by Michelle Nnanyelugo

I peered into the sitting room from the gallery where I stood with the lights beaming a smile at the stucco on the wall.

With a fling, I let go of my brother engrossed in a deep slumber, watching his brain pop out of his small skull. Milky particles mixed with blood and water. The air reeked of the malodour from his bowels.

The wall belched, echoing Jesse’s name. He was just two, my only brother whom mother bore in her old age. They were inseparable.

A tiny voice in my head pushed me to throw him. I had nursed this thought for a long time that I decided to vent my spleen.

By the time I caught a glimpse of mama, her blurry eyes clouded with tears, sunken cheekbones, and pale look, with trembly knees that could barely carry her, she had slumped.

Source: From the Rebel Issue (October 2019)


MICHELLE NNANYELUGO. With a flair for speaking, Michelle dabbles in spoken word artistry and podcasting. Poised to reinstate people’s mindsets by causing a paradigm shift, she is a thought therapist. Currently breaking out of her confines, she has a lot running through her mind, hence scribbles for a living. When she is not volunteering, she is either observing or exploring. A wanderlust who believes we can live in a better world, if only we contribute our quota to humanity. 



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