Caribbean storytelling. It was rather interesting that I was the past Principal who was seldom remembered. The English Language was my best subject.

I remembered every detail, every action very well. One could say that I read with my dictionary by my side.

It was just a few months ago that I began reading various translations of the Bible. The comparisons were endless. I had the time to do this now, anyway.

I got up. It was too much. Memories hang upon the walls of my mind. They almost choked me to death. It was September again. Those winds provoked the galvanize roofing.

I was reminded that I should ask one of the boys from the village to attend to this section of the roofing. The last thing I wanted was to have not only winds, but the rains lashing at my frail frame.

Of course I have been retired for many years. Sometimes I think that I am losing my mind. I paced the room for many hours. The night was a long one. I sat again, right here staring into the dark night and then I flicked the switch.

Those sounds provoked me into action or should it be, those sounds provoked a reaction. I could not sleep anymore. I was thirsty and stretched my hands to grasp hold of a bottle sitting on the small wooden table beside my bed.

My grandson could not find this one. It looked like  a floral vase but it was what was buried inside. I reached down and pulled out of its belly. I clutched at my salvation from this night and many other nights. I took several small sips! The fiery liquid coursed down my esophagus, then downwards through my veins. I squeezed my eyes shut. Tighter and tighter. I felt the stings and the jabbing pains. I could not help it. I needed a drink ever so often. I questioned myself as to whether or not there was redemption for me. Do I need redemption, really? I looked longingly at this my portion.

Photo courtesy

Photo courtesy

I promised myself that one day I will stop this. I was alone but not lonely anyway.

The sheet had not been changed for a month. Who cares? My hand brushed against the photo that stood nearby. The face of this woman was laughing at me. She was my wife of thirty years. I peered into her face. Her eyes…those wretched eyes! I touched, well almost caressed her again. They almost blinked at me – I swear.

For one fleeting moment I thought I heard her voice. It was my grandson again. The villagers said that he was the splitting image of her. Who cares? He cared enough to come to me – Grandpa for a short holiday.

I loved the sound of that word. GrandPa. Shouldn’t it be Grand Pa Pa? I loved it when he called me most times. God might be playing his song. He was snoring again! His snore had a lively sort of rhythm to it now. I would leave him alone.

No, I was not lonely at all. Godwin was in the house. He and my father have the same name. What a co-incidence and a lovely one at that. My father was a blessed man, may his soul rest in peace.

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