Chapter two
505 Words
Chapter Two : The Morning of Tears
Morning came slowly to Boame Village, as if the sun itself was afraid to rise on such a sorrowful day.
Afia sat quietly beside her father, Agya Oppong, her eyes swollen from a night without sleep. The small room felt heavier than ever, filled with silence, fear, and whispered prayers.
Pomaa had not stopped praying.
Her voice, once strong, had become weak and cracked.
“God… please… don’t do this to us…”
Villagers had gathered outside their hut, murmuring softly among themselves. Some shook their heads. Others sighed. Everyone knew how dangerous a snakebite could be—especially one without cure.
Inside, time seemed frozen.
Then suddenly—
Agya Oppong’s body jerked slightly.
“Ma!” Afia shouted.
Pomaa rushed closer. “Oppong! Can you hear me?”
For a brief moment, his eyes fluttered open.
His lips moved.
“Afia…” he whispered faintly.
Afia quickly held his hand. “I’m here, Papa… I’m here!”
His grip was weak, but he tried to squeeze her hand.
“Take care… of them…” he struggled to say, his voice barely audible.
Tears rolled down Afia’s cheeks.
“I will, Papa… I promise…”
Pomaa shook her head violently. “No! Don’t speak like this! You will be fine!”
But deep down… she knew.
The room grew still.
Too still.
And then—
Agya Oppong’s hand slowly slipped from Afia’s grasp.
His chest stopped moving.
Silence.
A silence so loud it broke everything.
“Oppong!” Pomaa screamed, her voice echoing through the village.
Outside, the murmuring stopped.
Afia stared at her father, unable to blink, unable to breathe, unable to understand how someone who was there… was suddenly gone.
Ama woke up.
“Ma… why are you crying?” she asked softly.
Adwoa sat up, confused.
Kofi began to cry, sensing something was wrong.
Afia didn’t move.
She just sat there, staring.
That was the moment her world truly changed.
---
The funeral was held two days later.
Villagers came in numbers to support the family. Some brought food. Others brought kind words. But nothing could fill the emptiness left behind.
Afia stood beside her mother, holding Kofi’s hand tightly.
She watched as her father was laid to rest.
Each handful of sand that fell felt like a piece of her heart being buried with him.
That evening, their home felt different.
Quieter.
Colder.
Harder.
Pomaa sat silently, staring into space.
The younger children huddled together.
And Afia…
Afia looked around the small room.
The leaking roof.
The empty corner where her father used to sit.
The tired face of her mother.
The hungry eyes of her siblings.
She took a deep breath.
“I will not let us suffer,” she whispered to herself.
No one heard her.
But she meant every word.
At just eleven years old…
Afia had stepped into a life she never chose.
A life of responsibility.
A life of sacrifice.
A life where childhood no longer existed.
---
✨
- Writer
