Wait oo! I am nothing near depressed and just wanted to make the headlines seem catchy for some lazy pipz to click it.
And yah, I am a writer and I am opening this thread to publish some of my short stories for reviews and critics.
I hope you enjoy your stay...

[size=15pt]SO HERE GOES...[/size]

STORY #1

I was at the coffee table drinking my 17th cup of coffee. The sun was already setting, and I hadn’t written anything that day, I couldn’t.
“Hmm…seems like I would break my coffee record today”, I said to myself
Then I heard the front door open, and she came in. she was still sad and wasn’t with my laptop, but I didn’t just care at that time; the sunset was too beautiful to put on a sad face.
“Hun…I just like writing, I can’t help it” I said
“I know, I saw your suicide notes” she replied and walked into her room, banging the door behind her. I let out an embarrassing smile and said to myself,“at least she knows about my notes”. My cup was already empty, so I went to the kitchen to make me another coffee…

STORY #2

We met in a Library,
She was so beautiful and quiet, I liked her instantly.
I knew she also liked me, because I occasionally caught her staring at me.
That was how our relationship started. We came to the library every day, staying in the same seat, studying.
Studying ourselves
…and maybe our books
We never uttered a word to each other
Just came, studied and stared.
This happened for one whole month. And then the next month, part of my monthly resolution was to talk to my Library girlfriend.
For a week I was thinking of what to say, how to say it, and when say it; but I couldn’t come up with anything. Then I decided to just say Hi and see what comes from there.
I was so nervous the next day, I puked in the morning and was feeling feverish. But that couldn’t stop me, I needed see her, I needed talk to her.
She was already studying when I came to the library.
“The time is now. I must do it now. It’s time to man up and talk.”
I kept saying this to myself till I got close to our seat.
When I finally reached my seat, I said “…Umm…Hey…Hi”
She didn’t respond; she didn’t even look at me.
“WTF??!! I thought she liked me, I thought we had a thing.” I was going into a panic attack and didn’t know when my books fell from my hands and crashed on my table. The librarian gave me a warning look.
I was heartbroken; I’ve in a delusion for a month. We had nothing, just strangers who happened to stay in the same seat every day for one month.
Suddenly, in my time of depression and sadness, she passed me a note.
“A note from the girl next table! So she did like me after all.”
In my excitement, I opened the note and it read,
Am sorry Jeff, I can’t like you. He is going to kill you
“I don’t understand? Who?” I said aloud, the librarian gave me another look.
I looked at her and she was almost crying, like she pitied me. I asked her again, “Who’s going to kill me?”
“Stop talking to me, he’s hearing.” she whispered.
I was getting very confused and didn’t know what else to say. I just kept saying “who? Who? Who?”
She got up and ran out of the library, crying.
The librarian got up this time and asked me out
In my mixed emotions of shame, embarrassment, and confusion, I packed my books and left.
On my way home, I kept thinking of the note and what she said
“Who was going to kill me? Who was hearing? How did she even know my name?”
I knew nothing about this girl and it seemed like she knew everything about me. I was in a state of outermost confusion and just wanted to go home and lie on my bed.
It was a red light – or so I thought – and I was crossing the road when suddenly a luxury bus carrying what seemed like travelling passengers sped towards me…
And that was the last thing I remembered.
*****
Six months later, after my 12 surgeries and 3months of physiotherapy. I came back to the library where everything started and her seat was empty. But there was something new; she wrote something on the table she studied on,
Am sorry for what happened, I shouldn’t have liked you. He could have had you killed.
Bye. Kath.
I smiled and left, at least after everything I got to know her name…

You sound like a budding stephen king

The second story very moving

The first one a bit of a disconnect

biolabee: You sound like a budding stephen king

The second story very moving

The first one a bit of a disconnect

thanks man for you reviews. they are surely noted.

Incredible is my word for that. 3rd story on it way huh?

