Child of god | book 1 ✅

1|2

1|2

You could see them chatting through the windows of cabs and shops. Everywhere, people were talking about the day’s failed judgement and BTWD was not left out. Grace had turned off the rotating lights when Michael complained about it turning his eyes and amid the sunlight floating in through the room, you could see a few patrons, seated in groups of three, four or more except a particular god who preferred sitting alone. Even Michael had grace for company although he was a bit tipsy.

“Grace, another red wine,” he ordered, placing his glass on the counter. Grace looked at him for sometime and just nodded, tired of giving unwanted advices.

“I’ll bring it right up,” she said while Michael didn’t raise his head from his palms.

Grace served him his preferred wine and watched him take a long sip before sighing. “I doubt that you’re this bummed about Onye ndu's arrest. What exactly is bothering you?”

Michael took another sip. Bloodshot eyes focusing on Grace. “I just found out that Kylie hadn’t even kept our secret a secret.”

“What type of secret could it be that’s making you this bummed? People find out each other’s secrets all the time. Hell, right now, as I stand before you, I know a million people’s secrets.”

“That doesn’t count Grace. You’re the god of memories, remember?”

She raised her head as if in thoughts then said, “ooh! Right.” Then she remembered his words. “Permit me to ask who Kylie is?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Grace threw her hands away in surrender, glared at the door and then exhaled before looking at Michael like he just baffled her.

*****

It was the same day that Onye ndu was arrested; same day that Dike became unconscious.

Kwento had resorted to just sitting at the fair stoned bench placed beside Dike's bed so he could study him.

As he watched him, lean body placed on a bed with a white duvet draped over him and herbs placed on both sides of his head and on his forehead, he noticed that the boy was not breathing.

There was not even anything present to indicate if he was breathing or not. Kwento stood and walked towards him, crouching and straining to hear anything but there was nothing. He was not breathing! Kwento’s fingers dug into his scalp as he tried uprooting his hair. There were a lot of things that were appearing like a joke that instant, as if he was living in a distorted reality.

Staring at the boy’s long lashes for sometime, before discovering that the tension in him was much and he needed to alleviate it. He began pacing the length of the room, his skin and body parts doing an alternate reality flash of disappearance.

He heard the crunch of the grass outside, followed by the presence of two and the tents opening flapping behind them. Then he saw it, her legs, smooth and shiny and extending upwards. She was dressed in a gown he had gotten her, one made of brown silk, like the colour of her eyes, with leopard skin for its hand and the end of the slit.

He met her eyes.

“You still had the gods to wear this cloth after everything you’ve done, how dare you!” Kwento said, anger replacing whatever he must have once felt for her.