Where is Osaro? my father asked suddenly turning towards me for an answer. Upstairs, I blinked and turned to face the television. It was that instant that it happened. Aunty Maria's cry rang out and reverberated around the building.
My father and mother rose at once and headed upstairs. I followed their trial trembling as my timid feet hit the stairs. Aunty Maria's hands were on her head and she was weeping like a baby.
What happened? My parents asked in unison. Gaping, I joined them. What happened, Maria? my mother echoed again. She pointed at the door and smacked her head.
Daddy was the first to go in. I was the next, my mother trailed behind us. My head seemed to stop beating as we stood in front of my younger brother's body sprawled on the floor. He foamed from the mouth. We watched in awe as he laid lifeless, breathless; dead as a log.
Osaro! my mother screamed and clamped her hands against her bosom. That was one of the most sad days of my life, my father made phone calls and soon our house became a Mecca of some sort.
Mourners began to come in in hundreds, Osaro's body was taken immediately to the motuary.