This Is Not The End
1011 Words
I dragged my feet through the back gate,
my hand curling tighter and tighter every time I tried to lift my pace.
Every step felt heavier than the last,
like my body already knew there was pain waiting ahead.
When I turned the corner,
that’s when I saw them —
a group of boys and girls gathered right at my gate.
Laughing.
Whispering.
Watching.
But the second they saw me…
One by one,
they scattered like pigeons chased from a field.
Not even a greeting.
Not even a look back.
Just guilt
and silence
floating in the air behind them.
My heart dropped.
Something was wrong.
I reached the gate and noticed it wasn’t even closed properly.
And when I pushed it open,
I felt a coldness hit me long before I reached the door.
The door was wide open.
Too open.
Suspiciously open.
My hands trembled as I stepped inside.
And then…
My breath left my body.
The house —
my family’s home,
the place I grew up in,
the place I nearly died defending —
was stripped.
No electrical wiring.
No light switches.
No taps in the basin.
No pipes in the zinc.
No small appliances.
No nothing.
Just empty holes in the wall
where things used to be.
A dead house.
A skeleton.
I stood there, completely frozen, feeling like the walls were closing in.
The quiet was screaming.
I moved room to room, but the shock only grew.
Nothing was untouched.
Even the bathroom taps were gone.
The cupboard doors were open, and a few lay broken on the floor, as if someone searched for something valuable and didn’t find it.
I didn’t even feel anger at first.
Just disbelief. Heartbreak. Confusion.
Who did this?
Why would they?
How long has this been happening?
Where were my brothers?
Where was everyone?
I felt my knees weaken. My injured hand curled so tight I felt my knuckles burn.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
I turned slowly.
Rebecca stood in the doorway, her hands covering her mouth.
Her eyes widened,
filled instantly with tears.
“Oh my God…” she whispered,
stepping inside.
She looked around the room, then back at me — and her face broke.
She walked straight to me, placed both hands on my cheeks, and pulled me into her embrace.
I didn’t speak.
I couldn’t.
I just stood there, in the ruins of my childhood home, and felt something inside me collapse.
Not loudly. Not violently.
But quietly.
Like a piece of my soul disconnecting.
Rebecca held my head against her chest, her voice shaking:
“Baby… I’m so sorry…
I’m so, so sorry…”
Her hands trembled as she wrapped them around me tighter.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, even though nothing was okay. “You’re not alone.
We’ll fix this.
We’ll rebuild.
I promise.”
Her words fell into the empty room, like small lights trying to chase away the darkness.
And right there, in that destroyed house, I realized something:
Pain can break you. But the right person… can hold you together long enough to help you stand again.
When Nhlanhla finally brought Joshua later that afternoon,
I could see from the doorway that something wasn’t right.
Joshua avoided my eyes the moment he stepped inside.
His shoulders were slumped,
his clothes dusty,
and his voice almost swallowed.
“What’s happening at home?” I asked him firmly.
He opened his mouth to answer.
But only mumbled words came out.
Words with no direction.
No clarity.
No truth.
I felt heat rising in my chest.
“Joshua,” I said again, my voice unsteady, my tongue heavy from my stutter.
“D-don’t lie t-to me…
D-don’t you d-dare lie…”
He froze.
I rarely used that tone with him.
He knew I meant every word.
Rebecca stepped closer, her hand hovering near my back, ready to steady me if my leg stiffened again.
Nhlanhla shifted uncomfortably, glancing between us.
Then Joshua shook his head, eyes filling with guilt.
“Please, bhuti…
let’s talk tomorrow,” he whispered.
Before I could respond, Rebecca stepped in between us like a shield.
“Joshua, go home now,” she said gently but firmly. “Nhlanhla, please escort him halfway.”
Nhlanhla nodded immediately, understanding the tension.
As they walked out, I caught the look Joshua threw back at me — a mix of fear, shame, and something even worse:
Helplessness.
Rebecca closed the door softly.
She didn’t say anything at first.
She just touched my arm,
guiding me slowly to the bed before my shaking leg buckled.
“You’ll get your answers,” she whispered. “But not today.”
I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling.
Rebecca lay beside me, her hand lightly touching my chest, listening to every breath I fought to steady.
Olerato slept quietly between us, completely unaware of the storm sitting on my shoulders.
But I…
I couldn’t sleep.
Not even for a minute.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the same sentence…
“Your home is now a playground.”
Over and over.
Like someone had carved the words into my skull.
My chest tightened. My hand curled and refused to open. My leg twitched in pain.
I stared into the darkness feeling betrayed confused and completely out of place.
Who would do that to my home?
Why didn’t my brothers tell me?
Where was my mother really?
Rebecca kept turning toward me, checking if I was breathing properly.
At one point she whispered:
“Tebelo…
try to rest.”
I shook my head weakly.
“I c-can’t…”
My voice cracked,
half pain,
half fear.
She reached for my hand, slowly uncurled my stiff fingers, and interlocked hers with mine.
“You survived a blade,” she whispered. “You survived seizures. You survived being abandoned. You will survive this too.”
But the truth?
I didn’t feel strong.
Not that night.
That night, all I felt was the weight of everything falling apart at the same time.
And sleep never came.
- Writer
