"Untitled": A sad story

Oh goody! A story forum. I’ve always loved to write and so I was excited to see that this part of the forum was created (It was about time, IMO). Wrote this in a dash, so enjoy. Please tell me what you think and critique if you like. There’s nothing I love more than balanced, truthful reviews. This is the first installment of my series, yet to be titled. I wrote this without planning, so if it doesn’t appear linear or if it seems bit too rough, please do not mind it. I also made it as interesting to read as possible.

ONE

He said he was strong enough to work, or something like that. It was evening, and the sky had already vomited big red clouds. Dangerous clouds. Mama had warned us, the children, never to venture outside the compound gate after the clouds, but we had to stand by papa just in case. We could never tell with strangers.

“Where are you from?” Papa asked, his voice slightly cracked with apprehension. I couldn’t blame him. The stranger looked as if he was seven feet tall, and his eyes were two unreadable red slits. A small sack hung over his brick-like shoulders. Caked red dust formed doodles and big botches all over his hairy chest. He wore shrunken trousers, and he stared straight at me. Searing, knife-eyes. My heart thumped painfully. I think he was hungry. I instinctively barricaded my breasts with my arms.

"Somewhere." His teeth were unusually white.

He turned his eyes away from me and looked ahead, tipping his head at the scattered logs of wood by the compound gate which was a few yards back. “You need some help. I want to assist you in exchange for food and shelter, and I’ll be on my way in a few days.” No please or begging niceties, just the facts. He was emotionless. I was scared and thrilled by just listening to him talk. I felt like I was in an adventure movie. I remembered the action video collections brother jealously guarded when we used to live in that pink-colored duplex in Ikeja. Those days are gone now.

I heard a click. I think it was brother clutching his rifle tighter. It will be safe if he can just shoot the stranger out here in the grass, I thought. No one will know, or even care. But Stranger looked like the devil himself, red and pitch-black and bald and strangely alluring. And we stood still, transfixed by fear.

But I think it was something other than fear that prompted papa to reluctantly allow him in—that is, on the condition that he slept in the storage hut and remember his place—and give him a share of our dinner. Perhaps it was Andrew’s death. Andrew had just gotten a Job as a doctor at Saint Nicholas hospital when it happened and he died in the explosions. Andrew was papa’s hope, the first model of the articulate, learned, debonair Anyanwu. Stranger looked Andrews age.

Mama avoided Stranger like the plague during dinner time. She sat on the stool at the corner of the room. She didn’t want to eat with the rest of us. The walls reflected wobbly shadows from the firewood light. It was cold and dry. Stranger chucked the fork out of his plastic container and scooped our dinner—bean pottage—with his fingers, shoving it into his mouth. We all watched him, our dinners barely eaten.

“What’s your name?” Brother asked.

“Shut up and eat.” Papa’s voice snapped harder than a whip.

“Obum.” Stranger replied. “My name is Obum.”



What do y'all think? Weird? Nice? Just Okay? Boring? Confusing?

me likey!

very reminiscent of achebe if i do say so. needs some brushing up with imagery and simile but give us more mehn

my idle mind was already thinking that obum and the narrator will have some derrrty sex in that little hut lol.

and i like the whole andrew angle.

keep writing dahling

Good Start, you have kept the reader in suspense wanting to know what happens next. Good construction of words and figures of speech. Just make sure that there's a good climax at the end of this story.

Wow! Excellent! Only the title ruins this story. Can I rename it 'Obum'?

Nnenna,

Good story!

You've done a great job of painting the scene with the father confronting the stranger and the children peering out from behind him.

I also like the sense of mystery you build round the stranger. He takes charge of the situation and speaks directly - not what you'd expect from someone who was looking for help. Who is he, I wonder? Where did he come from?

And you drop some intriguing hints of previous events that may be revealed in more detail later on. What were those explosions about that killed the narrator's brother, I wonder? Why were her family no longer living in Ikeja?

