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Healing Our Hurt: Chideziri POV

last update Last Updated: 2020-11-26 07:52:50

With November on its way, the sun shines more often. Heavy veiled clouds ebb to reveal the naked Port-Harcourt sky—so pale it's ashy. It is fascinating how a billowy, lean sheet of gas can conceal behind itself a thing as wonderful and whole as the sun, blotting it out like only ink can. 

Chantelle is staying with her elder sister, now—not her aunt, correction noted. She goes to school from Eneka, and does not have as much liberty as she used to. Immediately it's five o'clock she has to go. Her sister works shifts at the hospital, and her shifts always end at that time of the day—early evening, stuffed somewhere between late afternoon and twilight time. 

Now that she's far away from her stepfather, has her sister to take care of her, I thought I'd ask her if she had told anyone else about the episodes, if she'd told her sister. Basically, if she wanted to report it to the police. She only shook her head vigorously. So vigorousl

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    They hoot, holler, whoop, and cheer after I have finished. They didn't even let me have a break to catch my air. To feel self conscious after the last full-stop. The quietness that's overtaken Abe since Chantelle was hospitalized parts like a drape. He grins approvingly, and waits for a moment before he fills his ears with Nasty C, again. Pascal leans over, daps me up and snaps fingers with me. He tells me, "You get flows die, leave am." Ahmed does a wiggly waist dance thing in his sitting cross-legged pose. Joking, he says it's a good thing that not everyone in the squad lacks the essential sense of art. Chideziri beams at me, so bright, so hard, it's as if he's the full moon and I'm a moonlit night. Chantelle? Looks as if I gave her Mars, Pluto, and a crown and sceptre to rule over both of them.

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