Wednesdays were always special for the boy who lived in the small house in the lane by the big bungalow. He would wear his favourite white uniform, freshly laundered and ironed stiff by his doting mother who took care of him all by herself.
His father had abandoned his family and left for the city, leaving his young wife and the boy who was still a baby suckling at his mother’s breast for the nectar that would sustain the life force within him. The world was cruel and snobbish to a poor woman who neither had a man in her life nor enough money to ask the world to go to hell and leave her alone.
The boy grew up watching his mother do odd jobs in the day and entertaining strange men at night who at times hurt her and left her crying. Innocence left him early as he realized what and why his mother did the things she did. A strange determination fed his days as he looked out for ways to earn money and support his mother who was feverish and coughing up blood regularly.
When the kaka he used to wave at everyday called him over to his pawn shop one Wednesday and told him that he was made for big things and that his calling was elsewhere and not in the white uniform or the satchel he carried to school everyday, the boy stood confused yet amazed at the idea that he was cut out for bigger things in life.
The choices the boy made changed his destiny. Though white was still his favourite colour he could still see the bloodstains of those innocents whose life he had taken. One conversation and one decision spurred by the greed to make some quick money was all it took to change his life forever. When he thought about the consequences of his actions, he regretted but deep within himself the boy knew no amount of regret would undo his actions or cleanse his hands off the blood of scores of innocent lives that had been slaughtered because of him.
This post is based on a prompt over at WriteTribe
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