MOLTDOWN The Unexpected

The room was quiet. The only sound was the slow hum of an old ceiling fan, lazily spinning above him. It creaked every few seconds — a tired groan that seemed to echo the weight in his chest. He lay flat on his back, hands folded on his stomach, staring blankly upward as if the answers to all his questions were hidden in the faded cracks of the ceiling.

He was thirty-three, back in his father’s house. Again. he could remember saying to himself, "I can never get to thirty years and be broke, I would just die or disappear from the face of the earth, either way, I wouldn't be alive"

David

💭 Hold on to your center, hold on... what is actually there to hold on to

He was 33, back in his father’s house. Again. Once, this same ceiling watched him grow. As a boy, he used to imagine constellations in its rough texture, dream of cities he’d live in, people he’d meet, greatness he’d build. But now… now, it only reminded him of how far he’d fallen.

He thought of the jobs — all of them. Retail. A call center. Dishwasher. Salesman. Construction. Security guard. Driver. Fired. Fired. Quit. Fired. Fired. It became a pattern. Something would go wrong. He’d show up late. Or not at all. Sometimes he just… couldn’t. Couldn’t find the strength to explain why he moved slower than others. Why some days his own name felt like a weight.

The voice of his elder brother ringing again and again in his head. "A man is valued where he creates value"

David

I wish I could just die in my sleep, ugh.

Ubong

U wan die? no die yet oh, come collect your food gimme fess. na rice and stew dem cook

David

I dey come.

Now here he was. The man who promised his mother he’d make her proud. Who told his friends he just needed one break. The same man now counting how many times he thought of ending it all. Three times.

He didn’t write a note. He didn’t cry. He just felt tired — so deeply tired — and wanted it all to stop. Once, it was pills. Another time, the bridge. And once… just a long stare at a train track that didn’t see a train for hours. Each time, something pulled him back. A call. A thought. A whisper of a reason he hadn’t even named yet.

Now, he lay in that room, with no job, no money, no direction. Just him, the ceiling, and the weight of everything he wasn’t. But as heavy as it all was, he was still breathing. Still staring. Still here. And maybe — just maybe — that meant something. Even if he didn’t know what yet.

David

Ub, bring my food here. Let's eat.

Ubong

Let's eat? Ah, you lost appetite?

David

Not really, but it will help me. I don't want to waste food.

Ubong

Okayyyy

Ubong immediately comes back, but without the food

David

Bring rice nau?!! wetin?!!

Ubong