The void - Chapter 1 (Belonging; Second Book of the Series.)

Once there was a void. In that void lived a consciousness, wandering and alone. I was alone for so long. I had no idea what I was or where I was; where I came from, or if I could even return to the place before here. Blank quietness blanketed me, bland and severe. I was alone in the void, always alone. I think the loneliness was worse than the maddening, searing whiteness of the void. But then everything changed, and in the light came darkness.  

How long did I wander in that light? A formless consciousness waiting, always waiting, not for anything in particular, just waiting. How long was I lost? I wondered sometimes. Was I even lost?

Time passed, and I was still sometimes in a void. At those times, I could not tell myself apart from the emptiness. I was in there so long that I embodied it. I was the void, and it was me, but then you came. A pinprick of darkness in my otherwise iridescent world. I would have believed you a dream concocted by my imagination if I knew what a dream was before you. 'A darkness,' I marvelled, you were there, I stared and you were gone. I sensed the consciousness in you the moment I saw you. You were like me, I could tell. You were gone as quickly as you came, and in your absence, I understood time. It ticked, counting the days. I waited, finally understanding what it was I was waiting for. It was you. 

You returned, again, more than a pinprick, a cloud, a dark cloud. I remember clouds because of you. And then one day, you opened your eyes and looked at me, you acknowledged my existence, and just like that, I had a form. I was a being with eyes, mine resemble yours. Fleetingly, I wondered if I copied your eyes, but what does it matter? I have eyes, and so do you. I had become a consciousness with eyes.  

On the day I saw your hands, did you reach out to me, or was it I who reached out? Never mind that, either. I saw the look of wonder in your eyes; you wondered about me. I was beside myself with glee. I had wondered about you. Looking at you now is like gazing at a reflection. I spent my time awaiting your visits, wondering about you. About us. Would we be friends? What is your life? I don’t ever wonder who you are, because to me, you are the darkness that makes the light bearable, and that is enough. The day the void whispered your name, Uloma, everything changed again. You were the darkness, and yet I felt the void was you, too. It was always you, so what am I? 

CHAPTER ONE.

Oge stood paralysed as her daughter’s wails drew the attention of the people around them. Someone nudged Oge out of the way in haste to get to Oge’s screaming daughter. There were more people now, and Oge had no idea where they were coming from. Her daughter cried helplessly, eyes shrouded with unshed tears and face heavy with shed ones. Her face was already red and blotchy, her fair skin a constant call for attention, it compelled her sympathisers more than another child would. Oge willed her legs to move, but her body felt stuck, paralysed; she was panicking, and her breathing felt ragged. 

“Where is her mother?” 

Someone was yelling, all eyes on her now. Oge felt herself wanting to shrink away, her head insisted that she go to her daughter, yet she felt the uncontrollable urge to run, run until she woke up. This could not be real, she berated her ringing head, but why then was this dread travelling through her spine? Oge shook her head from side to side in denial, her huge hair shaking as well. 

“Oge!” 

Someone yelled at her. Oge’s own tears were coming without shame now; it did not care that there were so many witnesses to see it. Her daughter looked up at her with pain and innocence, those eyes until today had belonged solely to her little girl, but now... Oge felt her knees buckle as she collapsed onto the ground. 

“You are overreacting, Oge, Oma will be fine, children make more fuss than they are hurt.” 

Someone was telling her, but Oge felt her breathing only coming through her mouth, her heart was beating rapidly in her chest, threatening to run out on her, and she felt nauseous. With her palm supporting her chest, she tried to pull herself off the ground and go to her daughter. People were whispering, their voices dripping with sympathy and a little amusement, new mothers, Oge could hear them thinking. Someone took Oge by the hand. 

“Mhm, you know she is popular, she wails, and the entire village runs towards her, of course, she is going to always wail. Our beautiful daughter.” 

A voice said. Oge saw the speaker run her hands through her daughter’s hair; she knew the voices, the faces as well, knew them to their kitchens, but at that moment, all Oge could feel was dread paralysing enough to keep her from coming to her daughter’s aid. She shut her eyes tight and opened them again. She could hear again, the voices were no longer muted mutterings, and the faces brought names as well. She attempted to smile through her tears, pulling herself together. She went to her daughter and took her in her arms, in an embrace tight enough to suffocate a newborn. Oma sniffled in her mother’s arms, her tears muffled, her tear-stained cheek felt cool where it rested against her mother’s chest. She heard a neighbour remind the crowd that losing a child always leaves one in mortal fear. The chorus of understanding that followed was like the sound of a breeze through grass; of course, love and fear would send a mother off the edge. 

“I am so sorry.” 

Oge muttered into her daughter’s unruly hair. Her hair, similar to her mother’s, was untameable, defying combs. Uchechi had hair like her father and grandmother, limp and easy to run your hands through, and Uche was never a child to want attention on herself, Oge breathed, but for a second there... She mused, she did not allow herself to finish that thought; it was fear, just fear. Oma is not her sister; this is not a sign. Her living daughter is not a child that returns; she was not going to lose her, no. Oge felt her heart racing again, but she quelled her fears and pulled her daughter to her feet. 

“Let me have a look.” 

She told her. The sympathisers were now dispersing, saying soothing, encouraging words to Oma, as they left, Oge knew another child would never have gotten away with all that fuss, but Omasirim had the heart of the village in the palm of her hands, with her long lashes, her full lips, and brown, tiny eyes. She got away with any and everything, even with her grandmother, which was saying a lot. The six-year-old sniffled again and presented her mother with her hand where an angry red line ran, ‘just like her sister’s’ Oge’s fears whispered, but Oge physically shook her head like she was shaking it off. No, not like Uche, Oma is not Uche, she repeated to herself for the millionth time, dreading bringing her daughter home. She already knew Obim and her mother-in-law would be seized with the same fear chasing its tail down her spine at the moment.