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  • Writer's pictureAbigael Ibikunle

Short Story on Hope by Anthony Blossom

As dawn briskly kissed the day, my eyes awoke to my ceiling and gave it a steady gaze. For

bedridden dreamers; it was a beautiful day, it was another beautiful Tuesday.

"There is no crime in doing nothing today, is there?

I had asked Tuesday.

Though only few rains had come to the north so far, the mornings were bliss.

Through my windows, Tuesday's air flew in and about gently in reply. I had no idea of the omen, it meant that I had missed.

Through my windows, Tuesday's air flew in and about gently in reply. I had no idea of the omen it meant that I had missed. As the day got hotter and I got bored, I moved my lazy bones to the fridge. I had picked up a

bottle and poured me a cup of water. Tasting the real definition of uncertainty, I kept on gulping.

The television was on, my mother was glued. She had only nodded in reply to the greetings I had offered. She was observing morning prayers on the television.

She had made it her job to cleanse our days with sweet prayers.

And somehow she bore our dreams for us. For me especially, because I was too lazy to groom the dreams I had.

I sat for long on a dining chair almost directly facing the television. I sat long enough for another program to come on air.

"You have to be bitter about your situation to get better."

The preacher said.

But I was too numb to feel bitter. I'd rather keep on staring at my ceiling fan and fall asleep from dizziness.

My mother watched me get up.

"What are you people eating for breakfast?"

She asked.

I dreaded distractions, i was always on the clouds listening to voices speak. I have a believe that a quiet mind could loud thoughts of wisdom.

"I am on vacation oh."

I said almost jokingly, I wasn't born a cook anyway. She smiled.

"So you would not cook for your ma'ama?"

She bothered.

And I succumbed, so I walked down to the kitchen. I picked up a match box and lighted the


"Beautiful fire for a beautiful you."

Tuesday tried to flatter me on its morning.

I smiled. Ignoring it, I fetched water into a medium sized pot. It swayed for a while and whilst it did, I squatted to watch.

"So you want to be a doctor?"

Tuesday asked. Tuesday cared, only it's type are there for you and me anyways.

"No, a surgeon…"

I defended.

I pulled down a mini basin. It contained precisely two cups of rice left over from a previous

Tuesday. I poured the whole thing into the pot of water and set on fire to parboil.

"Why? "

Tuesday asked.

I walked over to a calabash of onions and took a knife and a tray. I skinned the bark off of a large onion and sliced it in my hand with immense skill.

"I am not afraid to cut through skin, and you know i hold a pencil really nicely."

I answered.

I had affirmed my abilities like a proud mother.

"Yes, I know. But how will this come true?"

Tuesday acted worried.

His worry, I guess was meant to encourage something. It was a fake worry that demanded his

answer. I paused. Went outside to my plastic arm chair. It was white, it was my abode at dusk. Then I would whizz at the peace of the night and stare into the sky. With a constant reminder that our television was the loudest in the street. On it I sat, waiting for my pot of rice and water to bubble a bit.

"Where were we Tuesday? Ahah! How you ask? Well, I don't know."

I brushed it off sadly. But since my Tuesday was within and around me and was even my whole day, my uncertainty crash landed on its hands. Like chemistry, to most people a mystery its lips spoke.

"I knew, that is why i worry for you."

Tuesday raised it's concerns.

"what should I do then? Why can't i water my dreams Tuesday? Oh Tuesday help."

I cried, it's not easy having a dream and not catering for it. It's not easy yearning for something that you don't put in the work for it. Tuesday knew these worries of mine, but still carried them as discussion worthy. Tuesday knew too that a quiet mind could loud wise thoughts. And Tuesdays noises are quiet to my mind.

But Tuesday kept silent, it left, it gave chance to noise in my mind.

"How far?" My mother asked.

Yes, I was aware of her presence. I had heard her footsteps and listened to her now and then

sighs. But It wasn't a bother anyway.

I took my bath, but ate my plate of jollof rice with a noise in my mind. The Television was on

like always, loud with Nigerian creativity. Mud houses, beautiful maidens and black lipsticks.

They are there representing historical myths.

Tuesday came in despite the noise, how it did that like I was in trouble. Allowing a harm to itself.

"Reference to history comes with a beautiful and a calm society that we need. There has to be peace for one to find time to remember old myths."

I say to Tuesday.

"Okay. Cheers to the few Nigerians who find time to be in peace.

Tuesday said. I started to frown.

"But what about those who cannot find the peace to be creative?"

I lamented.

"It is unfair to starve the mind from growth because of living circumstances."

I added.

Tuesday kept silent, it hadn't run to hide from the prevailing noises around me. Instead it started

to smile wildly.

"I hope I would be in a position to put people at ease, to be able to find their creativity."

I hoped.

It was my first hope of the day already.

Tuesday was bent on being present staying strong amidst a Yul Edochie and Zubby Michael's

village wrestle. Amidst the very loud sound track. Tuesday had done its job for the day.

My mind had become so impoverished by doubt that Tuesday races to rekindle hope from

glowing splinters of my dreams. So, I will hope, I will hope for Tuesday. Because it is pregnant with success. I will hope.

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