Morphed

I have always been innocent. At least I believed myself to be so up until three hours ago. No, scratch that, the crack of my innocence started years ago, but even then I’d considered myself a victim of the evil that pervaded the world.
That is, up until three hours ago.
I hear the baby crying from somewhere distant. I’m immobile. I can’t move, in fact  I’ve sat like this for close the past three hours.
The room is cramped and hot. My dress is soaked with sweat and something else. Blood. The room is sadly ventilated. The only source of fresh air is the four inch space in the wall called the window.
When we’d first moved here, I’d wondered what the landlord had thought while building the house; if it qualified to be called that.
All the while I’m sitting immobile; I avoid looking in that direction. I don’t want to see the evil I had just done that was beginning to reek in the stuffy room.
It’s 11pm on a Friday night and the compound seems to be empty. I’m betting everyone has gone to bed. Everyone except me.
Funny, he’ll never be going to anywhere ever again.
The reality of what I’ve done has just begun creeping in. All through the night, when I’d planned my escape, I‘d worked with a cold calculation I had no idea I was capable of.

Even when he’d walked into the room; staggering confidently like he always did, the fear hadn’t come then. I’d sat on the bed waiting patiently for him to come to me.
“Come say hi to me, sweetheart.”
I flinched. I hated when he called me that. I marvelled at his English. Impeccable as usual. Who would’ve ever suspected what a sick guy he was?
No one knew. Not the neighbours, although they could care less.
We had moved in here without any flourish, no grand entrance. Who would know what went on within the confines of this room?
“What is it my beauty?” He asked when I didn’t move. “Why you locked up in here in the dark?”
I stared at him. I was too busy calculating.

“Stupid girl! Come here!”  He was rough now. Getting angry; which is what I wanted. I wanted him to come to me.
“ You dare disobey me! I will deal with you!” He lunged for me.
I’d anticipated this so I moved slightly and he crashed into the bed. Now I stood up. I watched him raise himself up in slow, painful movements.
“You’re possessed!” He screamed at me, coming at me again.
This time I revealed the knife. His eyes widened when he saw the glimmer, but it was too late. He couldn’t stop himself.
I plunged it into his chest. His scream was deafening. I watched his mouth form into an O as he collapsed on me.
“Cursed…child.” He sputtered, blood spilling from the knife wound.

I didn’t shed a single tear when he finally died. I didn’t cry even when the baby began crying. I only cried when I thought of all the things life had deprived me of. I only wished for one thing, that God had given me a voice of my own. Every night since I can remember I’d begged God for a miracle. Just one day to have a voice of my own, one day to be able to talk.
And I asked myself if indeed there was a God who let bad things happen to good people like me. I had my answer. Bad things always happened to good people, but good people sometimes needed to become bad to fix the bad things in their life.
I didn’t know what life held for me now. My brother had always catered for me since our parents died.
And he’d told me the only way to pay him back. In kind.
The tears pour down my face now and I suddenly realise I’m all alone in this world. Well, me and my baby, of course.
I’m suddenly transformed; morphed. 
I’m a no longer just a handicapped person with a child; I’m also a killer.
I just killed my brother. The father of my child.

Written by Mimi Adebayo. Copyright 2013