AN ODD STORY

The thick fog had just disappeared and the normal brightness that characterise a bright morning is gradually taking over. Anne rolled over on her wooden bed resulting in a creaking voice synonymous with the sound produced by a rat trapped within the hinges of a door. The bed is an obvious definition of poverty. The truth is, the bed is Anne’s only valuable possession and it was bequeathed to her by her grandmother who died of rheumatism. Anne’s mum also is presently suffering from rheumatism making them to reach the assumption that Rheumatism runs down their family line. But does rheumatism really run down their family line? Or are they yet to discover their rheumatism-stricken bed, which they have been using over the years?

       That morning as she rolled over, her first contact with consciousness was the wet impulse, she felt on her sheet. Did she bed wet? She was still trying to figure out what could have happened. Her mind went to the concoction-like soup she took for dinner the previous day. Or how best do you explain a soup with eighty percent water and twenty percent leaf? Those kinds of soups are the best to explain confluence to a Geography student because in d process of consuming it, two rivers will surely meet on your elbow. At last, she is now fully awake but still wondering how she could have urinated on the bed at 25 years. She looked up only to discover a hole in the roof. She heaved a sigh of relief. The rain must have drizzled in from the hole in the roof “I didn’t bed wet “she said.  A genuine excuse at last but what of the ammonia smell emanating from her sheet. Does Rain smell like ammonia?  I think only Anne knows the truth of what actually happened.

The musical jamboree going on in her tummy is evidence that hunger looms. The concoction-like soup has rapidly transformed into a musical band within her and a rock music festival is taking place within her. Left with no choice, she has to settle for leftover of the soup as breakfast. As she opened the broken pot, she couldn’t believe her eyes. Molly, her cat passed the night in the pot. The cat out of hunger ate the remaining soup and subsequently slept off. Anne couldn’t believe it. Her dear cat might just be her next meal because there is no other hope for a meal that day. Thank God the Cat is in the pot already.

FF @asiricomedy on twitter.