Iceprincehkn: Incredible is my word for that. 3rd story on it way huh?

my head wan burst oo ....3rd story uploading

STORY #3

“He killed your dad” my mother whispered to my ears
“Huh? Dad is still alive mom, He is just behind us” I said in a confused tone
“No…no”, she said again pushing my bicycle faster.
She looked so scared and troubled. I hated her for looking like that. It was my 12th birthday and I wanted it to be perfect, why does she want to ruin it.
“He is not your dad, he killed your biological father”
“Wait mom…dad is not my dad?” I asked still confused on what was happening. My mom never seemed happy but this was a different side of her. She was sweating and whispering and pushing my bike faster than I could pedal.
“He is a serial killer. You were a few months old when our lights went out, and your dad went to check on it. We heard noises like there was a fight. I was so scared and carried you to my room and locked to the door. I heard gun shots, you were crying, it was raining. He killed your dad. He came upstairs to our room and broke the door open. He raped me and took us to his house. He said he liked me and promise not to kill any married man again, only bachelors”
“Mom…”
Tears were already blurring my vision but my mother didn’t seem to notice. The dad I know isn’t a serial killer, he bought me this bike for my birthday, what was my mom saying?
“He said he would kill me if I talked. He would peel of my skin from my bones and feed to his dogs for a year” she said, this time almost running while pushing my bicycle
My dad noticed what was going on and started running towards us
“Mom, dad is coming!”
“You have to pedal as fast as possible, he can’t catch you. Go to the police station across town and tell them what I just said. Tell them to open CASE 155-January16th, 2001. Go Tom! Go now!”
I couldn’t just comprehend it, the man I called dad for 12years wasn’t my dad but a serial killer? Why was it now, why on my birthday…?

Interesting Library love story, me likey . Good for u whoever he was didn't finish u off ... Mind those library chicks, hmm.
Still trying to figure out if I like Serial killer dad story though.
Keep writing

kufox hud wrl

cool write-ups

Tanks alot @PrettySpicy....seems like romance stories fit well with Nairaland writers and readers

Tnkz too @danny and nedduz...ama kip writin kool stories

Chineke! I have forgotten this my thread o! Sowi ppl, I have been busy with the Nairaland ThePoets Competition and have forgotten to write sad stories anymore. Xo...please wait for me o!!!

Interesting!


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MODIFIED: 3.05PM; 29TH APRIL, 2015
Okay, by the powers vested on me, I resurrect this thread. Lets expose some of my wardrobe stories shall we??

STORY #4

His skin color was clammy and he looked exhaustively dizzy, like his own life was being sucked away. The notes kept flooding his mind, his body at unrest, his hands involute. They were killing him, the music was killing him.
His wife had gotten fed up and left him to his own peril. She left with their child, a son; a son who was already treading the path of his father. As I sat diligently in the chaotic environ of his quarters and scribbled all I could, as fast as I could, the notes that were flooding him; I couldn't help but pity the man I once despised.
Here lay a man full of divine creativity, dying at the hands of his own music. He cried to the torture of the muse. He said it was his best music yet, that it would change the world, that he would change the world.
His particular bedroom was littered with scraps and piles of papers containing what seemed like a symphony from heaven. And as he lay on his bed whispering the notes to me, and I putting them on ink, I couldn't help but feel the energy, the overwhelming energy of this art.
"This last line would end this gift to humanity my foe" he said, "now continue with a d-sharp, f, c-minor..."
As I climaxed with the music and waited for his last note, I didn't notice when he breathed his last. He died without completing his symphony, his unfinished art took everything from him, including his life.