But some of the metaphors don't quite go down well with me. Like the sky 'vomiting' red clouds. That makes me think that there are these red clouds that are issuing from a particular point in the sky, just like someone bringing up vomit from a particular point (i.e. their mouth) - but I can't quite picture the sky behaving like that. Or red dust forming 'doodles' - it's hard to think of red dust being formed in the random patterning that you'd associate with doodles. But some of the metaphors are quite descriptive - like the the narrator's arms 'barricading' her breasts.


So as I said, good stuff. Carry on, please!

reminds me of "without a silver spoon".

yea it really does. the story is nice and i would like to read more about it. its kinda wierd but thats the point right? there was too much description of the stranger and this lead to repitition. but the story was a good one. keep it up!

Eastcoast:

reminds me of "without a silver spoon".

am seriously loving this writing stuff
nnena1 niche!!!

Great story, Nnenna. You've got a whopping story line developing. What i cant decipher is if the story is set in a village or a city. Unlike a village setting, it is highly unlikely to have someone like stranger walk into a modern city home. Try and be consistent with a few other things, i dont see why brother should have a rifle though.

dude?

Isn't it her story brother can have anything she wants him to have

Nnenna, great story so far can't wait to see what happens next

yemstar:

dude?

Isn't it her story brother can have anything she wants him to have

Nnenna, great story so far can't wait to see what happens next

Please tell me what you think and critique if you like. There’s nothing I love more than balanced, truthful reviews.

I am not sure you read this part of her post before the story. Everyone is entitled to his/her opinion. Read before jumping the gun!

Which is why i didn't comment on the other stuff you wrote criticism doesnt involve telling the writer what the characters should have and should not have

yemstar:

Which is why i didn't comment on the other stuff you wrote criticism doesnt involve telling the writer what the characters should have and should not have

Which is why i dont think you truly understand the real meaning of the word "criticism".

Criticism - a written evaluation of a work of literature
is the action of criticizing, or passing judgment upon the qualities or merits of anything

While criticism is not necessarily negative, you will note that in my post i started by applauding the work as i truly find her work of very high quality. I do not belong to the "carry go" bandwagon. While appreciating the value of your work, i still take time to point out critical areas that are usually overlooked by most people who simply read stories without making an attempt to thoroughly digest the material.

Okay oh English teacher davidylan

To obviously win this case i have to go and read my dictionary (due to lazyiness can't do right now) i will just rest my case.

So i leave it to you prof.

Nnenna you 2 tright! ure description of the stranger was awesome. I am expecting more o

@davidlyan
I can bet (unless Nnenna throws some miraculous twist) that this is a village setting, the reference to the "pink-duplex" was simply reminiscing on time past, "log of wood" "firewood" "storage hut" that doesn’t sound city 2 me, so the rifle goes with the story line in my opinion,

its great!

I want more of it. I think it was nice though you could improve on your metaphors. I find it intriguing and a little bit traditional. Love it

OK post the rest now. Abi? im waiting oo please.

Finally, someone with real talent .

Am actually at a police desk now about to make a report about you unless you post the rest of the story. Fantastic stuff. So proud you are of the Cyprian Ekwensi, Chinua Achebe stock.
A beg you write some more, Save our children from Harry Porter. If it were in those days, harry would have been stoned to death now at Yaba Bus stop. Instaed he is peddling witchcraft in the name of adventure.

Wow! That was awesome girl. Good Job. Take your time and do more work on this story. Garnish it with neccessary spices and we can't wait to be served. Review all the criticisms. Read and re-read the story and fine tune it.

This is the type of story when published have that ability to entrap the reader till the last sentence.

