Hellow fellow steemians!!!!
It is wonderful day and I wish to continue my fictional series on temptation part2.
To follow up with the series you could visit my blog for the part one for better understanding. Happy reading.

TEMPTATION #2

#FICTION

“It’s me Chike, Mom!”

“Oh! My son is back.”

For some moment he heard only jangling of chains, and the clunking of metal keys before the creaking sound of the opening door as it opens to reveal an average woman, fair in complexion, whose hair was hidden under the scarf on her head, her waist down was covered with a wrapper and her blouse clung tightly to reveal how extent her bosom was lifted with the aid of a black bra.

She moved closer, her face still shimmering with a smile and hugged him tightly. He forced himself to be happy. He forced the smiles, the kisses, and the plays. Fits of smile flickered through his face every now and then each time his mother throws a cold gaze at his face. He walked in while her mother made sure she put back her security. Nothing has changed much by his observations, except the new plasma TV planted on the wall. He would have thought that the room suddenly grew wider if he had not noticed that the monstrous room divider had been removed.

The aroma from the soup his mother was making wafted across the whole sitting room, he could tell that it was egwusi soup because that was his favorite. Every other thing in the house wore their old looks, but was neatly and well arranged. The room was stuffy, the blowing ceiling fan only danced around without any soothing effect, probably because the heat from the kitchen has saturated the whole room or because the air were trapped as there weren’t enough ventilation.

His mother had wanted to seat down beside her son, but remembered that she has to go back and finish up her work in the kitchen.
“Oh! She exclaimed.” “I nearly forgot my pot of soup which was on the fire before you arrived. I shall be joining you presently. The water in the fridge isn’t cold; we have had no light for days now. You may want to take it like that anyway,” she added and left.

He watched as his poor mother whose fate is about to reek of danger, hopped back to the kitchen. He immediately leapt to his feet, sauntered up and down the room, cuddling, flinging and flailing himself in a fit of hysteria. His heartbeat throbbing faster than normal, his perspiration spiked, and his muscles seemed twitching him to Parkinsonian syndrome. Finally, the heat of the meeting had begun to descend on him as he was freaking out. He now realized how crazy it will be if he agrees to sacrifice his mother for money rituals as he had been commanded.

“No! This is insane. What have I gotten myself into? I never thought the price to pay was to sacrifice my sweet mother. Oh! God please, help me. I’m confused,” he thought out loud still pacing around the whole room.

Dinner was ready and served. His mother sat beside him on the long sofa getting ready for the dinner. She served him a bowl of water into which he had his hands washed. When his hand had gone half way into the dish, he suddenly jerked away his hand from his mother’s hit.

“Have you forgotten to thank the Lord?” she asked with a grinning face. “In the name of the father and of the son and of the holy spirit,” she said crisply, while meaningfully enunciating every word of the prayer as she made the sign of the cross, her right hand running from the center of her forehead, to her chest, her left shoulder and then to her right shoulder before clasping both of them to her chest with an “Amen.”

“Amen!” He also responded but rather in a hush tone.

---

He woke up to the tiny voice that whispered into his being, “Chike! You have just a days to bring your mother for the sacrifice. Failure to do so, your life shall be laid down instead.”

He clambered down from the bed and stared into the bed, his mother wasn’t there. He doddered into the sitting room after he had checked the toilet and the bathroom with no sign of his mother. When he could not found her chaplet and bible, he knew that she must have gone for morning mass. For some minutes he had collapsed into the sofa, he drifted into sleep again.

His mother ambled in, looked over were he laid and without a word she trudged into the room. She picked the blankets and the cloths on the bed, folded them neatly and put them in a bag as she began tidying the room. She paced into the kitchen; peeled the biggest yam in the kitchen and made porridge.
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Chike jolted from his slumber, shut a gaze at the clock hung on the wall, an expression of fear flickered across his face. He heard the splashes of water in the bathroom. He sat up, bent down his head while biting his index finger. He shook his head in desperation, sadness crept into him. He had just come up with a plan. He jumped up to his feet, tottered into the room. He found his mother already dressed up.

“Oh! You have dressed already mother?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to disturb your make up sleep. When you are ready, you go to the kitchen and serve yourself. I made a porridge yam the way you always like it; peppery, oily and hot.”

Chike, still drawn in his confusion, sat on the bed, gaped at his mother as though he was sorting his words.

...To be continued...
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