Too many broken things.

Broken things were what we were. Broken things that might've not have known that we were broken but we seeked redemption anyway.

I know you're already starting to feel like this is a losing game we're playing but I can't anything about it.

If only we would stop hurting people because we're hurt, maybe we would find the time and strength to heal our own wounds.

It doesn't take much for a broken person to see another broken thing. But we were good at hiding our broken parts and that would make redemption almost impossible.

◈ ━━━━━━━ ⸙ - ⸙ ━━━━━━━ ◈

ＴＷＥＬＶＥ ＹＥＡＲＳ ＥＡＲＬＩＥＲ.

Raheem and Monica sat at the dinning table next to each other nursing their full glasses of red wine as they did nothing but stare at each other.

"What?" asked Monica, smiling.

"Nothing," Raheem shook his head, his grin grew wider as he took his wife's free hand on the table, "I'm just thinking of how lucky I am to be married to the most beautiful woman on earth."

Monica brought up her glass and took a long sip but it didn't stop her cheeks from growing hot. "Don't flatter me, Raheem."

"It is the simple truth." He shrugged and she shook her head with that smile still gracing her red painted lips. "I wanted to tell you...I'm taking the kids to the mosque tomorrow."

Monica immediately withdrew her hands from his. No doubt, that action had shook her husband and the sudden frown on her face made him more confused. "Raheem, I thought we talked about this?"

"Talked about what?" Raheem asked. "The last time I brought it up you acted like I'd said something I shouldn't have said."

"Raheem, giving the boys muslim names was one thing, taking them to the mosque is a different thing."

"I don't understand where you're coming from, honey." He looked sincerely confused while his wife looked like she was done with the conversation. "Islam is our religion, I don't see a reason why you're acting like I'm about to initiate them into a secret cult."

"Islam is your religion, Raheem, not ours," Monica replied. "You keep acting like I and the kids are suddenly muslims because I got married to you."

"I don't have a problem with you being a Christian but Ismael and Zehan are muslims," Raheem said.

"Because you're a muslim that automatically means the kids are too? You're imposing this thing on them."

"It's not a thing, Monica, it's my religion and their's too." Raheem sighed and looked away briefly before turning back to his wife. "You say I'm imposing it on them but you're not even doing anything. You don't want them to be Muslims but you have refused times without number to take them to church, you hardly even attend yourself."

"Like it or not, I'm a Christian. And you're a Muslim, I respect that and I didn't say I don't want the kids to be part of your religion. Raheem, I went against my family to marry you, don't suddenly start acting like your religion disgusts me because I didn't convert or because I won't let the kids to go to the mosque with you...look, I don't want to impose any religion on them because things like this can get confusing. You have to understand that the twins have parents that are from two different religions and before either of us force them to one, I want them to grow up and make their own decision."

"How will they make a decision when they'll know nothing about Islam or Christianity because we refused to involve them?" Raheem asked.

Monica shrugged and raised her eyebrows. "So what are you suggesting? That they go to the mosque on Fridays and attend church service on Sundays?"

Raheem immediately opened his mouth to drop a response but the sharp sound of ceramic clashing with tiled floor got the couple's attention. The sound seemed to have come from the bathroom and that was when Raheem and Monica realized that they hadn't seen their five year old boys in the sitting room for the past thirty minutes.

Without saying anything to each other, the couple jolted up and bolted for the door leading to the hallway. They ran into the bathroom and nearly stepped on the broken glass that littered the white tiled floor.

But the broken glass was the least of their problems when they found Zehan kneeling next to the bathtub with his hands inside. He seemed so adamant of pushing something down.

It was only when they saw Ismael's little hands springing out of the bathtub, waving frantically in the air and splashing water everywhere that Monica realized that Zehan was drowning his brother.

Raheem caught up with what was going on when his wife had pushed Zehan out of the way and the boy stumbled back onto the broken glass, resulting in multiple cuts on his elbow.

Ismael's breathing was heavy and unsteady as Monica held the wet boy in her arms and  stared at his twin with what Raheem deciphered as terror. Indeed, Monica was short of words, she didn't even yell and scold Zehan like she normally would.

