Write Your Own Very Own "drabble".

@crazylegs
Darn, she beat me to it. Been dyyyying to ask about it too. I used to think it had to do with your dancing skills! lol

Girls and our imagination. 

Different Drabble

Her mind was chaotic. I saw in her eyes that she loved me, but I also saw a mystery in her that I couldn’t unfold. It felt unsettling to know that she could be dangerous and without a scale of measurement I couldn’t prepare myself for her disaster. I felt it when she changed. I could feel it in her touch, in the way her eyes wandered off, in her blank stare comprised of empty emotions and burdensome thoughts. Constantly walking on eggshells, I would always wonder how I drove her into such a dark pit and why I always found myself there with her. It all drove me crazy, but I also saw her efforts to please me. She was always insistent on trying, asking about my well being and attempting to nurture me, but she had no idea what she was doing. I could see it was driving her insane. If only she realized that the only competition she had was the girl staring back at her in the mirror, then maybe . . .just maybe, she would relax and be herself. I wondered how long I would have to continue trying to convince her to let go her fears, and tell me everything. We were driving each other off the cliffs of sanity, but neither of us wanted to hit the brakes. No. Not yet. I would let go if I could . . . find another . . . but I loved her. In each of our reckless lives, we found common ground together. Apart we were a mess, together we were just as messy, yet somehow we had inner peace. Somehow, we were meant to be one.

Nice one bro

no wonder the ladies are all, ahem. . . inspired by you 

I like that.

thanks! and for a guy, u write some nice, sensitive, deep stuff.

damn right i'm inspired! and PRESpired!!

LOL

hmm, this is serious.

When people write like this, i get jealous.

i really wouldnt want to be put up on comparism.

Ride on people.

Tight.

Bello Legacy

Charles Dickens would say in his novel that "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times." Tayo Bello wouldn't agree with Dickens. Today was an average day at best. Not too bad, not too good. He had just returned from school as usual and saw the usual note on the table. His working mom scribbled it as she was in a hurry to get to work. She was going to be late again. She expected her only son to microwave the left over rice from last night when he gets hungry.

Tayo made a face after reading the note. Not left over rice again, he thought to himself. He was twelve when his father passed on. His father had died in action. The fact of the matter was that Mr Bello had unusual powers. He had been recruited by the pretty inefficient local police force with whom he put his ability to mimic the voice of a Stormfire god to good use. The armed robbers, armed potheads, armed psychos, armed whatever catch an immediate case of wobbly legs when Mr Bello put on his Stormfire god voice. They drop their weapons and run away. Mr Bello wasn't lucky on his last mission. The armed millitant's hand shook violently as he heard Mr Bello's voice. He hit the trigger in the process and the bullet went straight through the Man with the mighty voice. It didn't say anywhere that a Thunder Voice came with a side order of immortality. His wife and only son shed tears that could have drowned the town at the funeral. They got a mansion and a huge check from the government though. Their man had died a very honorable death.

Five years has passed and Tayo, still thinking about his dad, used the plastic spoon to pick the last grain of rice from the plastic plate. He wasn't interested in washing any dishes and his mother wasn't going to do it either. He looked up at the time. It was only 2:30pm. The interview was at five. He was about to graduate secondary school and the local police has offered him a job at the station. He didn't have his father's Stormfire god voice but he was six foot five and muscular enough to frighten most. Master Bello is very proud that he will be following in his father's footstep by joining the police. He would have to work very hard and avoid armed millitants with wobbly hands though.

Tayo got up from the dinning table. He went into his room to get dressed. It was only the beginning of the best of times and worst of times.

Sorry I took too long . . .

She saw the red wine spilled on the floor and the broken glass all around me and for a moment it seemed she couldn’t breathe. She grabbed me and checked all around my skin, there was no cuts and no gushing blood, but my eyes were red and my cheeks were wet with tears.

She wiped away my tears with the handkerchief I bought for her last Valentine while she pushed her hair away from her face. “What’s wrong baby?” she asked repeatedly and I began to mumble. The more I tried to talk, the more the tears came flowing. “I’m sorry, I love you so much” I said to her as she placed her hands on my face as if to force me to look her in the eyes. “I love you too” she replied although she looked slightly confused on what I was sorry for. I began to rabble some more, “I slept with another woman, I . . . I . . . slept with another woman because I was angry. Some man constantly kept leaving messages on our answering machine saying that it was a pleasure having lunch with you and random shit like that so I snapped. I lost it and I slept with another woman and I’m sorry.” She trembled, her hands shook, my lips quivered as she lifted her hands to her mouth and gasped for air as if she was suffocating.

Lol.

To finish it,

Maybe she was because sometimes love can be suffocating. Loving someone to the point of insanity, loving to the point where logic is blinded by all possible emotions that is then pushed into a tiny box with a time bomb strapped to it. Wars have begun in the name of love, blood has been spilled in the name of love, crimes have been committed for the sake of love and now infidelity has been the product of this love.

She took her hands off my face while pushing my face to side. I wanted to beg her, beg her to forgive me and take me back, but I sat still crying in defeat. There are some things you can’t expect a woman to forgive and this was one of them. She walked away towards the kitchen cabinets and grabbed a towel. She returned but made no eye contact with me. She got on her knees and began to clean up the spilled wine and picked up the broken pieces. It was quiet again, and the only sounds in the house were those of her footsteps as she continued to clean up the kitchen.

She finally returned to me, still refusing to look me in the face, she gently pulled at her hand and slowly took the wedding ring off her finger and dropped it on my lap. My heart broke into pieces smaller than particles and I looked at her and saw that streams of tears had surfaced in her eyes, and was rolling down her cheeks and down her neck where it soaked into her blouse.

She left the house, but I did not run out after her. I remained there staring blankly into the wall, lost in a jungle of my untamed thoughts.

I rush franctically upstairs, placed the baby on the couch. “Oh…honey, wait for  mo…, mmy” I managed. Dashed to the bathroom rummaging through the cabinets. It should be here, I thought. I could feel the tightening. I should have had one in my purse.
But I found none there. Jack’s giant must have ailed from what ails me, I thought, as I listen to myself.

Okay, stop, think, remember…
Yes, I left it in the bedroom.

Quickly, to the bedroom and there it was. Click. Prime. Click.  Prime again.
Big breath in.  “Puff”. Hold a while.

Aaaahhh. Heavenly relief from Albuterol

The Dance

Rust-brown thick clouds, hovering almost tentatively in the skies before settling on rippled bodies glistening with sweat. Mad stomp of angry feet, rhythmic chants of sore palms, the reverberating ekwe blending beautifully with the shrill cries of the ogene, the men pulsed, their buttocks undulating to the sweet melody of Ichie’s song.

The women ogled, their breasts swinging pendulously to the frenzy of excited men, the old men smacked their gums and tried so hard to look uninterested.

“Ichie sings well”,

“Hmm”, Akwuekwue rinsed toothless gums with palmwine.
 
“He’s a charmer”, said one.

Ebechineme nodded his head slowly like an agama lizard . . . his walking stick tapped the parched earth, perhaps the sacred song would bring Amadioha’s blessings. Wasn’t that the reason for the dance in the first place?
Far far away from the madness, entranced in the magic pull of Ichie’s voice, the gods were watching.

@profmutant
LMAO! Nice one.

God! Brings back to many awful memories of brain freeze at the worst time.

The moment you submit your paper, everything comes rushing back.