okay i'm just making this up as i type. feel free to criticize because its not even a work in progress.

The rain was slowly letting up and the sea of humanity was starting to flow again as men and women alike drifted away from the refuge offered by shop awnings and kindly shop owners. Some were on their way home when the rain started, others were yet still chasing the elusive daily bread down the tortuous road while yet others had no home to go to, and for such it didnt make much difference whether the rains let up or carried on well into next week: home was where exhaustion overcomes the weary feet.

The air was cleansed of its filth and the purity of it was borne in the intimacy of the slightly cold wind that stirred, but however much the rains fall they coulndt wash away the underlying filth in the human heart, the persistence of which now was showcased by the aggressive Danfo driver who gunned down the street spraying muddy water onto the unfortunate among the already drenched souls walking the side of the roads. Curses trailed the wayward driver but he was oblivious, benumbed by the frequency of endless tirades which had woven themselves into the fabric of his existence on the streets of lagos.

Harsh words and curses were integral components of the din in the streets of lagos, and to take heed of them, even for a second, was to distract himself from his single-minded purpose of extracting some kind of living off those same streets. so he would drive as he saw fit and damn the consequences.

There was one other who lived off those streets too, one whose disposition to curses was not numb. one who didnt feel as confident in the vastness of the faceless throng as the driver obviously did. stella had always felt she stood out on the streets and that fact heightened her discomfort, and however much she wanted to remain invisible she knew she had to be seen. necessity compelled it of her, that same necessity that made her hawk her body on the streets of lagos. it was her own way of chasing the daily bread to support not just herself, but four year old sophia and her old parents put to pasture in the village.

Her parents. the tremors come whenever she thought of them, of the disgusted and disapproving looks her father cast upon her whenever she went to the village to see them. the old man was incapacitated by diabetes and the ravages of time. the bitterness in him robbed him daily of the strength to live, for he stubbornly insisted on focusing all his weakening energy on hating the only child he ever brought into this world, the same child who now had chosen a manner of commerce that dishonoured him and deepened the shame he felt for being a grandfather to a bastard child sired by a good-for-nothing northerner. he couldnt see very well but whenever stella came he would gaze in the opposite wall away from his daughter, his eyes fiery embers from the flames burning in him. he would stare at the cracks in the wall and would take neither the drugs nor the food stella brought him. he would mumble incoherently but the venom could be felt, and it went deep into stella and like real poison it weakened her, gnawed at her, and she would shed tears not of self-pity but of rage, of all the anger that collected in her over the years, anger that stemmed from her conviction that her way of living was a consequence of the failures of her father.

And he was too blind to see that. or perhaps in his own self satisfying way he chose not to. he had disowned her many times before, but she still came. she had not disowned him. he was her father and there was no changing that, no matter how much he hated her and little sophia. no matter how much he failed to see, to feel, that she took no pride in what she was doing and that it took something of her being anytime she saw those looks in his unseeing eyes. and the pain was made worse by the own mother who refused to look into stella's eyes, always finding subtle ways to keep her rheumy eyes focused on some distant object.

stella felt alone in an unmerciful world. all around her humanity swirled and flowed without seeming to ebb, but she felt alone and vulnerable. there were other emotions-fear, rage, shame, and the nagging realization that she may fail her daughter too-but these emotions she surpressed as much as she could and focus on getting whatever she could off the lecherous men who thronged the streets, those same men who cast their own looks of disgust upon stella as if she was a filthy anathema upon the filthier streets. those same men who would come haggling for a pound of flesh to satisfy their lusts.

stella glanced at her cheap wristwatch. ten minutes past six and already the cloud-darkened skies were getting darker. she sighed. there were days like this when she didnt make a kobo. tomorrow she would be back again. and perhaps so would the rain.

Very high word-to-story ratio! No paragraphs!!

Wow!

Excellent story. Nice portrayal of Lagos and Stella's personality! Try putting it in paragraphs for easy read though.

Hey, i must put up a story here!

@seun
sir, you are an ardent student of the school that says "dialogue makes a story" and my effort is a direct contrast of that. but since u want to nitpick, could u point out superfluous words? tell me what is unnecessary and should be edited without upsetting the cadence and i'll be more than happy to indulge you for i set this up so my peers can REVIEW and CRITICIZE even unmercifully should they so choose. and the lack of paragraphs, sir, was occasioned by the simple fact that i was typing and making up the story, such as it were, as i went along and therefore was not conditioned by the perfectionist mantle you wrap yourself in to lose myself in the "artistry" of document layout. i can spare neither the time nor the will you poured into your "story" which despite such attention turned out to be convoluted and jejune.

@ dadidylan
sir, i am well pleased by your encouraging words, for in putting them forth you have distinguished yourself as a proper gentleman of exquisite taste. i, too, commend your efforts and must insist we meet for dinner the better for us to fire the cylinders of each other's literary genuis. may i presume, sir, to consider it my station by virtue of your benevolence to venture forth this appeal that you ignore the poor simple country fellow who moderates this forum, that country bumpkin who goes by the provincial name of "seun"?

