The glass he was holding dropped to the ground with a thud, shattering into bits. A smile lit my face as I saw the shock and fear in his eyes, just the reaction I had anticipated and it gladdened my heart. He had aged beyond his years but I cared less.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I scowled, if only his sorry could bring mother back from the dead, then maybe I’d reconsider. She had died of a broken heart. I moved towards him, he tried to escape, I followed, beating him to the chase. I had learnt a thing or two in prison, he stood no chance.
“There is no hiding place for you now, is there?” I asked him as I drove the dagger into his chest again and again, bitter tears running down my cheeks.
“You again?” the police asked me.
I smiled, my eyes dark and full of mischief. What did they expect? That I would repent and become a nun? Jokers! I had no conscience; I sold it to the devil the day I killed Tunde. The prison, it did me no good, but rather hardened my heart the more.
“My dear, do whatever makes you happy,” Mandi, my best friend in the prison, had told me the day I was released.
“I will,” I promised her.
I had barely done seven years when Barrister Pepple, a human rights activist, had heard my story and promised to get me pardon. She did and I was pronounced a free woman. A good woman she was, but her effort was a waste. I was a lost cause.
I did keep my promise to Mandi though. Killing my dad was the greatest pleasure I had indulged in in a very long time. As the police handcuffed me, I took a last glance at the carcass and I smiled, I felt fulfilled.
“Welcome back,” Mandi greeted me with a hug as I stepped into the cell. As the other inmates stood to welcome me one after the other, my eyes began to tear up. Their love for me was obviously genuine and I felt overwhelmed. People call it prison, I call it home.
Here, in this cage, I found love.