{"id":18983,"date":"2026-01-23T13:52:28","date_gmt":"2026-01-23T13:52:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/?p=18983"},"modified":"2026-01-23T13:52:28","modified_gmt":"2026-01-23T13:52:28","slug":"void-novel-chapter-9","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/void-novel-chapter-9\/","title":{"rendered":"VOID Novel Chapter 9"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
VOID<\/div>\n
\u00a92026 Sanelisiwe Ndlovu Hoko<\/div>\n
CHAPTER NINE<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
SINENHLANHLA<\/div>\n
It\u2019s not that I don\u2019t believe in ancestors, I don\u2019t understand them. From what\u2019s happening to me, they feel less like guides and more like dangerous creatures, sending messages written in fire, silence, and broken limbs. Messages so twisted, even the wind can\u2019t decipher them.<\/div>\n
The past forty-eight hours have been pure theatre, tragedy with no intermission. I\u2019ve cried until my eyes are dry. What\u2019s the use? At this point, it feels like some higher power or the ancestors as Chimney swears by, isn\u2019t just watching. They\u2019re harvesting, taking pieces of me. My house, my leg, my face.<\/div>\n
They never planted anything in this soil, but now they reap like it\u2019s theirs. Maybe I should stop calling them ancestors and call them harvesters.<\/div>\n
Schools close today. Mr. Khabo summoned me for a meeting.<\/div>\n
I bath quickly, then put on the dress Siphokazi sent. It hangs off my shoulders like a sack. It\u2019s too big. None of the things she sent fit. I wonder if she did it deliberately or it was purely because she doesn\u2019t know our sizes.<\/div>\n
I change into one of Chimney\u2019s dresses instead. It fits like it was made for me. Kayise walks in. We lock eyes.<\/div>\n
\u201cYou, okay?\u201d she asks.<\/div>\n
The question almost makes me laugh. Of course I\u2019m not okay. But I don\u2019t have the strength to snap. Not today. Not when I can barely hold myself together.<\/div>\n
\u201cI have to attend the meeting.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI can go in your place and tell Mr. Khabo you can\u2019t make it.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll be fine. And even if you went, you wouldn\u2019t know what he wants. You don\u2019t know bookkeeping.\u201d<\/div>\n
She smirks. \u201cThen I\u2019ll carry you on my back.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cThe crutches work just fine. Don\u2019t you have clients?\u201d<\/div>\n
She shakes her head. \u201cPhone is dead silent. Like I\u2019ve vanished from the earth.\u201d<\/div>\n
I give her a faint smile. \u201cYou\u2019ll get calls soon. Don\u2019t worry.\u201d<\/div>\n
I pick up the crutches. They\u2019re Chimney\u2019s old ones, from when he broke his leg playing soccer years ago. Walking in them feels funny. But this is my life now. I learned early how to accept what you can\u2019t change.<\/div>\n
The first time Methembe and Sibongile left us alone, the main house was incomplete. No windows or doors. I threw tantrums, begged, told them we were scared, unsafe, that anything could happen to us. Kayise faked a stomach-ache, tears streaming down her face. They left anyway.<\/div>\n
Chimney taped cardboard boxes over windows, and installed an old metal door. He also registered our names to NGOs which provided food. 50kg of mealie meal, 10kg beans, five litres of oil. That\u2019s how we survived. Now I see that Chimney has always watched over us. Always known our needs before we spoke them.<\/div>\n
However, I hate that he insists everything happening in my life is tied to my father\u2019s family. I hate that he pushes me toward them, like it will bring answers.<\/div>\n
Beneath the hate, there\u2019s fear. Part of me knows he might be right. And if he is, then after all these years of suffering, of missing my childhood, my father\u2019s family still holds the power to break me.<\/div>\n
What kind of selfishness is that? Showing up decades late and claiming control over my body, my peace, my future? I have no words for it. I don\u2019t know if I can ever accept it.<\/div>\n
At school, whispers follow me like shadows. Stares burn into my back, fortunately I was ready for this. When anyone asks what happened, I say, \u201cI fell.\u201d The lie is obvious. But no one dares call me out. I thought the meeting was just with Mr. Khabo and the treasurer, the usual year-end review. Instead, the entire SDC committee sits in stiff rows, faces unreadable.<\/div>\n
\u201cGood morning,\u201d I say, steadying my voice which is already weird due to my twisted mouth. Mr. Khabo won\u2019t meet my eyes. His gaze darts between the open file in front of him and the wall behind me.<\/div>\n
\u201cWe can begin,\u201d he says.<\/div>\n
He reads my contract aloud, rules about dignity, conduct, being \u2018the face of the school.\u2019 Then he reaches the incident with Lihle. I check out. I already know. I\u2019m being fired. And honestly? I don\u2019t care anymore. I\u2019ve used up all the \u2018caring\u2019 life gave me.<\/div>\n
This isn\u2019t about the job. It\u2019s the thought that claws at me: What\u2019s next? If they took my house, my leg, twisted my face, what more will they want? My hands? My eyes?<\/div>\n
Chimney called it war. But who\u2019s fighting? And why am I the battlefield?<\/div>\n
\u201c\u2026for the reasons stated, the school will terminate your contract on 31 December and will not renew it.\u201d<\/div>\n
Silence.<\/div>\n
All eyes turn to me, waiting for tears, begging, collapse.<\/div>\n
\u201cOkay,\u201d I say. \u201cCan I go now?\u201d<\/div>\n
Their faces flicker with shock. If they expected me to grovel, they don\u2019t know me. I\u2019ve been to hell and back. I\u2019m not coming back to live a small, frightened life. I\u2019m in hell now and expecting more. So fuck the job. I was going to quit anyway. How could I work like this? What if I lost my hand or eyes mid-meeting and became the school\u2019s laughingstock?<\/div>\n
\u201cSinenhlanhla,\u201d the chairperson says, \u201cthat\u2019s not how we do things. You\u2019re supposed to apologise. Try to motivate us to forgive you.\u201d<\/div>\n
I scoff. \u201cMotivate you? You already decided. Why waste my breath? I served faithfully for five years. I wasn\u2019t staying forever. Thank you for the experience.\u201d<\/div>\n
I stand.<\/div>\n