"God, let this not be true," Monica mumbled to herself but her husband had heard her and it sent chills down his spine.

He gulped as the thought he same thing. Would the prophecy come true?

◈ ━━━━━━━ ⸙ - ⸙ ━━━━━━━ ◈

Sitting comfortably at the dinning table, Zehan's fingers were flying fast and hard against his keyboard. Jamal would watch him occasionally smirk and shake his head as he read, and continued typing immediately. Obviously, he was probably chatting away his time online.

"Hmm..." Jamal hummed, throwing popcorn into his mouth as he watched his brother from the far end of the dinning table where he was seated, a bowl of popcorn in front of him.

It took a few seconds before Zehan was able to look up at his brother, only then had he noticed that Jamal had been watching him for God knows how long and that made him uncomfortable.

Zehan eyed the bowl of popcorn before looking up to Jamal who was slouched against his chair. "Don't you have a movie to watch or something?"

"No...you're entertaining enough," Jamal shook his head, "I like watching you chat with your girlfriend."

Zehan closed his eyes, took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "For the last time, I don't have a girlfriend. It's Adam I'm talking with." He turned the tablet to show Jamal his chat with Adam but his brother couldn't see it from the distance.

"Be deceiving yourself, I'm a guy like you, you can't fool me." Jamal grinned mischievously, wiggling his eyebrows but Zehan only sighed, rolled his eyes and went back to what he'd been doing.

Jamal immediately hated the fact that Zehan wasn't paying attention to him anymore.

Before Zehan knew what was happening, popcorn had joined the chat. He frowned at the pieces of popcorn that were now appearing on his screen before one actually hit his forehead.

Zehan groaned very loudly and his brother laughed. He dropped his tablet and finally faced his brother properly. "Jamal, when did you say you're going back to school again?"

"This weekend," Jamal replied honestly and Zehan grinned.

"Beautiful," Zehan mumbled before picking up his tablet again, "I just have two days to deal with your annoying ass," he said more to himself.

"You'll definitely miss me." Jamal grinned.

Zehan snorted. "Yeah, whatever," he simply mumbled sarcastically, knowing he would gladly pack Jamal's bags for him, see him off to the park and still pay for his entire transport fair back to Ibadan. It was a miracle that the Academic Staff Union of Universities had finally called off their month-long strike and Zehan couldn't wait to push his pestering brother out the door.

"Zee..." Jamal called in a singsong voice. Zehan visibly cringed at that nickname and his brother laughed knowing it would have the desired effect. "Zee, there's plate in the sink that you haven't washed."

"Later," Zehan said with his eyes glued to his screen.

"It's better you wash it before mom comes back," Jamal said with a mouthful of popcorn but Zehan heard him perfectly.

At first Zehan was going go scream another "Later" at his brother but something he said caught him off guard.

"Wait, what did you just say?" Zehan finally looked up.

"I said you should wash it now before our mother comes back!" Jamal laid emphasis on each word. It was funny how he was a second year Microbiology student but still behaved like a child.

"Which mother?" Zehan found himself asking out of shock.

"How many mothers do you have?"

Zehan froze. Was his brother trying to tell him that Monica Essien was finally coming home after spending more than a month in Lagos? She had said she would be there for a long time, four weeks wasn't what Zehan had in mind.

"Are you serious?" Zehan asked his brother who was now on his feet, an empty bowl in his hand. Zehan had to make sure that Jamal wasn't pulling his legs.

"Well, she knows I'm going back to school this weekend so she said she would be back today. She wanted to come back before I leave." Jamal was already in the adjourned kitchen before he finished talking.

Zehan knew what that meant. It made perfect sense. His mother didn't trust him to leave the whole apartment all to himself. She had only let him stay when she left for Lagos because Jamal had come home. Now Jamal was leaving, she would come running back.

What did she think? That he would set the house on fire or what?

His mother's trust issues weren't even the least of worries at that moment. He was forced to think about how he'd stay under the same roof with his mother now she was coming home, probably for good.

