pulled out a drawer, brought out a checkbook and signed something on it. She tore it out and placed it on the table, using one of the transparent bottles that contained something like a mixed-colored ointment to wedge it. She crossed the room again, unbothered by your show of shame and guilt and entered the bathroom.
It was on that cold tiled-floor that you had had a resolve. It came like an epiphany. That moment was a defining moment. The moment the domino effect of your greatness was put in motion.
Your turnaround came at her mysterious death. She had willed her entire property and asset to you. But who else could she have willed it to? She was a heartless gold-digger that had taken advantage of and carted away with the property of your late father at his demise. She was your stepmother.
You scanned her face with your fingers, its cold, silky texture soothing your palm. You located her lip and brushed the skin that adorned it. She let out a light moan and arched her back. She was enjoying it, every bit of it, and it was obvious in her countenance and in the way her body shivered with your every touch. If you had your way,