Shinor:

Am actually at a police desk now about to make a report about you unless you post the rest of the story. Fantastic stuff. So proud you are of the Cyprian Ekwensi, Chinua Achebe stock.
A beg you write some more, Save our children from Harry Porter. If it were in those days, harry would have been stoned to death now at Yaba Bus stop. Instaed he is peddling witchcraft in the name of adventure.

lmao

The fact that you did this in a hurry will save you from a critic like me. I'm very hard to please but i can boldly say that i'm proud of you. Your narrative technique is great and your African style is applaudable. This piece most potent achievement is the suspense. No one has a clue!
I anticipate a better piece as you continue the sad story. Just keep doing your thing. I'm chilling for you!

lovely piece, i think you should keep it up .

Good expressions as well

Nnena this is brilliant writing! please keep it up, I look forward to your books in future and I hope you post the rest.

Thanks Seun

cant seem to believe that this writer is an amateur,i see A Wole Soyinka in the making. I really do

@shagari2, i swear we need more people like you on Nairaland. i would not have sen this thread but for your letter to Seun.

@Seun, i have reached another level of respect for you *pays obeisance*, keep up the goodwork.

waoh!!! very well written! u gave us a good imagery of the stranger and the whole situation. i feel like i was an observer instead of a reader and that's a good thing. so job well done girl, i enjoyed the story and u need to continue with it cuzz u keeping us in suspense.

i like it girl the first original stuff i've read here!

Please, the author should come back and post more!

Wow,  I got a lot more replies than I bargained for, thanks guys. I really really appreciate it.

I know I haven't posted in a loooooong while so I thought I'd do some more. I have so much on my mind right now but I promise to give this my undivided attention once I've sorted things out. Here's some more:

