At 12, you fingered her and tried to deflower her. But her cry and the pain she was feeling got to you. You promised her ice cream and gave her some naira notes and warned her not to tell anybody.
At 16, you were already the landlord of her fertile land, farming and cultivating on her land.
At 18, she saw the world differently; realised you were practically using her precious goldmine without much pay. She left for better miners.
At 20, she was exposed and wild and free, and making it with her goldmine.
You're 75 now. Senile, and jittery; you're aging drastically and want to pacify your soul for what you did.
She's 30 now and her life is damaged. She has no womb. Multiple abortions. She turns back to the root of her misfortune.
She traces you back and ready to give you the peace you sought for.
"Papa," she says. "Thank you for ruining my life after mama's death." She brings out a pistol and fire to the direction of your heart. You get the peace you wanted, she gets her freedom when she pulls the trigger of the gun pointed to her temple.
Image credit: colourbox.com
