My Beloved Grandma My grandmother was as strong as a category five hurricane in her old age. Although she was ninety years old, she was very delocalized, and she was able to do everything on her own without anyone’s assistance. At one point I was wondering if physical strength was increasing with age. My mother instructed me to stay with her for some time. Whenever she instructed me to do so, the words would be like my favorite music being played because if grandma could even breath for me, she would; she didn’t allow me to do anything. The only thing I did was watch television, eat, and sleep. My mother gave her a phone to keep contact with her but she did not understand it. She didn’t do anything with it. She just kept it in her bedroom. My mother could not reach her so she would usually call me and ask how she was doing. Sometimes she asked me to hand her the phone. Sometimes I would hear her from outside in a strong tone of voice “mi alright mi dear!” One Saturday morning, I woke up about seven o’ clock. By this time, the heaven scent smell of breakfast would pull me like steel to magnet out of bed. She would usually be singing some old gospel songs while fixing breakfast, but that morning I neither smelt anything nor heard her. This was very weird. I was pretty slothful so I laid in bed for an additional two hours. By that time, hunger was weighing me down like ten times the force of gravity. It was so unbearable that I flew out of bed like a jet inside the kitchen. I was hungry to the extent that I didn’t remember how ignorant I was when it came on to cooking. I just wanted to eat! I opened the cupboard and saw various food kinds. The bread and egg that were there captivated my attention because they were the simplest to prepare. I did not have a second thought on what to prepare. I lit the stove and made myself two deliciously burnt scrambled eggs, some disfigured shape slices of bread, and some black coffee that could raise one’s blood pressure because of how concentrated the coffee was inside the mug. It was the complete opposite of being so good but I didn’t care. I rushed in the living room, switched the television on and scavenged through my first meal I prepared myself. I was becoming extremely worried about my grandma. I searched the entire house on top of my voice. “Grandma!” “grandma!” but I heard nor saw no one. What was really wrong with grandma?! Is she ruptured to heaven like what they usually talked about in church? I became tremendously troubled upon that thought. I WASN’T READY TO MEET THE LORD! I went back to the living room to try smother those thoughts with some cartoons. After an hour engrossed in those cartoons, the fresh air was transformed into a very unpleasant odor, refocusing my thoughts on what the pungent scent could’ve been. The scent was emerging from the kitchen so I went briskly to investigate. I was unwelcomed by busy, furious flames! It was so frightening that I could feel my heart drumming in my chest and I could feel the blood moving through my body as the speed of lightening! I thought this was it, doomed in hell! The end at last. In that feeling of undiluted doom, I remembered that I didn’t turn the stove off and that must’ve been accountable for the blaze, but that was more trouble on plenty trouble! I thought heavily on to call my mom, but I’d be surely dead. I also thought to call the fire brigade, but that would only create a scene then finally, I decided to counter the fire myself. I rushed into the bathroom with a bucket to catch some water, but the pipe was too slow.
By the bucket was full, the fire was in the my bedroom, and a section of the living room. I quickly poured the water on the fire, but that was like killing one man out of a army consisting of a million. The only thing I could do was to run for my life. I stood outside and watched the house hopelessly being consumed by the angry flames. I wanted to disappear like the Malaysian plane so I started to run as far as I could possibly go, but astonishingly, I saw grandma emerged from a corner opposite my direction in a pulchritudinous church suit. “wa yu a run suh fa?!” she asked curiously “grandma! Grandma! Di di ddi hoouu” I couldn’t spit it out. “Talk to mi straight nuh bwoy!” she said in an authoritative but at the same time a concerned tone of voice. “di house on fire!” I yelled. Grandma dropped her bag in the road and ran her heart out towards the house. She encountered what she thought was once unimaginable, her admirable house being consumed in flames. she called the fire brigade and they were there in a jiffy. They spent quality time on the blaze. By the time they were through, nothing was left. The scene even attracted various news teams. My grandmother being interviewed. “What happened here?” One of the journalists asked inquisitively. “mi jus leave to go church an lef zi twelve year old boy but zi rude likkle bwoy burn up my place!” she said furiously like the flames. “don’t be mad at him. He’s just a little boy who was left unattended. I’m sorry to say this maam but there are serious penalties you could face if the juvenile was hurt. The house is the least compared to him” the journalist said. My grandma never recovered fully from the loss. Everyday I wish I could turn the hands of time and shun the experience. My grandma was depressed and died as a result of high blood pressure. I never forgave myself.