There’s a still voice within me. It is pushing my soul, thoughts and heart not to conform to society yet there’s also silence all around me. Yesterday, when the sun slept, it was Yakubu’s cry that rose the moon. He had been beaten dry by the human bees of our land. Fatima accused him of attempted rape. This was an outrageous accusation because even the sand knows Yakubu is a chicken. But my society is a beehive and we are the bees; we sting anyone sprayed with a nice perfume. Yakubu was squeezed of all tears and blood. He had just lost his father not long ago but, bees know no mercy.
Last week, while the cock made its first daily announcement, it was a gunshot that drove us all from bed. The source of the gunshot was unknown but bees as we are, we traced it. There, Fofo’s body was one with the land, demarcated with a pool of his own blood. He has been known for thievery and this time, Abu’s goat bought his death.
Read On Second Street – A Flash Fiction by Edith Knight, Kenya
Where can the voice within me, pushing my soul, thoughts and heart not to conform to society reach when all ears and hearts around me are closed? This society has been a beehive from scratch, finding and stinging others. My father was born into this, he slept one cold night and failed to see the sun in the morning. My mother was born into this too, it was a snake that drove her to her tomb, in her own farm one fine afternoon. So who am I to stand against this? Even the kings-in-suit on the national seat know about this so, who am I to kick against it? So long as, I keep surviving and getting my bread! But if I ever get stung, maybe, there’d be a voice one day to say what has been in my heart for long in this beehive.
This is epic!