We haven’t seen Nana; not since the fire. I told friends at school it was a blaze, but I lied, like always. It was just a fire, spreading quickly and evenly throughout our kitchen. We inhaled smoke and the next day we weren’t allowed to eat breakfast. No more cornflakes or rice krispies or even the weetabix that I hated. Everything was just black shapes on a black table with black floors and black ceilings.
Black is beautiful. Never forget this.
Nana said this to me once, when she caught me scrubbing my skin raw in the bath in the middle of the night. Only she and I awake as she wrenched the ghana sponge from my hand.
Why would you do this?
Her eyes always asked questions when her mouth was silent. I told her about the girls at school, the way the boys were, the word dirty
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