I wonder what she will do to me this time, when she finds out I had touched another baby indecently again. A week rarely goes by without me being scolded or beaten by mother for the same kind of offense since the start of this year. It’s almost like the new habit came with the year, and has sworn not to leave even until this deep. She went as far as crying while talking to me the last time after giving me a good beating. I was filled with pity for her, but deep inside, I didn’t feel as much as a sting of remorse for my actions. She fell for my solemn countenance though, but I hope she doesn’t start regretting ever giving birth to me.

To be honest, I would still go touching the next baby put in my care, or even the ones not far from my reach. Why? Because I believe I was born to touch things I feel like touching anytime I feel like touching them, which is probably why I don’t regret any of my actions. Since I have known my father, there is never a day I see him without a show of grief in my mother’s eyes. She trembles at the sound of his footsteps. And whenever he had to call her twice, I often sleep away from the house because it meant the night will be bloody for mother. I stopped counting the number of times father had violent sex with mother right in front of me after the twentieth one, just to punish her for doing one silly thing or the other. Silly things like her not cooking a good meal, or refusing to have sex with him. I was always made to watch; a part punishment for me too.

There are times he would come from nowhere and beat her up for nothing too. But once he is gone, only the good Lord could tell when next he will be back again. I grew up expecting him every single second of my little life, and as time went by, I liked and embraced his personality too. Hence, it led to the confidence of touching anything I feel like touching. And because I was scared of touching children my age, I strictly touched babies without diapers, running about with bare bom bom.

Not long, the mother of the last baby I touched came reporting me to my mother and she related how she caught me molesting her baby. I watched my mother begged the woman never to be offended. However, the pleading didn’t stop the woman from leaving threats and curses behind. I watched mother walk into the house with a resentful look of shame etched on her face, and fortunately for me, soon after, father came around like he used to, and the courage to finally bounce into the apartment came with his presence. Unfortunately, what we both met inside the apartment was more than we could have imagined. Mother was hanging loosely from the ceiling fan hanger, her neck tied with a rope, and her face a pale portrait of death.

Mikaiah Sunday Oyepintemi
Mikaiah Sunday Oyepintemi also known as One Micaiah is a Medical Laboratory Science graduate of the College of Medicine of the University of Lagos, a writer of poems and short stories and a lover of life. He is a believer of love and true friendship. Writing, to him, is the only way he can speak without talking. He hopes to write and publish as many books as he can, while alive. He looks forward to meeting new friends too. Please follow him on Twitter