Author: Basit Jamiu

You knew it, even before you stepped inside, even before you entered the half closed door – that something was amiss. But you didn’t expect Poja to be moaning on top of your mother, swinging his waist, while his left hand cupped her mouth. It was a horrible image of incest. You didn’t realize there was something more horrible until you saw your father lying close to them with stains of blood spray-painted on his thick white collar. Poja used to be your brother until that heavy afternoon when the message of your grandmother reached your father. Your father had asked you…