Room number 8

My name’s Marie, I’m five years old and l live with my father , i don’t know who my mother is and I didn’t want to know, all i wanted was my father, my father could be described as the silliest and dumbest man which made me wonder how he had me .At five, I already started taking care of myself and at times my father also, every morning my father would accompany me to the junction and we would both wave stupidly at each other till each of us were out of sight , this was our routine everyday and I couldn’t imagine when we would stop

I stood by the bus stand waiting for my father as he had promised to pick me up after work, with my hands tightly holding my bag, I looked sideways at intervals and all of a sudden my father jumped near me and started sticking out his tongue with his fingers spread on his head, I pouted and looked at him all over as he looked at me sheepishly ‘Mar I’m sorry I had something to do which is why I’m late’ I didn’t say a thing as I just held his hands and smiled up at him ‘didn’t I tell you not to do works for your friends again?’ He carried me up and placed me on his neck as he hopped down the road and we both started singing

Many stared at us as they wondered what type of father played childishly with his daughter but we didn’t care, that was how we lived