[center]TWO

He kept to himself in the beginning. When the cock crew, at the dark hours of the morning, I would hear his feet shuffling. I would feel the room brightening even with my eyes closed, and smell kerosene and hear the timid crack-sounds of the lamp light as he surely made his way out of our hut. I would rise to the sounds of wood-chopping and grunts. Brother would go out to watch him. Mama and I would remain indoors, searching room corners and little stashes for some leftovers to warm up. Papa, as usual, always made his futile trips down the path to the outside where he would look for any other signs of human life. Signs that we weren’t really alone. We all didn’t want to admit that Stranger was a bit of a miracle. It had been weeks since we’d seen another human face and his presence should have cheered us up. Instead, his pitch-black skin and big teeth sent my heart racing. He was a walking premonition waiting to descend on us.
One other morning, When I and mama couldn’t find any food and resigned ourselves to the hope that papa would bring us something to eat, I made my way out of the hut and watched him work. Brother was wheeling huge logs of wood to and fro. Stranger stood each log and sliced them, gritting his teeth.
I approached him as brother pushed his wheelbarrow off for another load.
“Good morning,” I said.
He grunted and took another swipe at a log. The nerves on his large neck bulged.
I looked around. It was a breezy morning. The vast grasses around us were ascending even higher—fearfully so. We had to leave this place. It was quickly becoming a forest. I could hardly even make out the bridge that used to be visible at distance away.
“Nice day,” I said to Stranger.
He grunted again.
“You don’t say much, do you?”
He paused. And then he put another log of wood in place and hit.
“You said your name was Obi, right?”
“Obum.”
“Oh, sorry. Obum. And where are you from? You never told us where you were from.”
“I lived around here, just like you did.”
”I didn’t live around here. It was in Lagos, but not this part.”
“I lived around here.”
“Oh…and how was it? I mean, before all of what happened. What is the name of this place again?”
He didn’t answer.
Brother approached us, groaning from the weight of the logs he pushed. I went over to help him.
The afternoon came by and Papa hadn’t still returned from his trip, which was unusual. He always made it back before long, usually in a sad stupor. I, Mama and Brother sat outside to wait for him. Obum stayed inside.
“I don’t trust him,” Brother spat.
“Who?” I asked. Mama stared straight ahead. For a while she hadn’t really been paying attention to anything.
“That Obum, or whatever he calls himself”
“Shhh…he can hear you.”
“So what? He knows it’s true. He can hear all of my cock and bull for all I care. Goodness knows what he has done with Papa.”
“Papa was gone all morning, and Obum has been with us all day.”
“What if he’s…you know…a spirit?”
I laughed and hoped Obum wasn’t hearing the conversation. His red eyes and beautiful teeth appeared like a frightful image in my mind.
“Ikenna,” I said, and then caught myself. I hadn’t called my brother’s name in days, I realized. “Nothing will happen to Papa, or any one of us.”
“I don’t know…I really don’t care if anything happened to us, anyway.  I wished something bad happened to us, so that we could all die and our miseries would end”
“Ikenna!”
“It’s true. Ever since that stupid earthquake nothing has ever been the same. Abuki is dead, Chioma is dead, Chuchu is gone…”
At the sound of Chuchu tears sprung up in my eyes. He was five years old and still hadn’t learned to come off Mama’s breasts. He was getting very good at Ncho and could read a little bit of his class’ English Macmillan textbook. It was Mama who found him under the television and rubble. He nose was crushed and caked with blood and he was missing some teeth.
“…all those people on the road…all of them…like corpses…all dead. I wonder why our family survived…I wished we died with them.”
“God has a purpose for everything,” I said feebly.
“Rubbish.”
“Shush! Don’t say “rubbish” when God is mentioned.”
He kept quiet. I was happy that he was a little afraid of being profane with God. But I think it was Obum who got him scared. He was a little like God in a way, with his tall, black frame.
I peeked inside the doorway to see if he was listening. He crouched, his eyes closed. He must have dozed off. He didn’t snore.
The sun had set and Papa still had not come. Mama sobbed quietly.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll be back.”
“No…He’s dead…he’s gone.”
“No, he’s fine. Mama, I promise…He’s okay.” I didn’t believe me. Brother had already gone out to look for him. I felt Obum’s eyes on me the whole time. He was setting up the lamps. I hoped Brother and Papa would return soon. My stomach growled from hunger.
Mama shook a little bit. After cajoling her to relax, she went to a corner and set her wrapper on the ground. Once she closed her eyes I left the hut and waited outside because I didn’t want to stay inside with him. Once out, I waited.
“Where do you think your father went?”
Startled, I turned to the hut. He towered over me. His red eyes were clearer. His teeth were hidden from view. He almost looked human.
“He always walks to the main road to look for someone he knows,” I shrugged.
“He shouldn’t be doing that.”
“He wants to.”
“He shouldn’t. There’re a lot of bad things out there.”
I stopped. “What do you mean?”
“Scavengers. Animals. And there’re people too. They’re not just people you want to meet.”
“How do you mean?”
He looked away from me. “This used to be a University. People knew me here. They were afraid of me and I knew it. I used that to advantage because I had nothing else. Needless to say, I did what people my age shouldn’t do.”
My heart beat fast. He stared right at me. “Don’t be afraid. I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“And your parents…how were they?” I asked. “Or you didn’t have any?”
He laughed as if it were a stupid question. “Oh I did. I hardly knew them, but they were there.”  He paused. “You have a smooth look.”
My head throbbed. “What?”
“That rich look. Hard life hasn’t taken a toll on you. What did your dad do for a living?”
“He had a small company.”
“Too bad he has nothing now, eh?” He laughed. “We’ll see about you in a few years.” His eyes roamed around my face and chest and legs. He shook his head slowly.
I heard some voices from afar and looked ahead. Obum stopped too. It was a little group. I could make out Papa’s small figure from afar. It should have been a relief to see more people, but there was something malevolent about them approaching. I think Obum saw it too. His red eyes narrowed.  [/center]

As with the last post, this has a lot of rough spots. Hope you enjoy and expect more from me soon. Keep on with the critiques. I'd like to know of ways to polish my writing.

excellent!!! thanx again,

pls continue cos the suspense is too much

am kinda afraid

I love part 2. My mouth is watering for more!