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SURVIVORS (a novel)

October 19, 2018 12:51PM
(c) S.O. Joseph
(c) JOS Literatures
All rights reserved

"… NASA further explained, that these creatures feed on the traces of emitted carbon that had escaped to the far space and warns that it could mean a great threat to earth and its occupants in the nearest future.…Racia Smith, reporting from Washington D.C"
The voice suddenly paused for some seconds and continued as a song.

Mrs. Walker had to screw up her eyes against the glare; the glittering golden kitchen knife in her hand had been mirror-angled to the dazzling light of the pale orange morning sun that had mischievously found its way into the mild light-up room, and it was ten seconds later before she could see clearly.

She swifted a quick glance at the wall clock and yelled in her mind, sweet Jesus! Quarter past eight already?
With a single stroke of the knife, she crack-opened the egg in her hand and emptied its content into the Borosil glass mixing bowl resting on the glass cabinet in front of her and began to stir.

The kitchen had a perimeter twice the size of two standard rooms, and was furnished by Snaidero - a leading kitchen manufacturer in Europe.

Mrs. Walker was still mixing spices to the mixed-up glair and yolk in the bowl when a beeping sound came hooting from the toasting machine beside her – indicating that the bread inside it 'd been fully toasted. She remembered she'd need to scrape off the brownish part of the loafs; Amanda disliked brown breads. The profuse smoke coming from the oil inside the frying pan would likely poke the snoozing smoke detector if nothing is added to the oil ASAP. Mrs. Walker whirled around the kitchen like a cook that had to meet up an important order. She'd need to stay in control of things, else things would get messy, and somehow she did.

She'd to change Amanda's usual breakfast, else the little one would be late for school - I mean, more than she was already.Scrambled eggs, stir-fried Zucchini and sausage had been Amanda’s favorite for breakfast, but not today. If only hear husband - Mr. Walker was around, he'd have been useful in convincing Amanda to accepting her accidental breakfast. But then, he'd left the house since five in the morning for a business trip, making Mrs. Walker a married single once again. And even though she was used to it - having him away, she couldn't get used to his cold heart. She kept blaming herself for ending up with such a cruel man... Merit Walker; a renowned business tyrant, who took business above every other thing in life.


It was Mrs. Walker calling out from the kitchen. She was now ready to pet and scold her only child to a compromise.
“Breakfast is ready,honey!”she shouted.“Come on down here, we ain’t got time!” Still, there was no answer."Sweetheart, you'd better come of your own accord. Mommie is in a hurry and has no time for your hide and seek this morning!” Mrs. Walker shouted again and started for the upper floor of the mansion.

Two things used to keep Amanda from Mommies call: one was cartoon network and the other, when she wanted to be playful. But Mrs. Walker wasn’t in the mood for neither. All she wanted at the moment was - not to waste more time in the house.

She'd definitely get a harsh tone at the office and a long sheet of questionnaire from Mrs. Broklin – Amanda’s class teacher.The words of Mrs. Broklin started groaning in her ears like the sound of a snarling dog; she was advising Mrs. Walker to take a nanny for Amanda and enroll her for a school bus. Mrs. Walker's face tightened a little to the thought. She would tell Mrs. Broklin to start keeping her opinion to herself this time, if she brings up the topic again.

As far as Mrs. Walker was concerned, Amanda was her world; her only responsibility and was ready to trade anything for her baby’s attention, even her job.

Mrs. Walker stamped over to the sitting room to show her daughter how sober she was. As she got closer, she could hear low-pitched yell, coming from the television set.

Yeah right, Mrs. Walker smirked, she's onto cartoons as predicted.

"Hey baby! Didn't you hear…”Mrs. Walker had barely
completed the statement when her eyes stumbled onto her seven year old daughter, sitting curled up in a foetal position in front of the TV, watching a violent scene; where a white man was beating up a black woman in a domestic violence.

“Mommie, look!" Amanda pointed to the TV screen. “He's hurting her. It’s not fair", Amanda grunted and poked out her pink little lower lip.

“Yes baby, it’s not moral", Mrs. Walker said, as she switched off the TV and took Amanda’s schoolbag.“C'mon lets go, you’re late for school already. Breakfast is down stairs.”

