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    Start by doing what's necessary; then do what's possible; and suddenly you are doing the impossible.

                         – Francis of Assisi

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"Amanda, why that frown?" Samson asks Miss grumpy. She shrugs and casts me a sidelong glance.

I ignore her as we go to the bakery. We arrive at the shop. It's a rented flat of a building. There is a large wooden label that says "Ms Sara's bakery". We go in and we are in a place that seems like a reception room. Samson beckons I sit on the bench and leaves the room with Amanda. I hear some strange voices from within and the smell of freshly baked bread floods the room. The door opens and a man walks out with Amanda. He looks to be in his late fifties and is average in height. He is darker than Amanda in complexion but they both have the same nose shape– broad and flat.

"Good afternoon sir" I greeted.

"Good afternoon," he stretched his hand to me. I ignore the handshake. He is offended by the his but draws his hand to his side and shoves it into his pocket. Everyone should get used to the fact that is not all girls that are comfortable with shaking strangers' hands. "I am Mr Yema. I own this bakery. You are?"

"Ifunanya Dora James," I say clearly.

He smiles in appreciation and nods. "I hear you are interested in our job offer".

"Yes, I am"

"Hmm...." he mumbles and glances at Amanda. "Can you call your mother for me?"

"Yes. I'll be back" she spins and goes in through the door. Mr Yema stays silent and I also do the same. Three minutes later, a woman strides in. She must be Mrs Yema.

"Good afternoon ma"

"Afternoon. How are you!"

"I'm fine. Thank you ma"

"Oh okay! About the job, you'll be working in the kitchen as well as doing the cleanup of the environment. Can you handle that?"

"Yes, of course!"

"I wanted to employ a cleaner and then someone to assist in the kitchen"

"I can bake. I have been baking cakes, bread and lot more for years. I can handle any cleaning job too"

You might wonder the reason. I'll tell you. My aunt labored me. I baked and I did house chores for years. I never had time for myself because they never made the work in the house finish. I was the slave they used to do all their work.

"Hmmm...." Mr Yemi clears his throat. "The salary is not huge. The pay is low and that's because our business isn't making much sales for now. We pray for improvement that way we can pay you more".

"Alright"

"Let me take you around so you can see the work cut out for you"

"Okay ma"

That's when I get to go into the mystery door. It leads me into a corridor where is three wooden door. I do a little adventure with Mrs Yemi and open each door ajar to peep in. The first one leads me to the front of the building that has a glass window. The breads are lined up on the shelves. The second leads to the kitchen and the third door reveals the store room. The place is not as big as my aunt's place so the work seems easy for me.

"I'll start my work today," I say as we enter the kitchen. Mrs Yemi smiles and goes to get some cleaning equipment. I am standing an arm-length away from the kitchen door.

A disembodied voice calls from across the door, "Is anyone inside the kitchen? Please open the door!"

My brows crease and curious, I open it. The brightness of her teeth stuns me. I didn't expect to see a large smile.

"Thank you!" the young girl exclaims and rushes in with a huge bag in her hand. She struggles to move with it's weight and wabbles. She lifts it up and places it on the large table made of wood. I don't know much about woods but I like the sharp color of the table. The bag settles at the edge. Like flash, I already had the image of what will happen next.

"Be careful the..." before I can finish my sentence she lets go of the bag. It tips and crashes to the floor. There is a cut in the polythene bag and the content spills out. Flour! I see the horrified look on her face. Deadmeat! Flashes of my past crawls in mind. My scream echoes in my head and I feel fear on behalf of the girl. I remember that I once poured flour on the ground. My aunt beat me that day, it took days to get over the pain. Pity is all I feel at the moment. I rush to the girl and assist her in packing some of the flour.

The laughter of her mother reverberate and we tense up. My breathe ceases and our eyes meet. Tap! Tap! Tap! Her footsteps echo and the door swings open. Just like that, the laughter in her face washes away.  Rage engulfs her but she does what I least expect. She places her hands on her waist and glares at her daughter. I expect her to charge at her. Besides, there are a lot of wooden tools she could use to beat her. However, Mrs Yemi hisses and growls, "You won't act your age. Do you think growing up is hard? Growing up is not hard. Use your sense. Ah! Better clean this kitchen oo. I will beat you if you try my patience. You wanted to go and play with your friends abi? Let me see you leave this kitchen. You will know who gave birth to you".

She signals to me to follow her and stomps out of the kitchen.

"Ehen! I took the cleaning equipment to the corridor. We don't have detergents but I sent Samson to buy some for us. Can you wait?" She says to me and waves at the mop, broom and buckets. She shows me the storeroom and other items I may need. We go to her office and I fill my information in a document. I ask, "Why didn't you beat your daughter? What she did was wrong".

She raise a brow at me. "Why are you asking?"

