The respirator seemed to be sucking the air out of his decayed lungs instead of assisting Bra Joe’s breathing. Self-pity accompanied the realisation that he was to die an indigent despite having squandered his youth in exile ‘fighting the good fight’. Memories of his sacrifices pervaded that hazy state of drowsiness.
“Tatomkhulu,” his mzukuwana Azania’s voice ushered him back to his hospital bed. “…brought you a book…Steve Biko…,” she seemed to trail off excitedly, leaving a smile on his face at the budding fruits of his labour.
Perhaps, there is still hope, he thought, expelling his last breath.
——-
Read – The Layman – A Flash Fiction by Manuar Ekow, Ghana
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