THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION…
It took a long time for the wounds inflicted by my father to heal. And every single day as I sat and stared at my severed fingers, I could not but wish that I had never been born by the man I called father. Living with him and seeing him every day made my sadness reach all new heights. I became so melancholic to the point I began to lose interest in everything, including the school that I loved. I was tired and ashamed of having to explain to my mates and especially the teachers how I sustained the injuries. Consequently, I resorted to hiding away from school, sneaking to the vast valley behind my school where I would sit and observe the beauty of nature; calming my emotions in the process.
The ghost valley was indeed a desolate place, spooky as a matter of fact. Yet, it was very beautiful. The first time I set my feet there, I was simply marveled by it’s sheer natural beauty. There were the hills descending from different directions, some parts rocky and others made of the same fine white sands that were at the foot of the valley. Local legend had it that a mighty river once occupied the length and breadth of the ghost valley, serving as a major source of livelihood to the communities bounding it. Unfortunately, the river receded overtime because the ancestors allegedly failed to appease the gods. A time came when the mighty river simply dried up, leaving behind the huge ghostly valley and the small patchy stream where the villagers fetched their drinking water…
N.B: This story is adapted from Emmanuel’s soon to be published manuscript…
