3

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height


Tricia Muiru caught a glimpse of herself in the misted bathroom mirror and felt a lump form in her throat. She had just taken a bath, and her face was still wet. The sound of the overhead fan and the water running in the drainpipe sounded distinct and frenzied. She imagined it reflected her racing heartbeat. Holding her breath for a moment longer, she trailed her gaze down her face to her chest, then back up to her large brown eyes. Years ago, when she was young and playing in the dirt at her parents' farmhouse in Muranga, Kahuro Division, her brother Erin Weru would remark on the spark in her eyes, how tiny specks of brown would swim tirelessly in her eyes like the tadpoles he had discovered in some puddle.

Now, Tricia was in her forties, but looking at the mirror, she couldn't help but feel a little older and unattractive. Her eyes, in particular, appeared lifeless, with dark, languid circles underneath that had wrinkled deep into her skin. Her cheekbones jutted out, falling limply to her narrow chin like a distraught soldier.

Sandy was right. Tricia was no different. Her appearance was worse. Sandy had meant it to hurt, and it did. Like a punch to the gut.

Ever since the death of her husband, Edward Muiri, Tricia rarely talked about him. It was her way of dealing with the loss. Bottles of cognac soothed her better. It was a lot easier when Sandy was back on campus, but now that she was around the house, it meant acting strong and probably reducing the bottle intake.

Tricia wondered how long she could keep up the pretense.

Drying her face with a towel, she grabbed it from the hanger at the edge of the cabinet and started to dab her face softly. The scent of lavender was quick on her nostrils.

It was midnight when Tricia decided to go to bed. Her head was heavy, and the aftertaste of rum and coffee wasn't doing much to soothe her nerves. As she turned off the night lamp by the bedside table, she thought she heard something. The clink of metal downstairs. It was loud. She could tell the front door had jammed shut. Alarmed, she searched for her sandals. Was it Sandy? No, Sandy was sleeping in her room.

She silently opened her bedroom door and walked slowly towards the hallway, then turned towards the wood-paneled staircase, her heart pounding. When she heard another sound, she stopped and stood still for a moment. "Sandy, is that you?" she called out, her voice heavy with dread. "Sandy?"

When no response came, she willed herself to continue down the stairs, feeling her way along the cold wall of the dining room for the light switch. Just as she thought she had found it, something rushed past her, knocking her down.


You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net