Dreams And Birthdays (Short Fiction)

The music played softly. I didn't exactly like Rihanna's Diamonds topping the list on a special day like this, but I had to make my guests happy. The room was packed. I looked around, the beautiful decorations brought a satisfied smile to my lips.

"Here you go," Ugochukwu said as he handed me a glass of hot chocolate.

"Drink up, we don't have enough glasses to go round."

I nodded and sipped.

"It's too hot," I said, wincing,

He shrugged and hands in pockets, walked to the east side of the room. I looked around. There were about fifteen people inside the church. I frowned. I had invited twenty-five people for my birthday party. Everyone was there when the party started a while ago, inside the tiny sitting room of my equally tiny apartment.

How did I get here?

Alarmed, I scanned the room. Ugochukwu was nowhere to be found. The music had stopped. Strange faces stared at me. Sweat broke out on my forehead. The glass slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor. The chocolate turned sour in my mouth. I rushed to the door and grabbed the knob, it refused to turn. I could hear a pounding sound, somewhere very far away. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The pounding continued, closer this time. I tried to turn the knob again. Someone grabbed my shoulders. I screamed.

Source - Pixabay

---

"Sis, wake up. Someone is at the door."

I blinked. My fogged vision focused on a pair of wide eyes. Ugochukwu was peering down at me with a frown, his hands on my shoulders. I bolted.

"Are you okay? You dozed off on the couch."

"I did? Was that a dream?"

"Someone is at the door," he repeated, giving me a weird look.

I shot a finger at him and staggered to the door. What I saw brought a warm smile to my cheeks. The dream was forgotten. I went in for a tight hug.

"Come on in."

"Happy birthday," he said and shoved a big package into my hands.

"What's this?"

"Why don't you open it."

I attacked the wrappings like a delighted school girl. My eyes were filled by the time I finished.

"You got it for me," I wiped the tears impatiently.

"I remembered," he said quietly.

I stared at the painting. I had first seen it the day we visited the art gallery after the exhibition. I couldn't stop staring at it that day. The way the mother held her child had moved something in me. Looking at it now, it brought more tears to my eyes.

"Where do you want to hang it?"

"I'll think about that later. In the mean time..."

"Sis, come and see the news," Ugochukwu's voice interrupted.

Hand in hand, we marched into the sitting room.

"...armed robbery incident at the art gallery last night," the reporter's voice filled the room. "One of the missing paintings is that of a mother and child..."

I turned and stared at him, mouth agape. He looked shocked, like someone who had just seen a ghost.

"James?"

"I have to go."

He grabbed the painting and headed for the door. The door bell rang just then.

We froze.

"Police! Open up!"

I died a slow death.