Isca Irangwe

The Faceless Visitor

He was the only man, boy, brother, son -whatever you want to call it- who could do it. The only one left who could make them all proud. “It’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid,” he’d heard her say once. He didn’t really remember that day because he was sobbing rather uglily. Crying with snot all over his face, hiccupping and trying to take deep breaths to calm his rapidly beating heart.