Half way down the stairs, Amanda suddenly stopped; she whirled around to face Mrs. Walker and asked,“Is Dad not moral to you, Mommie?”

Mrs. Walker, who had stopped also, squatted to equal her face with Amanda's and said, “Aye, how about you leave all your questions till evening, hon?" She placed her right hand on Amanda’s left shoulder and continued,"then you can
interview me all you wanna. But only in the evening, sweetheart."

Mrs. Walker had used the wisdom to avoid another possible question, such as: "Mommie, why am I eating toast bread for breakfast?"

“You promise, Mommie?” Amanda asked in a most adoring voice.

“ Cross my heart, Pompkin", Mrs. Walker said, amidst smiles and with her right hand placed across the pink tie running down her white collard shirt, which was embraced by an ash Italian blazers.

A contented smile surged out of Amanda’s face, not because of her mother’s demonstration, but because of 'Pompkin' – her pet-name; a name which meant nothing but somehow conveyed an impression of beauty.

Amanda was only four the last time the black and white couple careless went physical in her presence. Somehow, the ugly scene still rankled in her memory. Mrs. Walker was sure right about that. Amanda had been taking note of their frequent exchange of harsh voices ever since.

One of Amanda’s teachers had summoned Mrs. Walker a couple of times over Amanda’s inquisitiveness on domestic violence. It’d been
embarrassing and awkward for Mrs. Walker all the way.

The last straw was Walker’s grubby affair with a white woman in Las Vegas - the reason for his timeless
business trips to the beachy city, as stated by Mrs. Walker’s spy.

Amanda ate her breakfast slowly and not looking up from the plate as she ate. Her eyes would glow less brighter whenever she'd to do something just to please her mother.
When Mrs. Walker walked out of her room, looking all ready to go, her daughter was looking otherwise.

“Baby, don’t do this to me... please hurry up and let’s go,” Mrs. Walker said as she took Amanda’s lunch-box and headed for the main entrance door. Amanda trudged behind behind her.

"Mommie, I don’t wanna go to school today,”Amanda said with an appealing stare from her little grey eyes, then she suddenly halted and folded her hands.

A deep sense of despair took over Mrs. Walker. She became stunned by Amanda’s utterance.
Though she dreaded denying her daughter anything, especially when she had that looks, she
wouldn’t condole any attempt of her skipping school.
A better try next time, Pompkin, Mrs. Walker almost murmured aloud.
“Oh baby! We don’t have to go through this again. I told you beautiful girls don’t skip school. Don’t you wanna be a Lawyer anymore?"
“I wanna, Mommie."
"Then unfold your hands and let’s go.”

As the walked on, Mrs. Walker thought of societal influence as a major factor behind Amanda’s sudden attitude towards education, but she wouldn’t allow the play-out.

One thing she feared most was her daughter becoming a factory fodder as the uneducated blacks in her society - a society dominated by educated whites.Mrs. Walker thought it was high time she gave her daughter a better upbringing. Hence, the need to dissolve the union that had kept her in Philadelphia.

Last night, she'd quietly discussed divorce with Mr. Walker and even threatened to serve him the papers once he returns from his trip. He was however reticent about the issue; so self-centred as he used to be.

When they got to the garage, The car was no where to be found; Walker had switched it for his.

“Where's your car, Mommie?” Amanda asked.

“We’re going on this Ferrari, since your Dad took it”

“But Mommie, Dad don’t let you drive his car”

“Maybe not today… see? He left the key behind,” Mrs. Walker said, pointing to the key in the power steering through the window,“Meaning he Wants us to take a ride in it!"

Amanda instinctively knew something was wrong with the day, but didn’t know how best to express it, being a kid that she was.

Mrs. Walker entered the car and opened the passenger door from inside. Amanda reluctantly hopped in and belted up with a straight face.

“This car moves very fast - just the kind of ride we need now, Pompkin." Mrs. Walker said, smiling.

As she reversed swiftly out of the garage, and into the street, little did she know they were on a swift ride to
To be continued...

SURVIVORS (a novel)

authorsegunOctober 19, 2018 12:51PM

Re: SURVIVORS (a novel)

KentOctober 22, 2018 10:14PM


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