Before The Soil Dries

Oba looked through his window as the burial procession slowly moved on to the oro forest, he wandered a bit to the past when he and his late wife, the olori would laugh and talk till the dead of the night, he could remember her smiling face and her silky voice, her succulent laps which had provided comfort to him numerous times, her magical hands which always made his migraine disappear after a hectic meeting with the chiefs.

He sighed and shook his head as he remembered the satisfaction he looked forward to every night as he sought comfort in her soft body while whispering sweet nothings to her. He gripped hard his horse tail as he was tempted to run after the procession and the mourners and beg the gods of the land to bring back his dead wife. No one would understand how he felt, no one.

He faintly heard the greetings of the chiefs and could barely register what they were saying as his mind was fogged. He turned slowly to see them leaving one after the other, their backs hunched and their sighs audible. He slowly addressed their forgotten gift which now looked at him in awe.

“Who are you?”

She slowly walked to him, her hands trailing his bare chest and her perfume clouding his brain.

“That does not matter kabiyesi”

He tried to remember what his previous thoughts were about as his breathing becomes labored.

“W-wh-what do you want?”

She smiled in victory as her hands continued their wandering.

“To make you forget, your highness.”



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