The Prophesy (Fiction)

“A prophesy is not destined to occur,” Nané says. She stares out of one good eye at Mother and I.

“It is only one of the possibilities the spirit man sees.”

Mother is silent. She bends over and jabs a piece of wood into the fire underneath the pot bubbling with ewedu. I busy myself sieving the yam flour, shooing my baby sister from the powder every other minute.

Nané gestures with her cup of palm wine,”It is the choices we make that help those visions along. Even the spirit man knows this.”…