His father had long arranged for him to go over to his cousin's house but Zehan silent be caught dead in the Disemi residence. He hated the fact that his father was so oblivious to the fact that his mother's sister and her husband hated Muslims. Raheem always said hate was too strong of a word but Zehan knew otherwise, he had witnessed their self-righteous, hypocritical, judgmental and discriminating attitude first hand. And besides, he and Tari in the same house? God forbid.

Since Raheem wouldn't have him, the only possible option would be to go back to his grandmother's house but he wasn't sure where exactly he stood with Nina after he'd downed all her sleeping pills and she had to come and find him laying unconscious, half dead. He was very sure the old woman would be avoiding another heart attack. Ergo, Nina's house wasn't an option.

Besides, Nina lived on the outskirts of Abuja which would mean new school for him if he decided to live there permanently. Zehan still had a lot to do in Newland Secondary. He was already so close to getting his revenge.

Unfortunately, his grandmother was the only person who had acted like nothing happened after he was accused of killing Ismael. "Being true to yourself is the most important thing, whatever they say about you doesn't matter. People will always believe what they want to believe." Those were the only words Nina had said on the matter after Zehan swore his innocence.

In as much as she took care of him and housed him after Ismael died and his parents couldn't look at him, he still felt damaged, his wounds weren't healing and he couldn't stop hating himself. That was when he'd attempted suicide for the second time.

It was only after that experience that he'd realized that Nina was basically the only person who didn't judge him, accuse of lying or turn her back against him. Even Jamal who was always all cheerful and outgoing shut him out. It was the worse feeling. That particularly shook Zehan especially since he wasn't expecting Jamal to react that way. He was hoping he'd be as understanding as Nina since she was practically the one who had raised him but then, everybody loved Ismael and they didn't hide their resentment towards his supposed killer.

It was a miracle that Jamal started warming up to him again. He couldn't say the same for his parents though.

Zehan spent the rest of the evening anticipating or rather, detesting his mother's return. At the time Jamal had informed him about it, it was past six. He'd done the dishes while looking at the clock with his heart beating against his chest with force.

At the end, he'd gone to bed without seeing her. She didn't come back, which Zehan was relieved about but he couldn't get too comfortable knowing that she would definitely be back by morning.

Zehan shared Jamal's room with him ever since he'd returned. He still wasn't allowed to step foot in his former room—which wasn't his anymore—and frankly, he didn't want to go there any more than his mother wanted.

Maybe it was the thought of having his mother back and being homeless that kept Zehan awake that night but he just couldn't sleep. It was already past midnight and in as much he had school in less than eight hours, he decided he could pass the time doing something on his tablet rather than just staring up at the ceiling and listening to Jamal snore.

Zehan got up from the bed where Jamal laid on one said, deep in sleep, and made his way to the living room where he'd left his tablet charging.

It was only when Zehan had gotten his tablet and was heading back to the bedroom that he realized that the door to his former room was slightly open which was absurd considering that he and Jamal had avoided that place like the plague for the past month. The door was always shut.

Out of curiosity, Zehan headed towards the door and gently, slowly pushed it further open.

His heart didn't skip neither was he startled when he saw his mother sitting on the floor, her back resting at the foot of the bed. A bottle of wine next to her and a filled glass in her hand. Monica Essien looked like she was on another planet. She wasn't blinking or moving any part of her body that wasn't her hand when she brought the wine glass to her lips.

Like Nina and Zehan, Monica was caramel skinned but Zehan didn't get his looks from her, they only shared the same skin color. While Monica always looked younger than her actual age, she was visibly starting to age rapidly after her son's death.

As she sat there in a black suit jacket and trousers, her bone-straight, shiny human hair pulled backwards, Zehan knew she must've just returned from Lagos and in as much as he thought she had gone on vacation—and avoiding him—it seemed her trip might've been work-related after all. Monica Essien never wore a suit if she wasn't going to appear in court.

"Mom..." Zehan trailed, his voice a mere whisper, "you're back," he said as though he'd just registered the fact.

She didn't respond. It was almost as though she hadn't heard him.

