THE LAST CALL - 1
844 Words
CHAPTER ONE: THREE SHADOWS
Part 1 – Kelvin’s World
The morning sun filtered through the rusted metal shutters of the small bungalow on Umueze Street. A rooster crowed from somewhere nearby, blending with the clatter of frying pans and distant honks from impatient keke drivers. Inside the house, Kelvin lay on his mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling as if it held the answers to the war raging inside him.
His mother’s voice echoed from the kitchen.
“Kelvin! Are you awake? You’ll be late for school again!”
He didn’t respond. His body was awake, but his mind was elsewhere — somewhere between reality and resentment. He hated mornings. They reminded him that life was still the same. That his father was gone. That his mother’s prayers hadn’t brought back peace, or money, or answers. Just more prayers.
He finally sat up, rubbing his eyes. His clothes for school were already ironed and laid out on a plastic chair beside the wall — his mother’s doing, no doubt. She had always believed that a presentable uniform could somehow fix what was broken inside a boy.
He moved sluggishly, brushing his teeth, dressing, ignoring the watery beans she had left for him on the table.
Mama Kelvin walked in holding her Bible. The cover was torn, the edges soft from years of use. Her face lit up when she saw him standing.
“Thank God. You’re up.”
She walked over, touched his shoulder. “I prayed for you this morning. The Lord laid a verse in my heart for you, Kelvin.”
He pulled back. “Mama, please. Not today.”
Her eyes darkened slightly, but she didn’t argue. She simply smiled, that tired smile she always wore when she was afraid of losing him completely.
“I’ll keep praying, even when you don’t want me to.”
Kelvin picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m late.”
“Your friend Jerry was here earlier. He said you all have something to handle after school—”
Kelvin turned. “He said that?”
Mama Kelvin nodded, her eyes sharp. “Kelvin, be careful with that boy. He’s bold, yes. But boldness without wisdom is suicide.”
Kelvin chuckled under his breath. “Don’t worry, Mama. We’re just... boys being boys.”
But they weren’t just boys. Not anymore. Not in this part of the city.
🏚️ Flashback: The Father That Left
Sometimes, Kelvin imagined what life would be like if Uncle Sam — the man he barely remembered calling “Dad” — had stayed. He had left when Kelvin was barely nine, promising to come back after sorting himself out in Lagos. He never did.
They had found a photo of him two years ago — in a bar, smiling, arm draped around a woman who clearly wasn’t Mama. That was the day Mama stopped mentioning his name in prayers.
She forgave him. Kelvin didn’t.
🌆 Back to the Present
Outside, Kelvin met up with Jerry near the road to Kingsgate High. Jerry was leaning against a power pole, tossing a stone in the air like it owed him money. Tall, muscular, and always dressed like he was going somewhere better than school, Jerry had that confident strut that could convince even a teacher he was right — even when he was dead wrong.
“Guy, you took long abeg,” Jerry said, tossing the stone aside.
“My mom wouldn’t stop with her Bible talk.”
Jerry laughed. “She still thinks prayers go fix Nigeria?”
Kelvin smirked, but didn’t respond.
As they walked toward the school, Timi joined them. His steps were quieter, slower, his shirt tucked properly, shoes polished — an obvious contrast to his two friends.
Timi was the kind of guy who thought before speaking. He listened more than he talked. He was also the only one of them who still went to church willingly.
“Morning,” Timi said softly, avoiding Jerry’s eyes.
Jerry grinned. “Timi the church boy. Ready to skip school?”
Timi paused. “You said just one class. That we’d be back before Principal Okoro noticed.”
Jerry wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Relax. One class. Promise.”
Kelvin didn’t say a word. He looked ahead, already counting the minutes until they’d be out of school again.
🏫 Kingsgate High
They reached the compound just as the school bell rang. Students in white shirts and green trousers filed through the gate in noisy waves. A few nodded respectfully at the trio. Others avoided them completely. Everyone knew who they were — especially Jerry. The guy who once broke a classroom window with his fist and walked away like nothing happened.
As they walked past the assembly area, a loud voice cut through the crowd.
“Kelvin! Jerry! Timi!”
It was Principal Okoro — tall, square-jawed, always sweating, even in the morning.
“Come here! Now!”
The boys froze.
“Na wa,” Jerry muttered.
Kelvin sighed and turned around.
- Writer
