My uncle died last month, today is his burial and I'm not sure of how to feel. As a kid, I thought we shared a special bond, he actually told me we shared a special bond. We would go everywhere together, he would drive me to places my parents never took me to. During my school holidays, my uncle's house was my first choice, where I would always pick to spend the holidays. He bought me gifts, everytime. Now that he's dead, I'm not sure how to feel. When I grew up, I got bitter. I learnt my ignorance has been taken advantage of. I realised I was just being stupid for following him around, I puked at the thought of everything we shared. I thought I was having fun, I thought I was living the life. Now that he's dead, I'm not sure what to feel. I promised to tell my parents, my sisters, my lovers, my friends. Then, I heard and saw stories of those that have come before me, I realised I was too late. I was on the wrong side of the coin. If I chose this life, everyone would hate me for hating my uncle so much. Then, I hated myself more, for being too late, for having to bear this hurt all by myself. I'm here today, at his burial. I look at his cold hard face and I remembered how lively they used to be, that was a facade. This cold hard face was what should have been there, I'd have learnt. I am crying, I have broken into tears, I am screaming and everyone is consoling me. No, I'm not mourning the death of my uncle, I'm just here, standing here, staring at the person who sexually assaulted me from seven years of my life, watching him die a free man, and I don't know how to feel. FICTION. (An entire work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone, whether living or dead, is a coincidence) #story #lagoswriters #lagosstoryteller #nigerianwriters #writersofinstagram #fiction #everythingnaart #instaboosteracademy #flashfiction #shortstory (at Lagos, Nigeria) https://www.instagram.com/p/CA9qTnmhY2G/?igshid=b8putky05pzv