Zehan stood there, not knowing what to do or say next. When the five seconds he'd been counting in his head elapsed, he mumbled, "Welcome," and turned around to leave.

"Why?" Zehan was surprised to her his mother's croaked voice. And when he turned around, she was indeed looking up at him with glassy eyes. Zehan's heart snapped in two at the sight.

To a normal person, 'why?' wouldn't make sense but that was the only thing his mother had to ask for Zehan to fully understand what she was saying. She was simply asking the same question she'd been asking him since she'd seen Ismael's lifeless body swimming in a pool of blood.

Zehan unconsciously shook his head and noticed that his own eyes were starting to get wet.

"I'm trying so much...not to hate you." At that point, she wasn't drinking from her glass anymore. Her chest only rose and fell with the passing seconds.

"I did not push him—"

"It's been nine months and you're still saying the same thing," Monica interrupted, "you really want me to believe that Ismael killed himself?" her voice turned to a whisper.

"He went up there by himself, I didn't take him." Zehan was surprised at how bold he was speaking amidst the tears that were now rolling down his cheeks.

"Zehan...there's nothing I have not done to restore my sanity and try to make peace with this but anytime I come back here, any time I see your father, anytime I see you..." Monica trailed and shook her head as if to shake out the thought. "I saw a psychologist in Lagos,"

Zehan almost couldn't believe his ears. His mother? And a psychologist? The same psychologist she'd refused he saw after his second suicide attempt. Not that Zehan fancied talking to a psychologist but he knew his mother hated it ten times more than he did. He just couldn't believe it.

It was only when his mother turned her neck to her left that he realized that he was suddenly sitting next to her on the floor.

"He said I should try and see things from your side, hear you out, but Zehan, you're not saying anything new...you're not saying anything that justifies the fact that you killed your twin and nothing you say takes away the pain," Monica said, oblivious to the fact that her words were bringing down Zehan's entire system. "I just don't know what to do, I'm tired—"

"I did not kill anybody!" Zehan snapped.

"With the way you treated him, looked at him and acted around him, it's hard to believe what you're telling me," Monica countered.

"So that's why you don't believe me...because I treated him badly?" Zehan asked with utter disbelief.

Monica turned away, she sipped the red liquid from the glass as she thought of something. "No, that's not the only reason," she mumbled.

Zehan was afraid to ask but he did. "What else?"

His mother turned to him. "I'm surprised your grandmother hasn't told you. I thought she'd tell you...this is her fault anyway."

"Tell me what?"

Monica sighed, dropped her now empty glass next to the bottle beside her and looked intently into nothing. "You know your grandmother it a seer, fortune-teller or whatever you want to call it." Zehan nodded, he knew about Nina's gift of seeing things but last time he'd asked her about it, she said she wasn't revealing things to people anymore. She still had the gift, but didn't reveal what she saw.

"When your grandmother had given birth to twin girls, me and my sister Dora, she saw our future," Monica paused, shaking her head slightly with a sly smile on her lips.

"W-what did she see?"

"Dora and I were both destined to have triplets." Monica turned to see the confused expression on Zehan's face. "We conceived right about the same time. Of course, you know Dora ended up giving birth to Timi, Tari and Tamara...the prophecy was fulfilled," she narrated, "shortly after, I myself put to bed. Not many people know, but the truth it that...I was actually carrying triplets,"

"What?" Zehan blurted out and his mother nodded.

"But before then, your grandmother had already told me of something else she saw," the amount of water that left Monica's eyes at this point was scary but Zehan was still trying to wrap his head around the information being dumped on him, "the prophecy."

"What prophecy? I don't understand, mum. What are you trying to say?" he asked in a second.

"Mummy..." Jamal was suddenly there, standing at the door frame, looking confused and worried. Monica and Zehan looked up at him Zehan felt like sending him away. "You should come and sleep, you look tired." He had been avoiding to acknowledge the fact that Monica had been balling her eyes out but he wasn't going to leave there until she was asleep in her bed.

Zehan didn't know what to say or do as his mother stood to her feet and walked slowly to the door before walking past Jamal. She didn't turn around to look at him or say a word.

