(Word length: 200-300 words)
Every evening, her face clouded with despair as she sat in a battered rocking chair. The hot noon sun blazed on her; she should have trembled but she did not. She was waiting for him to return, her husband. To nuzzle, cuddle and peck her like the good old days.
But Ben would not be coming, she knew that. How could he when he was buried in a raft that would scupper into the river. She had desired to be free, she had requested to leave the mansion, to feel the whirling wind and watch the scuffed shoes of people in squiggly lines at the wharf. But he would not heed her words.
Often, he would say when he was in a jolly mood: “Darling, don’t stress yourself, stay at home and I will pay you a wage.”
Later, when he was in a petulant mood, he would pound her face with his fists, and stifle her neck.
Not anymore, she had sworn.
One day, her friend, Jane had brought her a clear portion the shaman gave to her to sway his opinion. Just a drop or two in his meal, and you will be free.
That dreadful day, they were in the dining room when Ben mumbled, “I have decided to give you the freedom you seek, sorry for the hard time.” He brought the bouquet of flowers from beneath the table with his left hand and spooned the food into his mouth with his right.
Written by Ezeuchu Jovita Nwamaka
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