"I just wanted to know"

"Well....Ademide is just thirteen years old. She is playful and I know the bag was heavy. I don't see why I should beat her. Beating a child is not the only way to correct her. Also I know she is just acting her age. I just pray for wisdom to train my children well".

"Wow," I stared. "How do you tolerate their childish acts?"

"I was a teacher. I also studied child psychology in Education," she chuckled. "It might come out impossible but tolerance goes a long way when training children. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," I shrug. "So if you beat a child for every mistakes she makes what do you call it?"

"Physical abuse," she said with disdain.

"Hmm...Thank you!" I nod. Now, I just feel like taking revenge on my Aunt and her stupid husband. Forget about that speech that revenge isn't good. I just need to pay her back with her evil. She has to be punished just like how she punished me. I just need money. If I have enough, I'll go visit her and teach her some life lessons. I stare at the paperI had just filled with my information. I do have a phone number. I had purchased a cheap button phone for communication. I also wrote down my address as the cube. I hope to get a better place. There is a soft knock and Samson announces, "Ma, I have bought the soap".

"Okay! Come in"

Samson walks in and gives the detergents to me.

"Ifunanya, you can start your work now!" she says. I nod with a smile. "Thank you".

I don't know why but I like this woman already.

"Why is the bakery called Ms Sara's bakery"

She smirked. "That's because I'm Sara and it's my bread. My special recipe to bring smile to the world".

I chuckle and give a thumbs up. "I love it".

"Thanks! I like your positive energy. Welcome to Ms Sara's bakery. I hope to see more of you".

"Sure! I will be here," I rise to my feet with a smile. I sign on the document and hand it to her. "I'm happy to be here. Thank you for this opportunity. I do appreciate".

A beautiful smile graces Mrs Yemi's face as she stares at me.

Though the salary isn't much and can't help me right now, I will still work here. I like their hospitality to not just me but their customers. This people will definitely help my mental health. I need positive energy around me. I need to see a healthy relationship and maybe taste of it. That's why I chose to work here.

I smile and leave the office to get to my work. I do the cleaning in just an hour and few minutes. Mrs Yemi is shocked with my speed and for a moment, I almost appreciate my aunt for teaching me domestic chores. I repeat almost. After my work for the day, I go to the cube where I soak garri for dinner. Rita hasn't come home since yesterday. I don't know why and I really don't care to. She can continue with her promising business. I don't mind. I don't even have anything against her. Maybe when she comes back, I will pay my share of the rent. I will use the money Aaron gave to me. I sit on my bed– the cemented floor. I am holding an old frayed book I got from my luggage. I place it on my thigh and wrap myself in one of the ankara material I saved earlier that day. I still feel a pang in my chest when I remember my sewing machine was stolen. My gaze drops to the book in my hands. In that book, I wrote letters to my parents. Crazy, right? How can you write to the dead? Well...I do. I write to the dead, my parents.
Today is third of January 2017. The year just began and I am frustrated. What kind of life is this?

I scan its wrinkled cover and flip through it. I have written in most of the pages. My parents are dead and that crushes my heart everyday. Whenever I'm burdened and wish to offload my thoughts. I write it as a letter addressed to my deceased parents. I stop at a unique letter. I wrote it on the third of January 2012.

Dear Mum and Dad,

Hello! How are you doing? I know you are above watching me. What do you think? I am still your well- behaved daughter. I am growing up each day. Happy New year! I love you.

Mum! Dad! It still saddens my heart that I had to say goodbye to you at an early age. I was just ten years when you died. You both left the house together in your car. You were on your way to Aunt's house. Yes. The wicked witch. And then, you had an accident that took your lives. Why did you have to go visit her? I regret that day. I've tried to forgive her since she was sick that day. You were rushing to check up on her. Now you are dead.

I'm sure you thought she will take good care of me now that you are away. But dad, you sister is heartless and she is making life hard for me. I sometimes wish I can join you where you are. I know you don't want me to say that but life is hard. Aunt burnt my skin with hot iron. I have a c-shaped scar because of it. It hurts. I can't stop crying. I am tired. I want to rest. I want to rest in peace with you.

However, I know you want me to be a fighter and to conquer every challenge. I don't know if I can continue with this torture. Should I run away from Aunt's place? Send my destiny helper. Please! I am praying for my future. I hope it will be bright. I will end this letter here but I will be back. Keep watching over me. I LOVE YOU.

I sighed and shut the book. The scars are still on my back. I smile despite that. I am a fighter. I am actually strong. With all I faced in the past, I'm still striving for success. I haven't succumb to defeat. This is good. I just need to continue with this spirit.

For now, I need my destiny helper

A/N: Still patiently waiting for your comments. Thanks for reading. God bless you. How is my writing skill and what needs to be improved?