Mr. Khabo hands me an envelope. \u201cYour salary.\u201d<\/div>\n
I take it with one hand. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/div>\n
I don\u2019t ask about the bonus. It doesn\u2019t matter. For all I know, the envelope will vanish before I reach home. It will be taken by the new shareholders of my life, the ancestors.<\/div>\n
My crutches echo down the corridor as I walk away. I thought I\u2019d find Gift and ask for Lihle\u2019s number if he got it. Right now, I don\u2019t want to talk to anyone. I want to go home and cry. No, I want to see Chimney. He has to help me decode this message now.<\/div>\n
Before I reach the gate, my phone rings.<\/div>\n
\u201cHey, Gift,\u201d I say.<\/div>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re sneaking out without saying goodbye?\u201d he laughs. \u201cGirl, come back. I need you. School reports aren\u2019t done, and Mr. Khabo\u2019s on my neck.\u201d<\/div>\n
I smile through the ache. Classic Gift. Mr. Khabo should be used to this by now.<\/div>\n
\u201cI have to go. I have an emergency.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cWill you working over the holidays?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cNo. I\u2019m not working anymore. Just got fired.\u201d<\/div>\n
He goes quiet. Then, \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Nhlanhla. We\u2019ll come see you later with Olay. Really sorry.\u201d<\/div>\n
Minutes later, he texts me Lihle\u2019s number.<\/div>\n
I stare at it as tears burn. When I asked for it, I wanted to confront her about the burial, the lies, the past. But now, I have bigger things to say.<\/div>\n
I press dial.<\/div>\n
\u201cLihle Ndlovu speaking. How can I help you?\u201d<\/div>\n
Hearing her voice shatters me.<\/div>\n
Tears flood relentless. Not anger this time. Just pain. Raw, unfiltered pain. She doesn\u2019t hang up.<\/div>\n
\u201cTake a deep breath,\u201d she says softly. \u201cI\u2019m right here. However long you need. Yes, love, you\u2019ve got this.\u201d<\/div>\n
Within minutes, I\u2019m calm.<\/div>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re speaking to Lihle Ndlovu from the Department of Social Services,\u201d she adds gently. \u201cWhenever you\u2019re ready, I\u2019m here to listen.\u201d<\/div>\n
I end the call abruptly.<\/div>\n
She didn\u2019t know it was me. All the warmth, it was just her job. I feel like a fool for thinking it was because she cared about me.<\/div>\n
She calls back. I reject it. She calls again. This time, I answer.<\/div>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s\u2026 it\u2019s me,\u201d I whisper.<\/div>\n
\u201cTake your time. I\u2019m not going anywhere.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s Sinenhlanhla.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cNhlanhla?\u201d Her voice cracks. \u201cOh my God! My baby girl. I\u2019m here for you, my love. You don\u2019t have to carry this alone. Aunt Lihle is listening.\u201d<\/div>\n
No one has ever invited me to speak like this. No pressure, no judgment. Just space and partnership.<\/div>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a lot,\u201d I say. \u201cI don\u2019t know where to start.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cYou can tell me anything you want to share.\u201d<\/div>\n
I take a breath. \u201cMy house burned two weeks ago. I lost everything. Three days ago, my leg stopped working. Then my mouth twisted sideways, my eye too. Today, I lost my job.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cOh, Nhlanhla\u2026\u201d Her voice trembles. \u201cThat\u2019s too much for one person. I can\u2019t imagine\u2014\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t get me wrong. I\u2019m not asking for help. Or money. I\u2019m just\u2026 telling you.\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cNhlanhla, I feel your pain. Even if you\u2019re not asking, I want to help. Let me- not as your aunt, but as Lihle, a stranger who sees you. Your house burnt down, you need financial help to rebuild. You lost a job, you need to apply for a another one. About your leg, how are you moving around? Do you have someone helping you?\u201d<\/div>\n
Her words are a sponge soaking up every drop of my grief. A ray of sun cracking through storm clouds.<\/div>\n
\u201cI have Kayise,\u201d I say, smiling despite myself. \u201cShe already calls me \u2018Nyawana.\u2019 But she helps me.\u201d<\/div>\n
Lihle chuckles. \u201cKayise sounds troublesome. How can she call you that?\u201d<\/div>\n
\u201cShe forgets I\u2019m older. That I changed her diapers and\u2014\u201d<\/div>\n
A sharp pain shoots up my left leg. I look down. The same leg that wouldn\u2019t move. I wiggle my toes. They move. I lift my foot, stomp it hard on the ground, once, twice, three times. It works.<\/div>\n
\u201cNhlanhla? You still there?\u201d Lihle asks.<\/div>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d I say, breathless. \u201cSomething came up. I have to go. Bye.\u201d<\/div>\n
I grab my crutches, not to lean on, but to run. I sprint down the small path that leads home like a child who just remembered how to fly. I can walk again.<\/div>\n
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VOID \u00a92026 Sanelisiwe Ndlovu Hoko CHAPTER NINE SINENHLANHLA It\u2019s not that I don\u2019t believe in ancestors, I don\u2019t understand them. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","ast-disable-related-posts":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"default","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"set","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[23],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-18983","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-void-novel"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18983","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18983"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18983\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":18994,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18983\/revisions\/18994"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18983"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18983"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kezpres.xyz\/novelreading\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18983"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}