Brotherhood

The Blood Night “No… nooo!” Taye’s scream ripped through the night like a wounded beast—raw, broken, desperate. It wasn’t just grief. It was the sound of a boy watching his world collapse in real-time. His father lay sprawled on the cold tiled floor, chest rising in shallow gasps. Blood soaked his shirt, gurgling in his throat as he struggled to speak. His lips trembled. A name, maybe. A warning. A final goodbye. But the words never came. Because the gun was already pointed—straight at their mother. She stood frozen, eight months pregnant, both hands instinctively shielding her swollen belly. Tears streamed down her face. > “Please,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Please, not in front of the children…” But mercy wasn’t in the man’s eyes. He had no face—just rage and a trigger finger. Taye moved. He launched forward without thinking. > “MUMMY!” CRACK! The butt of the rifle smashed into his stomach before he could reach her. The force knocked the breath out of his lungs. He crumpled mid-run. Hit the ground. Eyes wide. Mouth open. Then— Blackness. --- Tola was just seven. He didn’t run. Didn’t scream. Didn’t blink. He hid. Under a wooden chair pushed against the wall. Small enough to squeeze into shadows. Too scared to cry. His body trembled like paper in wind. His ears rang with his father’s last command: > “Go and hide. No matter what happens… don’t come out.” So he obeyed. He held his breath. Pressed his hands against his mouth. Prayed to a God he didn’t really understand. Then— BOOM! A gunshot shattered the silence. Tola flinched so hard his teeth rattled. His heart skipped. Then pounded. Then— Nothing. Just... nothing. A silence so heavy it pressed down on him like a second body. Then— Footsteps. Boots. Dragging sounds. A door creaked. Voices outside. Then— > “HEEEEY! NOOOO!” A familiar voice. Uncle? Tola froze. Was it safe? Was it over? > Please be over. He crawled out. And stepped into a nightmare. --- His father was gone. Lying lifeless in a pool of blood. Eyes open. Staring at nothing. His mother’s dress was drenched in red. Her stomach—ripped open. Torn. Empty. The baby... > Gone. Taye was next to them, unconscious or worse. His body limp. Face bruised. No sound. No movement. The floor looked like it had been painted in blood. The smell hit him next. Iron. Smoke. Death. Sirens wailed outside, distant but growing louder. Red and blue lights began to flicker against the broken windows. Then— The door slammed open. Uncle stormed in, eyes wild, face twisted in horror. > “TOLA!” Tola screamed. So loud his throat ripped raw. So loud the neighbors woke. So loud the sky should’ve cracked open. But it didn’t wake him from the nightmare. Because this wasn’t a dream. It was real. --- > In one night, Tola lost everything. His mother. His father. His unborn sibling. His childhood. His innocence. > But the storm that came after… Was worse. Twenty Years Later :Lagos. 4:37 AM__ The room was silent. Too silent. Just the steady whirr of a broken ceiling fan... and the shallow breathing of two brothers sleeping on a mattress that had seen better years. Dust clung to the curtains. Moonlight leaked through a cracked window. But inside the room, it wasn’t just sleep that haunted them. It was memory. It was blood. > “Tola. Wake up.” No response. > “Tola!” SLAP! “Ahhh!” Tola shot up, heart hammering, sweat clinging to his skin like a second shirt. He gasped for air, eyes darting around in panic. Taye stood over him, arms crossed, jaw tight. > “It’s time for hustle,” he said coldly. Tola wiped his face with trembling hands. His body was awake, but his mind… his mind was still trapped in that night. > “I had the dream again,” he whispered. Taye didn’t flinch. He just sighed, voice flat, detached. Like this conversation was a broken record he’d smashed too many times. > “It’s just the past, bro. Let it go.” But Tola’s voice cracked—sharper this time, raw like open skin. > “They murdered our parents. They ripped us from everything we knew. Everything we loved. And now we’re crawling through life just to breathe.” Taye looked away. > “We’ve talked about this,” he muttered. “You can’t keep bringing it up.” > Like forgetting would heal what was carved into bone. Tola lowered his head. The shame crept up his spine like cold fingers. > “It was my fault.” Taye’s brow furrowed. “What?” Tola’s voice dropped, barely a whisper. “I was weak. I hid. I froze. If I had been braver—like you—we could’ve saved them.” Silence. Pain filled the space between them like smoke. Then—Taye sat down beside him, staring into the dark like it held answers. > “You think I was brave?” he said, almost laughing. > “I was terrified, Tola. I was just better at hiding it.” Tola turned, confused. But Taye wasn’t done. He took a slow breath, the kind you take before opening a wound that never healed. > “There’s something I never told you.” Tola sat up straighter. > “What do you mean?” Taye’s eyes locked with his. Heavy. Honest. > “It’s been twenty years,” he said slowly. “But the truth… the real truth… still burns.” --- > And then he said it. The words that would change everything. > “Let me tell you the full story—the one Uncle never told you.” Tola’s heart slammed in his chest. “You know more?” Taye nodded, his voice now low, like someone might be listening. > “What happened that night... wasn’t just about Dad.” > “It wasn’t a robbery.” > “It was a setup.” Tola froze. His brother’s eyes gleamed in the half-light—not with fear, but with purpose. > “The truth they never told us… is darker than the blood we saw that night.” > “And it’s time we uncovered it.” --- Because surviving wasn’t enough anymore. Now—it was time to fight back.