STORY #5
My arms ache as I rest on it, looking deep into her eyes, trying to act as mature and calm as possible. Then she stabs me at that point it hurt the most.
“Love, it’s one of best feelings you can have, you know right?” she asks, her breathing still heavy from the orgasm.
“Nah. I think it’s probably one of the worst feelings I imagine having.” I tell her, trying so hard to keep my cool.
“ahah, why’d you say that naa?” she drags. I try soo hard to block my alter ego from answering, nobody likes his answers; but that was to no avail
“Don’t ask me, ask God. Shey He loved us? Sent His only son to die for us? But guess what? We still sin. How is that type of feeling blissful?” He asks back at her.
Once I realise the words that escape my vocal cord, I loose every matter of calmness and control. My palms keeps getting wet and my heavy breathing incessant. I silenced her the whole night, no he silenced us the whole night.

OP, your topic got me. Lol.....
I love the use of literary device, at the end of story 4. Me likeeey so much.
Keep it up!

OP,this is good. I'm beginning to like short stories.

STORY #6
When I entered the house. Everything was the same, nothing changed. Everywhere looked small, too small. The doctor said my breakdown could make me uncomfortable in confined spaces. The furnitures were filled with dust and there was no electric power. I dropped my bag and fell on the couch. The air had a dry scent like the harmattan. It reminded me of fried eggs and Vaseline.
"Its not your fault Ben. Its the chemicals. The doctor said the chemicals in your brain are mixing themselves all wrong. There is more to life, you just have to find it Ben. You just have to reach out."
Tears formed in my eyes. They always told me that there was light at the end of a dark tunnel. But I was out of a dark tunnel, only to enter a darker infinite space. I really wanted to see the light, even if it was just a brink of it.
"I can't do it alone. I need help. I need Jesus."

Thnks much Babe2sure and Wininiel for liking my stories. Your comments have made my day. #HappySunday tho

kennikazi:
Thnks much Babe2sure and Wininiel for liking my stories. Your comments have made my day. #HappySunday tho

You are welcome. Happy sunday to you too.

kennikazi:
Thnks much Babe2sure and Wininiel for liking my stories. Your comments have made my day. #HappySunday tho

Happy sunday to you too. Hope you ain't going to leave us stranded

Who ever invented short stories! nd dis particular writer knows ow to make you wish there really was more!
seriously i really hate short stories....especially the very good ones.
#sorry....i cnt thank u for making me wish there was more....

Wininiel:
Happy sunday to you too. Hope you ain't going to leave us stranded

lol..i'll try to keep up

Ollyfad:
Who ever invented short stories! nd dis particular writer knows ow to make you wish there really was more!
seriously i really hate short stories....especially the very good ones.
#sorry....i cnt thank u for making me wish there was more....

Well you don't have to thank me..coz there WILL b more

STORY #7
Dear Sister,
I know it has been a while since I wrote. By the time you even read this letter, you must have performed a burial ritual thinking I am dead, again. Things have beeen difficult here sister; the very cold season is near and I don't have enough clothes to protect myself. But I am working hard, I now smoke only one pack of ciggrette a day, and I am learning work from a cobbler. I got a small girl pregnant, but thank God we aborted it before her parents noticed, it was the abortion that took all my money.
Do you remember Jackson? The one that aboandoned me in that robbery that got me into prison? Well, I heard he is was killed in a gang clash with the Triads. They cut his stomach and his intestines spilled, they killed him like confraternities at home kill people. I really miss Nigeria sister; the sun, the black faces, the parties. Sometimes when I don't make it on time to sleep in those charity rooms I told you about; and I go to the back of a waste bin in one alley, I just allow my tears to roll down till morning. But I make sure nobody sees me, I am a strong man.
Well, don't worry about me too much, I am doing fine. What of Papa? Has he died yet? Or does he still beat Mama? And Mama kwan, how is her health? I heard here that Diabetes is a special disease that you can manage. Just tell Mama to stop taking sugar, someone else can taste her cakes and chin chin for her. What about your business? I hope you've finally found an Alhaji? Make sure you go with big big men, and not small boys, and always use a condom no matter what they pay you, HIV is real, I have seen somebody it killed. I have been praying, and I know one day i will hammer, and then I'll bring you and Mama over here. Till then, we just have to struggle and pray. Greet Mama for me.
Your Beloved Brother.