DEFEATED NOT. (Final Episode)

[4min Read]

{We are finally on the final episode of Defeated Not. Yaaaaay. Thank you for sticking with Fona to the end of her journey. We really will like to know what you think. 
Alright, let's get right into it.}

‘You see, about 18 months ago, Segun fell really ill and we took him to the hospital. Our doctor, I’m sure you know him he has been here few times, diagnosed him with leukemia.’

‘What is leukemia?’
‘It is the cancer of the blood.’

‘Oh.'
‘And, we have been looking for a way to save Segun, to save my poor son’s life.' She sobbed out.

That was where I came in. I, apparently, was Segun's saviour. So, I was probed, injected, tested and all sorts of so many other things I cannot begin to write or even remember were done to me. And no one cared if I died. Well, except mother, she needed me alive, because she was not sure Segun was completely okay. I was constantly made to remember that I was lucky to be a member of their family and so I really could not complain. 

Who would I complain to anyways. Miss Bola never came visitin, not her fault though. I heard she died in a car crash 2 months before. How cruel the world was!

I indeed was going to weather the storm myself.

I felt a part of myself go everytime I was wheeled into the white room. It was not very bad at first. I have an amazing way of rationalizing things, hence, I made myself feel better. I had good food to eat. A very nice place to sleep. A wonderful roof over my head and though I was stopped from eating junks, it was however better than the house. I was in the beginning told that I was doing good, giving what God had blessed me with to the needy. God might as well taken away His gift, because it caused me so much pain. 

The world became a strange place. I felt strange and avoided looking in the mirror. I locked up all feelings, but let one thrive.

It was hatred. 

Hatred for the family, hatred for the orphanage. Hatred for Miss Bola. Hatred for myself. Hatred for the world. Hatred for a god. Don't ask me how, but it made me strong. Strong and determined. Determined not just to live but to survive. I did not let them win. They could take all they wanted from my physical body. But they were never going to break me. They were never going to subdue my mind. I will come out of this stronger. Hehe. 
I had something, and it was hope. Hope that; that wasn’t going to be the end of me, that was not all that there was to it, that the dreams I had as a little girl back in the house were going to be fulfilled. And though it was not easy, hope and hatred kept me going.

Month after month after month, I either went for a test to see if I’m still medically fit or for something related. No one cared about my mental state anymore. They never really cared, I was just a means to an end. A tool.

I felt numb, scarred, used, dead and I sought for familiarity, just for anything that would remind me of what I once was, a little girl desperately in need of a home. The emotional chair did not work for me anymore, and in my moment of despair, I remembered my bag. So, I looked around for it and there I found it beneath all the clothes I'd acquired over the period I'd stayed here. It was funny, because I remembered everything I kept in there on the day my life changed. So,  as I swept my hand inside the bag, looking for what I did not understand, I felt a book. 

That was strange, I had no books then and I can't remember putting any book in the bag. It was at that moment I remembered Miss Bola kept a gift in my bag. I brought it out and tore the wrapper, and boldly written on it was 'THE HOLY BIBLE.' Underneath it was the message version. 

I smirked and thought of pushing it back to the bag. 'What good has God ever done me?' But then, why not? It is a gift from the only person who ever genuinely loved me.

And so, I opened to read.

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