Till Next Time.

My sweaty palm held the stock of the sawn off gun tightly while the other wrapped around the barrel. Shadows of the marauders were visible from under the door.

‘You fuckers ain’t getting away this time’, I mouthed.

I had woken up to the fuzzy sight of my wife’s breast amidst her agitated taps. She had been breastfeeding Oreoluwa.

‘Wọn tun tide!’, she whispered.

In a frenzy, I reached for the gun wrapped in an old newspaper under the bed. I told the shaken woman to lock the door as I tiptoed to the foyer.

Facing the entrance door, I squeezed the trigger. Then two more times. No sound rang out.

Fuck! I didn’t collect the shells from Audu before he traveled.

The banging on the door persisted. I dashed to the kitchen exit and tucked the firearm under a pile of dry twigs.

I thereafter returned to let the marauding guests in.