I stared at the piece of cloth
Then at his lifeless eyes
Thank goodness he finally stopped struggling.
I was 4 when it happened for the first time.
Orphaned, with absolutely no where to feed from, my first proper meal since the death of my parents was at Mama Bisi's burial
I had heard she was a bubbly woman or whatever
I could only care that I finally had a good meal, so much that I found myself looking forward to the next one.
You know, it was never the same with other ceremonies in the area
You had to have an invite, or know someone to be fed.
But food at a burial ceremony was open to all.
It seemed for a while that death had looked upon me with pity, because the ceremonies kept happening, and I kept eating to my fill.
Then after almost 5 months begging for and stealing scraps because no one wanted to die, I thought to take things into my own hands.
I killed a week old puppy, but I soon realized that it wasn't the same with pets.
So I severed the owner's thread of life.
I realized that I didn't have to wait till death dragged its cold feet to the area before I could eat, I could summon it myself.
And so for 11 years, I've been doing so.
I still can't seem to understand the crying that happens at a burial ceremony.
Maybe I'm not meant to.
Burials are a happy occasion for me.
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