Birthright: A Phoenix is Born

Phoenix Tales

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DAMIAN

I slotted in my house-key. After two broken locks and a damaged door frame, my mom swore if anything happened again, I was better off at the local library. The hatch swooped, stopped then jangled revealing layers of security chains in place. I poked around then removed each one. The door croaked as it swung.

I mocked the architects when we initially moved to Balakin. How they managed to design a congested apartment complex reminiscent of a stack of colourful shoe boxes was beyond me. Yet my mom saw things differently. She decided to be grateful for the roof over our heads. And after a wallop to the head, I shared her mentality. It's been like that ever since.

The laminated wooden floor gleamed in the semi-circle shaped corridor. Frames of mom and I hung all over the walls. A white vase with a long crack down the side stood on a maroon table. The crack, a sign of my handiwork when I attempted to place in flowers for Mother's day. My mother glued it back together and laughed, saying "I hate flowers anyway."

I shut the door quietly and called for her.

"I'm in the sitting room." She yelled back.

Koju motioned to enter but I gently pushed back. She needed to hear it from me first. I clamped my palms against the rough end of the sitting room door, leaving enough room to squeeze through.

The beige wallpaper begun to peel away, revealing blotches of black grime in our council flat. Where the peels were too noticeable more portraits hung, displaying my growth into a teenager. Mom said they reassured her during tough times. I just thought they were embarrassing.

The discoloured crème coach frayed at the corners, its thread now wisps blowing in the direction of the summer breeze. The floorboard documented many stains from my childhood. Spilled milk and leaked coke were some tools of choice. Currently, a zebra striped rug was positioned at the centre of the room, which masked the actions of a disgruntled five year old wielding permanent marker. On top of the rug stood a glass coffee table. A big white taper candle surrounded by a vibrant array of scented styrofoam fruit decorated it.

"Hello son, how was school?" Asked my mother, eyes glued to the *Nollywood movie.

My mother lied on the worn L shaped couch, still in her uniform. A crude mishmash of dull blues and unflattering edges. I resembled her expect a couple shades darker. Small tufts of grey hair sprouted here and there, as did an outbreak of black spots on her cheeks. Through her clothes the bulge of on stomach still protruded. I errked at the sight, a strange convulsion to shift. My mother was beautiful regardless of anything else, I just wanted her to be healthy too.

"It was ok ..., but a couple weird things happened." I sighed. "There's someone who wants to see you."

"It better not be about you burning down another science lab." She scolded."I have to work overtime at the nursing home for the next two years because of that."

I winced at the comment, a burning sensation filled my cheeks though it wore off as the door craned open. Koju entered, bending low under the frame. When they faced the other, furrowed brows and taut cheeks clashed giving off utter disbelief.