Short Story Series: I Don't Want To Kill A Nine-Year-Old!

          I didn't kill my parents. So, it's going to be awfully hard for my child to commit patricide. Ha! I never knew that deciding to have kids was a life sentence to live every other day screaming, almost literally going crazy, getting mad at something or nothing. Even deciding to get married was like a sentence to life bondage with hard labour.

          See that one o. Bolu, my nine-year-old tomboy princess was asking me why I don't wear anything but boxer shots in the house, or did I forget that she is a lady, too? Did I, Akintunde, her father forget that she is only a young girl, unmarried and not ready? What nonsense! Pure rubbish talk.
          Bolu drives me nut with her silly and infuriating questions. Okay. Around 12 pm today, everyone was home, enjoying the weekend. The tiny little creature walked up to me with all the confidence in the whole world to ask me another ridiculous question.
          "Daddy, why do you wake up late and start asking for food? Every Saturday you don't even take a shower or brush, you just wake up late and start asking for food! 'Oya, bring my food,' that's it."
          I looked up to the ceiling as if to check the sky for God's face and solemnly ask for patience to live another second without killing somebody. Hahan! Nonsense. I looked at her like I saw a mosquito I wanted to slap the life out of. See this one o! In my mind, I didn't want to acknowledge her, but I did. The question was biting me like a lunatic dog. Did they assign her to torment me?
          Let me do a proper introduction to my job life. I work 10 hours, five days a week as a delivery truck driver, distributing goods for Mascot Factory to every of our warehouse in the west. I don't return home until Friday night, and this one is talking rubbish. After, they will say she's just a kid. I don't want to kill a nine-year-old girl o.
          "Common, will you get out of my sight?"
She burst into tears and threw herself on the floor in an episode of irritating tantrums. I got so vexed. Mtchew. "She's 'just' a kid," nonsense.
          "Akin, but she's just a child..." She was just coming with my food, walking out of the kitchen with so much patience as if my hunger wasn't an emergency. What was she wearing, too? A short and sleeveless cloth. It was something like a beautifully patterned flowery nylon -black and white with colours.
          I resisted all temptation to react or speak. Sha give me my food jejely and get the heavens out of my sight. I couldn't even look at her chubby face; of course, I know she's pretty, but that's not the point.
          "Tunde talk now. Why are you looking at me like that?" she said, sitting opposite me in the sitting room, on my own chair o.
          Why wouldn't I look at her like that? No, answer, ehn? Wonders shall never end. What was I supposed to say? Could she just keep quiet and save her spirit and soul?
          "You just like to transfer unnecessary aggression on us at home. Whoever offended you, leave it in your truck before coming home, abi."
          I thought that was the height. What is this one saying again. Mtchew. I just dropped the spoon on the ugly rice and beans and lifeless piece of turkey in the plate. I walked inside speaking in tongues. I did not want to kill a nine-year-old AND HER MOTHER.
          "Dear Lord, if you will deliver me from this temptation, I will serve you forever." I kept praying that no one would call my name. Oh, help me, God. Let the sleeping dog lie. Let the angry hungry man leave! Please... In my head, I imagined the worst thing ever, ever!
"...But Akintunde..."