Chapter Two – THE GIRL WHO COMMANDS DEATH
Tutuwaa Osaa stood quietly at the bus stop observing the darkened weather. Her big brown pretty eyes stared at the dark clouds. She reached the age of ten today, so it was her date of birth. However the expression on her face showed how unhappy and bored she was, she lost her parents the past month, and was now living with her Grandmother and Grandpa in a middle class estate area.
She wished her parents were around to just give her a kiss on her forehead or kiss her goodnight, that was all, but it seemed death had layed it’s cold hands on them. Well it was 7:30 in the morning and Tutuwaa stood waiting for a mini bus(Trotro) to pick up to school, she sat there with some other people, who seemed to be workers, some of their outfits showed some where also market women.
However all those waiting at the bus stop, were waiting for a ‘trotro’ to Awoshie, the Awoshie bus was very rare to get at the bus stop to the extent that if one Awoshie car passed by, the next car would arrive in usually an hour or two later.
The clouds were darkening and the rumble of thunder could be heard from within the clouds. Showing a sign that the rain was approaching badly.
All those waiting at the bus stop began to complain, praying for a bus to arrive so they could leave for work.
Then from afar a minibus heading to Awoshie was spotted. Immediately all those waiting at the bus stop began to prepare to get on board, for the rain was ever approaching and if work was skipped some could be fired.
The Bus finally parked, but something strange happened which shoked all, and caused an uproar of insults and curses. The mate, who had picked the passengers alighted again few meters away from the bus stop and suddenly asked everyone to alight down from the car as well as returning their Money back to them.
“Why would he do that, doesn’t he have eyes upon the clouds, that the rain is approaching??” Tutuwaa asked herself as she also walked out of the mini bus.
The reason was soon discovered when, a fat short man with an enormous belly, clothed in jewelry with twelve young children of his following him with annoying noises.
Money had dressed this man, he was smelling with money. It seemed his one sleek Sprinter bus he had for taking his children to school had broken down on the road.
Immediately he was spotted afar by the minibus driver and his mate, they began to hail praises to him. For they knew that if such act was done, they would be given money to spend and squander.
He walked into the car together with his many children, threw some 50 Ghana cedis notes on the passengers and ordered the driver to leave.
All the passengers were left under the rain, to be soaked and beaten. However, they never mind, since they were rushing to pick the money the rich man, threw in the air.
To Tutuwaa, she saw it to be a despicable sight and act of selfishness, she had to trail to another bus stop under the rain.
“There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man, all humans are inherently equal, neither a child nor a grown up is different, neither the poor or rich are different, for at the end of the day, death calls both the rich and the poor. Oh how I wished death only hunted the rich and arrogant.” Tutuwaa said in thought.
Tutuwaa sat in the class bored, and not paying attention to what the teacher taught, for she claimed that all that the teacher taught was childish. Her mind was wandering about something else.
“Mmm, class is sure boring. I wish it would be closing already, to find a way and enter Grandma’s secret room, where she herself had vowed not to enter. I wonder why she says so, I have heard rumors about Grandma’s Forbidden room. And I wish I could go there and see it for myself.
Perhaps even if I am caught, I would merely give an excuse and say, I am new in the house, and however since everyone knows kids like me are curious I can take that to my advantage. But I wonder, what is Grandma hiding??” Tutuwaa said in thought. She was insanely intelligent and mostly joined her seniors in the Form Threes in Quiz competitions.
“Heyyy Tutuwaa come play with us!” Some of the students called as school had closed. “Am sorry I can’t make it I would be busy.” She said and walked home, “The entire world we were brought in is ruled only by one class, The Rich and the Powerful, the Rich and the Powerful are praised as gods as the poor ones are belittled like coackroaches to a birds.
This world is full of corrupt men and women who sit on money and yet their greedy bellies and craving hands keep asking for more. How long will the poor beg and how long would the Rich squander??” All these words ran through her little intelligent mind due to her great observance of the world she lived in.
Nobody was home, the house was silent, As Tutuwaa walked with her Grandma’s key which was carved with Diamonds.
” Hmm, how mysterious this is, for a key to be carved of pure Diamonds, Grandmother is surely a woman of the rich class, but her attitude is different. Thank God I found it where she hid it last night. She hides the key every single day.” Tutuwaa said as she approached the door made of fine wood with incredible artistic carvings on it .
“According to the story Grandpa told me, he said this house of theirs is an extremely old home of the Osaa Family, a home in which The Generation of the Osaa family have lived in.
It is said that our great, great, great, great grandfather had a certain strange friend that only him could see. He met this friend of his through a portal.
This door in which Grandmother, has never opened before, is believed to be a portal that leads to another realm, and the Diamond key opens it. My forefather was believed to have encountered this spiritual entity. “hmm, but all that is basically a lie, a myth to be precise.hmm I hope I find some amount of gold in here.” Tutuwaa said as she inserted the key and unlocked the door.
The engravings on the door began to glow before it opened. She was scared at the moment but still went in anyway. She was marveled at what she saw, a large all white room, with a strange black smoke like figure bowing in the middle of the room, her heart began to throbb.
“Hello!” She called out with a shivering voice.
“Ahhhhhh, An Osaa, never expected such a visit, I have been locked here for years, you are his great, great, great, great grand daughter are you not?” The strange black smoke like figure said still bowing.
“Yes I am.” “Hmm, since you wield the key child of the late Osaa, you now have power over me, we have a contract. I am death. I shall do your bidding young child, the only thing I can do is to kill. Since you possess the key of death, I am under you child. I see resentment in your heart, hatred for the Government, hatred for the Rich and Powerful, for they were the ones that killed your Parents. So child what is your resolve??? To sit and let this corrupt ones rule over you???” The strange entity spoke with a strange sly voice.
Tutuwaa stood open mouthed, remembering all what had happened to her, how her parents were murdered, and when she was able to decipher the ones responsible for her parents death, the higher authorities only ignored her and claimed she was a child and didn’t know what she was saying. It seems this was her time.
She watched as the extremely tall smokelike humanoid being stood to his feet awaiting her orders.
The atmosphere was a tensed one.
“What is your name strange one??”
” CALL ME MASSACRE.”
“All right Massacre, lets cleanse the world of the corrupt. But how do I do that??”
“In order for me to be able to kill your victims, you need to have their faces in your minds, every single one of them, ”
“All right then, Kill all members present in the Parliament house!!.” Tutuwaa ordered as the strange being vanished immediately in a burst of black smoke.
WRITTEN BY DARIUS KWABENA PARTEY.
Copyright © 2018 by Darius Kwabena Partey
All rights reserved. No Copy and Paste. Unlawful copy of this piece is prohibited. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
facebook: StraightOutta Madina / [fan page]