Lies Mosquito told The Ear

"You plant your seeds in cursed soil. That is why your crops fail." Otieno stirred, restless now. "Your daughter dreams of leaving. She counts the days. She does not love you as much as she pretends." Zuba’s voice was like silk dipped in venom, gentle and persuasive. By dawn, Otieno awoke with unease squatting on his chest. Something inside had shifted—a quiet mistrust had crept in, like weeds between cracks. Zuba, full of laughter only she could hear, flew away. Another whisper, another ear. Another crack in the world. Otieno was not a man of suspicion. For most of his life, he believed people were like the earth .if you gave them care and patience, they bore fruit. But in the days following that whisper, his gaze grew narrow. He watched his brother, Mosi, with new eyes. Noticing things. Harmless things. But now they looked like warnings. Mosi counted coins after market too eagerly. He walked too quietly behind him on the path. He had once borrowed a hoe and returned it late. Was that forgetfulness or arrogance? And then there was Amara, Otieno’s wife. Beautiful, strong, and with laughter that could stir birds into song. But her smile he saw it now lingered too long .......