The playful, cheerful aura around Jamal was completely gone. And as he stared at Zehan on the floor after their mother had left, Zehan felt the same way he did after Ismael had died; hated and rejected. He knew Jamal was silently saying what he hadn't said in a long time, "you're the reason she's like this. You're the reason for her tears and her pain."

Zehan wanted to die.

Not just because it felt like Jamal hated him all over again but because nothing was making sense and it all still seemed to be his fault. The truth was that no matter how he was going to look at it, it would still circle back to him. Tari was right, he was a monster. Maybe Kasy and Dele weren't the problem. Maybe he was the cause of his own misery.

He knew he still needed to do everyone that one favour—vanish from the face of earth and be completely forgotten.

• • •

The white sand on the playground of Newland Primary School was one of the best things Tari had ever seen. She had spent hours in a day in the playground, playing with the sand when she was a kid and that was the reason she kept going back there even as a teenager. She loved that playground. She loved the swing.

She was there. It was the only place she could think clearly and be reminded of how good things were as a clueless, carefree child while she watched the primary school pupils playing. It was paradise.

Tari smiled as she watched the children talking and conversing with each other while they played their games. She adored the harmony of their laughter and how lively they were.

Well, they all seemed lively except for one girl. She wasn't wearing a uniform like the rest of the pupils, only a bright pink dress and a cute bandana. She reminded Tari of herself as a child although she didn't look as cheerful as every other child in the playground. Tari was curious.

Getting up from the swing she had been sitting on all this while, she made her way across the playground to the girl who was just sitting on the sand and staring down at her entwined hands. Tari squatted down to her level when she got to the girl who looked four years old or so.

"Hey, baby girl, what's up?" Tari tried to sound as cheerful as she could. The girl didn't look up at her. She just kept fiddling with her fingers.

"Why aren't you playing with others?" she tried again and still got the same response—no response.

"Where's your mummy? Is she here?" Maybe her mother was somewhere around because Tari didn't understand why she wasn't wearing the school uniform and why she was so isolated. Maybe she wasn't one of the pupils? Was she hungry? Maybe she was hungry, that's why she wasn't talking to her.

The girl looked up and Tari held her breath. She was beautiful. And familiar.

She nodded twice and for a second Tari was confused but then she remembered she had asked her a question.

"So she's here, where's she?" Tari asked, looked around to see if her mother was somewhere in the playground but then she felt tiny hands grab the fingers on her right hand. She looked down to see the girl's tiny hand squeezing her fingers and God, it was very painful.

"Ou..." she looked up at the little girl for some sort of explanation as to why her grip was so painful but then what she saw would scar her for life.

The little girl was suddenly crying. Crying blood. Blood that dripped down her face and stained her pink dress.

Her cry was loud and disheartening. She was still squeezing Tari's fingers.

"Mummy..." she cried. Tari was now breathing heavily and her heart was racing. What was this?

"Mummy, why did you kill me?!" the little girl was suddenly yelling and everything was becoming dark; the sky, the sand, the little girl's face. "Why did you kill me!"

Tari didn't know she was crying until she heard her own loud sobs. Her entire body was shaking and she suddenly felt cold but that didn't stop her from screaming too. "No! No!" Tari kept shouting until the pain on her fingers began getting worse.

The squeezing. The pain. Red tears. Dark clouds. Scary child.

Timi was holding his sister as if she would vanish if he let her go. She was sweating profusely and shaking uncontrollably. It was her screaming and crying that had made him leave his chemistry equations and run into the room. He was scared. What was happening to her? Why was she screaming in her sleep?

Tari didn't know when she'd crossed the bridge between sleep and consciousness but what she knew was that Timi was suddenly on her bed and she was squeezing him back but she couldn't stop wailing and shaking. The chills that electrified her body was horrific.

"Tari, calm down," Timi whispered. The last thing he wanted was for his parents and Tamara to wake up. But maybe she wasn't that loud since he only heard her because he had already been awake, studying.

Something was going on with his sister. She didn't want to tell him about it but he wish she would before it drove her insane.

This chapter is                      

What do you think the prophecy Monica mentioned is all about?