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Omoye


Colourful silhouette of African woman

The shrill screams pierced through the silence of the night like a hot knife through butter, but there was no one to hear. 

 The pain increased in pangs with each passing minute, Omoye had all but given up hope. 

 She was drenched to the marrow in a mixture of sweat and tears, she didn’t think anyone was capable of enduring so much pain. 

 Her breathing was heavy and fluttered, her eyes dimmed and muscles tensed, she wondered if these agonising moments would be her last. 

 Alas, in the midst of all the chaos, an awkward cry arose, high pitched and thin. Silence, and then more screeching.

 Almost breathless, she looked down, it was a boy, her son was crying for her. 
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