Neoteny, we're in the twentieth century, easy on ur lil ''english'' writin, makes me feel like i'm reading stuff from Napoleon's years. anyhoo, noice work.

absolutely charmed, young lady, but we are in the twenty-FIRST century. cor! and i thot i was stuck in the past.
well im a bit of a Don Quixote, and at the same time i simply adore 18th century England. all those powdered men with their prim and proper manners. thanks anyways.

aiite, my bad, but u get my point and that's all i really wanted. your welcome

I love the composition of Neoteny's expressions!

Neoteny,

I think the observation has already been made about the paragraphs, so no need to repeat it. Don't underestimate the usefulness of white space in telling the story itself.

I like the way you've attempted to portray the cold, hostile atmosphere as a backdrop to introducing Stella into the story. But I think that some of the words used in the sentence construction and the length of some of the sentences themselves blunt the edge of your description. I'll try to give you an example - you say:

"Some were on their way home when the rain started, others were yet still chasing the elusive daily bread down the tortuous road while yet others had no home to go to, and for such it didnt make much difference whether the rains let up or carried on well into next week: home was where exhaustion overcomes the weary feet. the air was cleansed of its filth and the purity of it was borne in the intimacy of the slightly cold wind that stirred, but however much the rains fall they coulndt wash away the underlying filth in the human heart, the persistence of which now was showcased by the aggressive Danfo driver who gunned down the street spraying muddy water onto the unfortunate among the already drenched souls walking the side of the roads."

I'd have written something like this:

"Some were on their way home when the rain started. Others were yet still chasing their daily bread, while yet others had no home to go to. For this lot, it made no difference whether the rains let up or carried on well into next week: home was where exhaustion overcame the weary feet, where the air was cleansed of its filth and where its purity was borne in the intimacy of the cold wind that stirred. But however much the rains fall they could not wash away the underlying filth in the human heart, the magnitude of which now was displayed by the aggressive Danfo driver who gunned down the street spraying muddy water onto the already drenched souls walking the side of the road."

This also shows up in other parts of the story as well.



I think you've done well to give a succinct background to Stella, and how she came to be where she is now. I think you've also provided an interesting contrast between Stella's feeling of isolation and the hostile setting that you portrayed earlier. It's not particularly original - but it's done well.

But never mind me. Please carry on, irrespective!

2goodguy

sir, they dont call you good guy for nothing. may i recommend your name to the Queen for knighthood? you must admit, Sir guy has quite a ring to it.

@ka
nagode ( it means thanks in hausa, my native tongue). you know for someone to actually input all the required resources into making a helluva story one must be writing either from passion or for commerce. i was writing for neither. i was writing for writing's sake and consequently it's sloppy and i certainly did not claim originality. come to think of it, every book is original else no book is. this is my first attempt at writing about the human condition cos my bent is horror. but really i appreciate your critique.

I've done the paragraphing for you. Cheers.

Neoteny,

You say:

". . . i certainly did not claim originality."

I guess you must have been reacting to this statement of mine:

". . . It's not particularly original - but it's done well."

Just to clarify - when I said 'it', I wasn't referring to the entire story (which is original, as far as I know) but the contrast between Stella's feeling of isolation and the hostile setting that you portrayed earlier. This is a device I've seen used in many stories to reinforce the feeling of isolation of the subject.

So please don't take that as a harsh criticism.

@ka
i thot u meant THE WHOLE idea was not original but i see i err. thanks for clarifying that, and even if u were harsh it'd be acceptable cos i was to some folks. thanks again.

booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

lol

lmfao i didnt even read it ,

Me either It looks blahhh lmaoooo

@teezy, @k2dac

hehehe. killjoys.

@seun
thanks dude.

lmfao neo u know u started it

@Neo
aww sorry, k ill read it later then n get back to u, aii

lol at u saying sorry

Hahaha. Im jus being nice

lmfaooo damn im hungry

Me too. Ima go order some chinese.

Neoteny, your story's excellent, You're very articulate and I love the descriptions you used.

I'm sure u made A's in your descriptive essays.

Yeah i love this. Mostly because u said 'you formed it as you typed'. With those english and errthang? Boy u want to be my english teacher? I pay in kind not cash. So ermm think about it. (ok, im kidding).

But seriously good write up.

I dont normally read this kind of stories. BUt this was a good one. Strugled a lil bit while reading. But all in all good.

@Neo
Okay wow!_{n this time i actually read it} That's pretty good considering the fact dt u made it up as u typed. You talented bruh, i give u your props

Outkast:

Neoteny, your story's excellent, You're very articulate and I love the descriptions you used.

yo! come online sometime so i can send the stuff to u aiite.

@Neoteny
This story is fantastic (i'm clapping right now) It's got great use of discription of the character and Lagos , and right at the beginning you tell of us the relationship between Stella and her father making us know the characer better and inviting us into her world. I've found it very interesting and highly visual. I hope along the way you place in dialogue because you didn't place in any at the market place, which i find unusal because a lot goes on in ares such as this.

it seems like every one wants to write a story now seun you have to invent another board which wuld be called story board so every one that wants to write a story can post it there.any way your story is very intresting keep it up.

thanks people. i forgot my acceptance speech but i couldnt have done this without my producer, my agent and all the good folks at random house. i want to thank dan brown-dan, even though da vinci code was a sacrilege, i appreciate your input. but i couldnt have done this without you guys. thanks, this is for you.<someone whispering off-camera:" uh uh, another celeb doing nedles and white powder again.">
ok, just fooling. thanks anyway. second helping coming up soon.