Flash Fiction by Tiencepay: L Shaped Scars and Bullet Holes

Bro Cos, is the name everyone called the house fellowship pastor. Bro was shortened from brother, a title ascribed to fellow males that shared the faith, but we really did not know where the Cos came from. Many times, we peeped into the attendance list to see his full name but it seemed he had forgotten his name too because each time he wrote his name, he wrote Bro Cos.

Bro Cos would always come late to fellowship, about 15 minutes to the close of fellowship and just in time for when the offering bag went round. Offering time was blessing time and it was the only blessing time… or so I think. Bro Cos would come on a motor cycle that made so much noise and he would come in and ask for 50 naira which would be taken out of the offering bag to pay the motor cyclist. His voice was usually the loudest, and the song

“Giiiive, it shall be given unto you, good measures shaking together….”

Bro Cos was not married and he was a regular escort for Sister Ngozi at the end of every house fellowship, until sister Ngozi announced her marriage plans. Only then did he stop escorting her home. They offering bag was passed to Bro Cos and he paused the benediction to count the money. He separated the mint notes from the dirty ones and announced that we desist from bring dirty money into the house of God.

On a Sunday evening, Bro Cos was late as usual for house fellowship and asides being late, he was absent. House fellowship took place in my house because our parlour had so much space and my mum would usually bake cupcakes and there were always chilled bottles of Crush and AfriCola for those who did not like orange drinks, and it was the best dinner for some members and they could only have it on Sundays. Fellowship that day was a love feast and we usually have love feasts once every two months. Bro Cos liked love feasts, he would wear the blue shirt and suspenders and that was the only time he wore those shoes except to church on Sundays.

It was love feast day and Bro Cos did not show up at the usual time. For every sound of a motor bike we heard, we adjusted in our seats to ensure an extra seat for him, but then, many motor bikes passed yet none of them brought Bro Cos.

Later at night, while my siblings and I were fighting for the red pillow, something we usually did after dinner, where we jumped on the couch and hoped the throw pillows we caught was that particular pillow with a red line on it. I did not get the pillow that night and it was my 4th night in a row of not catching the red pillow. We heard a cry from the stair case and mummy told my siblings and I to go into our room. The cry was so loud and I heard Bro Cos’ voice somewhere in between the tears.

After he left my house that night, mum was soaking a face towel in hot water and antiseptic and there were drops of blood on the couch. I took a towel to clean and mum said I shouldn’t touch the blood.

The next day, mum and dad were talking and I did not know when the conversation started, but I heard blood and I heard night and I heard armed robbers, bullet holes and someone jumping a fence.

I tried to do the stitches and somehow I came up with a story and I put Bro Cos in the story I made up with hints of blood and jumping fences.

Some days later, I saw Bro Cos singing into a microphone from the windows of the school bus; he had just finished his morning cry on the street beside my school. He had a scar on his forehead and I remembered the blood night.

Many days later, I realised the story I made up was not far from the truth. Bro Cos, claimed that night he had blood all over his face, that he visited a woman that wanted a praying partner to stand in agreement with her concerning the fruit of the womb and just as they were praying, they heard gunshots and one shot hit his head as he jumped the fence.

That morning from the school bus, I saw the L shaped scar on his forehead and I kept wondering how I ever missed in history classes guns that had letter shaped bullet holes.

...Being Tiencepay