It's not the first time.

It's not the first time. It's not the second. And everytime she would cry till her eyes lack moisture. Drowning in her tears and getting lost in her deafening yawls. Just now, he, the man who is supposed to be a husband and a lover, hammered her again. The man whose mother is so peaceful and has no anger in her. Whose father built a gallery of love for his mother in his heart and called her Wine. He has no excuse to turn out a cockatrice that kills at a glance, yet. He doesn't grasp how much damage anger does than the things that cause it. When he loses his temper he never remembers the words of his father; "There's nothing manly about rage. It is kindness and courtesy, provided they are sincere, that defines a human being" Now, she's going away, pandering to woeful grief. Striving to carry her bags, weeping; for she is exerting much energy in tearing that her strength fails her. "Hewuu! Chineke'm oh! Nne'm bilie n'onwu bia na...