Abelnko Chronicles 🔥

  The day they took me away, I kept saying one thing over and over again, but nobody listened. Not the police. Not the people watching. Not even the ones who knew me. I kept saying it wasn’t my fault. I kept saying I didn’t know. But the more I spoke, the more it felt like my words didn’t matter anymore. It was as if my guilt had already been decided before I even opened my mouth to explain myself. It all started with a simple act of kindness. Nothing more. A friend I had known for years called me one evening. We grew up in the same area, shared food together, laughed together, and helped each other when things were hard. So when he called me that day, sounding desperate and stranded, I didn’t think twice. He said he needed help moving something urgently and had no one else to call. I didn’t ask too many questions. I didn’t suspect anything. I just agreed to help him, the same way I believed he would have helped me. When I got there, he was already waiting. There was a bag. He t...

That day started like every other farm day, and that was what made it more frightening when everything changed. My father had taken me with him to the farm to harvest yam, and the sun that afternoon was merciless. We had worked for hours, moving from one spot to another, and by the time we paused to rest, my whole body felt heavy with exhaustion. I remember lying down for what I thought would be a short rest, expecting nothing more than sleep. But what came over me was not ordinary sleep. It felt deeper than that, like I had slipped out of the world I knew into another one entirely. In that strange state, I found myself lying close to a road. It was market day, and I could hear many people passing by on their way to the market. Their voices were clear, so clear that I could hear their conversations as though I was fully awake. Some were talking about what they would buy and sell, some were hurrying, and some were simply gossiping. But what disturbed me most was that many of them were m...

The day we buried my sister, it didn’t feel like we were saying goodbye. It felt like something in me was being buried with her. She wasn’t just my sister; she was the only person who understood me without explanations. That night, after everyone had gone to sleep, the house became painfully quiet. I lay on my bed staring into the darkness, replaying memories I couldn’t escape—her voice calling my name, the way she laughed at small things, the little moments I never thought would matter this much. I missed her so deeply that it didn’t feel like ordinary pain; it felt like something inside me had been forcefully removed. Sometime in the middle of the night, I heard my name. It was soft, almost like a whisper, but it was clear enough to pull me out of my thoughts immediately. I sat up, my heart unsettled, trying to convince myself it was nothing, but then I heard it again, exactly the way she used to call me. That was when fear slowly replaced confusion. I stepped out of my room, followi...

   I didn’t know my life was a lie until the day someone said it in anger. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t a calm conversation. It came out like a weapon, sharp and careless, the kind of truth that doesn’t warn you before it destroys you. That afternoon, I was just sitting quietly in the house when my stepmother’s voice rose from the other room. She was arguing with my father—the man I had always called my father. “Stop wasting your money on her! She’s not even your child!” At first, I didn’t understand what she meant. I thought I heard it wrong. But silence followed, and in that silence, something inside me broke before I even knew what was happening. That was the first day I realized… something about my life was not right. I ran to my mother that evening, my heart heavy, my voice shaking. I asked her directly, hoping she would laugh it off and tell me it was all a misunderstanding. But she didn’t. She avoided my eyes. She told me not to listen to people. She brushed it off like...

If you are alone right now, you might want to stop reading. I’m not saying that to sound dramatic. I’m saying it because that night started exactly like this—quiet, normal, and harmless. There was nothing special about it. No warning. No strange feeling. Just silence. The kind of silence that sits in a room and makes you feel like time has paused. I was lying on my bed, scrolling through my phone, trying to fall asleep, completely unaware that something was about to change. Then I heard my name. Not from outside. Not from far away. From inside the room. It was soft, almost like a whisper, but clear enough to make me sit up immediately. My heart didn’t race at first. It just paused, like my body needed a second to understand what it had just heard. I stayed still, listening carefully, hoping it was nothing. The room was quiet again. No movement. No footsteps. Nothing at all. I even checked my phone, thinking maybe a video was playing, but everything was silent. Then it came again. ...

    There is a kind of pain that does not make noise. It does not shout, it does not break things, and it does not announce itself to the world. It simply sits quietly inside your chest and settles there like it has found a permanent home. That is the kind of pain she left me with. The kind that follows you into your silence, the kind that shows up when you are alone, the kind that makes you wish you could go back to a moment you did not even recognize as important. That evening felt ordinary. Painfully ordinary. There was nothing about it that warned me my life was about to split into a “before” and an “after.” She had been sick, yes, but not in a way that prepared my heart for what was coming. People fall sick and recover every day. That was what I told myself. That was the comfort I held onto because the truth was too heavy to carry. So when she asked me to take her outside for a walk, I didn’t see it as anything more than a simple request. She stood there looking smalle...