2050, Kenya
The year was 2050. In the heart of Africa, Kenya had become a nation of contrasts—futuristic cities with flying cars and towering skyscrapers stood in stark opposition to remote villages untouched by time. Some of these villages remained impoverished, while others deliberately resisted modernization, clinging to their traditions and customs.
In one such village, an afflicted family lived in secrecy, hiding a terrible truth. Their children—conjoined twins—had shared a single body since birth. Two heads, two minds, two separate souls. One was a boy who could speak, the other a mute girl who communicated only through the telepathic bond they shared.
But misfortune had struck. The twins had fallen ill with an unknown disease, one that left them bedridden, their frail bodies wasting away.
"Mom… am I going to die?"
The weak voice of the boy trembled in the dimly lit hut, his sunken eyes fixed on his mother.
"Yes, you are dying today," came a cold, unfeeling response—not from the mother, but the father.
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"No! Don't say that, my husband!" the mother cried out, shielding her children as if her embrace alone could keep death at bay. "He didn't even ask you that question! My children, as long as I exist, nothing will ever happen to you."
The father, weary and resentful, clenched his fists.
"Why couldn't you have given me a normal child, woman?" he snarled. "For fifteen years, I have been forced to care for this abomination! And now, on top of everything, it falls sick? The virus is spreading through the village! If we don't tell the village elder, we'll be in serious trouble when they find out on their own."
"Please, husband," the mother begged, her voice breaking. "You know the village rules. If they find out, they will kill our children! I beg you—let's keep it a secret."
The man clicked his tongue in frustration, his teeth grinding. "I do not understand the love you have for this… this *thing*," he spat, storming out of the hut, the tattered curtain at the entrance swaying violently behind him.
The woman hesitated for only a moment before following him outside. "Fine," she said, gripping his hand. "I agree with your plan. Let's tell the village elder. But first, can you at least say your goodbyes? It's the least you could do before they are killed."
The man sighed, finally relenting. He turned back inside, his steps heavy.
The twins lay in their cradle, woven from dried grass, their eyes filled with fear.
"Hey, children," the father said, a twisted smirk curling his lips. "What would you like to eat today? After all, it's your last day alive. Finally, your pain will end."
"No! Not death, Father!" the boy cried out, his body trembling. "I don't want to die! Please, Mama—Mama, don't let Father kill us! I promise I won't be a burden! I'll stop coughing! I'll stop—"
Then, suddenly, something caught their eyes.
Two hands, rising behind their father. Hands gripping a massive stone.
The mother swung.
The rock crashed into the back of the father's skull with a sickening *crack*. He slumped forward, dead before he hit the ground.
From the twins' perspective—low and helpless in their cradle—their mother loomed above the fallen body, the dim light casting eerie shadows across her face. Blood dripped from her fingertips.
"No one will touch my children," she whispered, her voice trembling with fury. "As long as I exist… they will never die."
She knelt, her hands gentle now as she stroked her children's hair. "Shhh… shhh… you're safe now," she murmured, singing their favorite lullaby to calm them.
But the night was closing in, and she had little time.
The village huts were spaced apart, but not far enough. If anyone saw her disposing of the body, she and her children would be doomed. She grabbed a spade and, with gritted teeth, began to dig—inside the hut itself. The hours stretched on as she carved a grave into the dirt floor. When it was deep enough, she rolled her husband's lifeless body into the hole, covering it carefully before smoothing the surface.
By morning, there was no trace of what had been done.
### **One Week Later**
Lona balanced a bundle of firewood on her head as she walked through the village. Around her, hushed whispers followed.
"She's a witch," one woman muttered. "First, she gives birth to a demon. Then it dies, and she buries it alongside her husband. And now her husband is missing!"
"I heard she told the village elder that he never returned from work," another added. "But I don't believe her for a second."
Lona paused mid-step, her gaze cutting through the gossiping women like a blade. "Do you have nothing better to do than spread lies?"
Her old friend, Melisa, watched her with concern. Lona had changed. Her grief, her exhaustion—it was evident in her hollowed cheeks and the shadows under her eyes.
"My friend… I need to check on her," Melisa murmured to herself. "Losing a loved one is never easy."
### **That Evening**
Melisa hesitated in front of Lona's hut, the curtain swaying slightly in the breeze.
"Lona? It's Melisa. I came to visit."
No answer.
Concerned, she stepped inside.
The first thing that hit her was the smell. Rotten, foul—something was very, very wrong.
Then she saw them.
The twins. Alive.
"But… that's impossible," she whispered, her blood running cold. "She said they died. She buried them—"
A voice, low and dangerous, cut through the silence.
"You were not supposed to see this."
Melisa whirled around, her heart hammering. Lona stood at the entrance, eyes cold and calculating.
Fear took hold of Melisa's limbs. She turned to run—
Lona struck.
Her hands locked around Melisa's throat, dragging her down. They tumbled across the dirt floor, struggling, Melisa clawing at Lona's grip—
"Shhh… shhh…" Lona whispered, her lips close to her friend's ear. "Next time, don't enter someone's house uninvited."
Melisa's body went still.
Lona exhaled slowly. Then, she grabbed the spade once more.
"Hello, husband," she murmured, digging into the dirt floor. "I brought you company. You won't be lonely anymore."
That night, after burying Melisa alongside her husband, Lona sat down on the cold, earthen floor of her hut. The weight of her actions pressed down on her, but she had no regrets.
Her son's voice broke the silence.
"Mother… even if I don't die today or tomorrow… will I still die someday?"
Lona stared at her children, her expression unreadable. Then, she exhaled deeply and spoke.
"No," she said with quiet determination. "I once met a missionary from the city. He spoke of a man—Timon Mosk—who is developing a chip that can save state. That means even if you die, your consciousness will still exist."
The twins listened intently, their weak bodies motionless but their minds grasping onto hope.
"But," Lona continued, her voice bitter, "the chances of us getting that chip are nearly impossible."
She clenched her fists.
"That is why I have decided to go back to school. I will build that chip myself if I have to."
She sighed, rubbing her temples.
"But the real challenge is… how do I leave this village?"
She closed her eyes, exhaustion finally catching up to her.
"Hah… no matter," she murmured. "I'll sleep on it and come up with something tomorrow."
And with that, she drifted into slumber, seated on the ground, her children watching over her.
The Next Morning
Sunlight filtered through her eyelids.
Something was wrong.
The light—too bright. It wasn't just from the morning sun.
Her curtain was open.
Lona's eyes flickered open, her body tensing. Outside her hut, the entire village had gathered.
And at the center of it all stood the village elder.
"Lona," he said, his voice heavy with suspicion. "Tell us what is going on here."
Slowly, she stood. Her muscles tensed beneath her skin, her fingers twitching. Her gaze swept over the crowd.
If they came for her children—
She would kill them all.