The morning of your mother’s and her mother’s deaths was a morning of many firsts. It was the first time you lost a family member. It was the first time you slept without a part of the fence that surrounded your house. It was the first time father didn’t spend the night at home, not counting when he was away on travels. It was also the first time your house had ever been invaded by armed robbers.
The four had obviously entered through the dismantled part of the fence. Such fortunate bastards; the one night the house wasn’t fully surrounded by concrete and barb is the one night they decided to attack. Or perhaps, they attacked precisely because of the inadequacy of the fence that one night. It was just a little after 3a.m. when the front door caved in and they stormed into the house. Awoken by the racket, and amidst panic, you, mother and her mother woke and came to find your worst fear actualized. Men, several, with an assortment of weapons, looking ready and willing to hurt. You remember wishing father was home because his absence made you the man of the house and that man was meant to negotiate and protect. That man was also the most likely to die and you didn’t intend to die that night. Nonetheless, you fixed yourself in between the women and the men, and began your approach. One of the men, already brandishing his gun, also began his approach. No sooner after you started speaking did the man use his weapon on you.
Your mother and father are opposites. You often wonder how they have managed to sustain their union till this point. They are fairly good people, but their approach to things is very different. Your mother knows how to pigeonhole her feelings; your father is a transferor of aggression. Your mother is quick to anger, but it dissipates as quickly as it forms. Your father is slow to anger, but his anger endures. That night, they argue about how he has handled the situation with the gatemen and the car. She feels he has gone too far by having them arrested. He thinks they deserved it. You know the real reason she is so angry is because she likes Nico. And when mother likes a person, oh does she like them. He is an orphan and so her motherly love overshadows his indiscretions. She makes to slap father but stops her hand in transit. To father, her intention is enough. He picks his keys, wallet, phone and leaves the house.
The man didn’t use the gun the way you expected. Instead of a bullet, it was brute force to your temple. You fell. Hard. As you slipped into black, you felt several other blows to your body. The women pleaded, you collapsed. They cried, you slept. While you slept, you dreamed. You dreamed of the morning you looked out of your bedroom window to find Nicodemus and Zachariah toying with one of father’s cars. That was the second time you had caught them been so foolish. They had been asked to wash the car but instead, they decided to start it and play with the gear shift. The car went in reverse and almost hit one of the pillars of the parking lot. They panicked and turned the car off, unsure how to return it to its original position. They washed the car where it rested. Father discovered their folly, admonished them, drove to work.
You came to, noticing mother and her mother tied up in a corner. The light punished your eyes when they dared to open, the weight of the pain in your head kept you on the floor. You listened. The men ravaged the house in search of spoil. You heard mother writhe in agony against the floor. Her mother was silent, still. You suspected that she was talking to her gods, begging them to rescue her family from this torment. You knew there was no miracle coming. You three were all alone, father blissfully unaware that his family was being torn apart.
That afternoon, you hear a loud crash. The whole house trembles from the impact. Father is already at work. Mother and her mother hurry outside to find that Nico, despite father’s admonition has again toyed with the car, and sent it through the fence. You arrive moments later to find the front half of the car totalled. Blood. Sweat. Dust. Zac, his trusted sidekick, is in the passenger seat already apologizing with his eyes. Mother is more thankful that they are alive and mostly unhurt than she is angry at the situation. She asks them to step out of the car and take care of their injuries. Father takes a different route. As soon as he sees the mess, he confirms who the perpetrators are and has them arrested. His decision shocks everyone but you imagine that he has had a bad day and this is just the shitty icing on a shitty cake. The car is towed away, the hole in the fence remains. It is too late in the day to do anything about it. It will be fixed tomorrow.
The men reappeared with bags of spoil and congratulated each other on a job well executed. Your eyes had become better accustomed to the light and you checked the time: 4:17a.m. You still don’t know what inspired their courage and strength but mother and her mother began to scream. For help or in fear it didn’t matter because the men, panicky, shot them dead. You groaned in painful disbelief, expecting them to shoot you dead too. This time, you didn’t care if you died. Instead, for the second time that night, one of the men hit you on the head with the butt of his gun and sent you to black.
As you and father sat in the midst of the corpse of mother and her mother, you recounted the events of the night before. He wept, you tired. You felt your mind drifting again as black tempted you to escape your reality. Your last thought was of the first day you looked out of your bedroom window and observed Nico and Zac attempting to start one of the cars and laughing with each other as the car jerked violently in protest of their inexperience.
