CURSES ARE LIKE CHICKEN

The afternoon heat had grown unbearable when the first distant rumble broke the silence. Within minutes of three o'clock, the sky darkened and rain descended in heavy sheets upon the parched ground, transforming the landscape in an instant. Cythera worked with purpose, pounding yam for the evening meal as her fifteen-year-old daughter Cynthia labored beside her. She envisioned serving her husband Azar a rich vegetable soup, enhanced with the pumpkin and venison he'd brought home days before—a dish meant to capture his affection. A knowing smile played across her face as she brushed sweat from her forehead, already imagining his reaction. The percussion of rain against the kitchen roof created an urgent rhythm, spurring them faster. Cynthia moved with steady determination as her mother urged her onward, aware that Azar would return from his business dealings before long. Mother and daughter worked in harmonious sync, bound by the shared anticipation of the meal to come and the evening that awaited them.