My Gift, My Curse

I just met this awesome writer, whose stories evokes those emotions.
Some parents aren’t parents. They are just life givers. Enjoy the story.

Bel's Thoughts

“No lick am!” my mother scolded again, this time adding a smack to my shoulder as she continued applying lipstick to my lips. Who could blame me? I was twelve, and it tasted fruity.
“Where we dey go?” I asked innocently, knowing that it had to be a very special occasion as my mother ordinarily would never let me put on make-up; and the few times she caught me fiddling around in her make-up bag, I got a good beating.
She did not answer my question immediately so I looked up into her eyes, and there was sadness in them; a sadness that her voice did not convey.
“Di uncle wey we see the other day dey come.” She said firmly, still fussing at my face.
I lit up almost immediately. “Uncle John? Di one wey give me biscuit?”
“Yes.” My mother responded with a firm nod of her head.

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