zinylicious:
Nice one Mr LarrySun... Keep it up

Thank you, ma'am. I'm glad you find it nice.

TheSonOfMark:

The story starts with Idris being haunted by flashbacks from that gory scene. How then do the readers/listeners get to feel what Idris feels if that scene isn't graphic enough? I think the use of imagery there is necessary. That insight into the gore that took place helps us understand why Idris is haunted.
The author hasn't crossed that supposed moral line 'cause the description doesn't extend to the mutiliation of the corpse and how it was disposed off.
♦

Thank you, sir. I feel your command of the language.

prettydiva89:
Nice story as usual. MY INIOUITIES

Thank you, Diva.

nicholausian:
I think 'kidnapped without his parents' consent' was intended to be funny, because, of course... (Finally, someone noticed the intent.)
It's an excellent piece, but I worry it may become drab. I mean, the solemn, serious tone serves its purpose but isn't interestingness the go-word?. (It may not be drab if the writer is wise enough to maintain the height of suspense. And I assure you, sir, it's not entirely that seriously gory along the way.)
Please explain how Idris could have known the time the journey lasted, when his hands and legs had been tied together. I'm not going to mention that he was in a boot, assuming his digital watch had an LED backlight. (This is an intelligent criticism. Thank you, sir, for pointing that out; I didn't even see it.)
And what does the expression 'stringed up like a log of wood' mean anyway? (I used it to give a clear mental picture, sir.)

Thank you, Nic. You're awesome.

BobUg28:
Great one again from LarrySun, keep 'em coming please.

Thank you, sir.

Missmossy:
Terrific, following.

Thank you, 'Mossy. You're welcome here.

Thank you Sir Larry. You never disappoint.

It's Larry again! Time to get glued to my television set (telephone set). Weldone Sir, continue doing what you know how best to do.

Mehn, Bosses LarrySun and KingzPen. I must say I'm awed by you people's brilliance.







That's why I won't want to stop getting better.






More ink to your pens and brilliance to your brains.



Great job.

One of them went out of the room and returned with a bucket of water. He bathed me with the water, making sure that my entire body got covered with water. As soon as the bathing ended, each of the men took out a whip from the bag at the corner of the room. I knew of these whips as only one name—'koboko'. I had once been flogged with something like this by one of my teachers in the community school I attended. The pain can be qualifed with only one word—excruciating. I remembered how loudly I had cried as the callous teacher beat me. Each stroke came with a stab of pains that rocked my entire body. I had prayed never to be subjected to such punishment again. But here I stood after only two years, facing a more terrible fate of koboko flagellation.

The men, too, went ahead to damp their whips by dipping them in the puddle on the floor. Then the flogging resumed. The pains I experienced is beyond description. I search for the right word to describe what I felt in that room, but I can't find. The men flogged me with brutal viciousness. I screamed like a soul tormented in Hell. My skin tore like rag as each heavy stroke landed on my soft body. No part of me was spared: my belly, torso, arms, legs, neck, chest, buttocks, back—especially my back. My whole body dripped with blood, and the floor soon became a mixture of water and blood. The men continued beating me with the grim determination to pivot me to the apex of painful terror. The beating became so excruciating that I couldn't scream out anymore. My damaged body got more damaged. My resolve, too, became damaged; I could no more beg, I could no more cry out, and I could stand no more upright either.

I felt unconsciousness looming over me, and I rejoiced at this. At least, with this approaching dark oblivion, I would feel no more pain. I gladly welcomed the unconsciousness. Soon, I could feel nothing anymore. I found myself in a realm of lost self. I had barely settled myself in this dark confinement of comfort when I suddenly discovered myself returned to reality. Another bucket of water had been splashed on me to wake me up. And, fortunately for me, the flogging stopped. The evil men untied me and I fell onto the puddle. I remained there for some time. I could hear the men laughing at me. I was lying there helplessly, unable to move a limb. I hoped the men would leave me alone. They should leave me here. I found myself praying for death. Dying would be a great relief. I believed killing me had to be the men's objectives for them to have unleashed such inhumane punishment on my body. They should indeed finish their task. I prayed they would end this terrible suffering. I wished one of them would pick the pistol with which I had shot Sanni, load another bullet into it and shoot me at the back of the head. They would be doing me a great favour by ending my life. I tried to speak out, to beg them to kill me, but my voice was too low to be heard by the men. I could barely hear myself.

I didn't know when I slept off there in the puddle.

I woke up on a bed in another room. I lay under a blanket but discovered my unclothedness under the sheet covering me. I found a man at the entrance. His pair of eyes stared at me from behind his covered face. His black clothes draped right from his head to his feet. None of his body showed. A pair of gloves covered his hands and another pair of socks shrouded his feet. A pair of black flat-soled sandals encased his covered feet. But one thing about the figure scared the paradise out of me. The figure carried a long gun in his hands, and his eyes, too, looked unkindly at me, as if I had once stolen something from him.

I felt very hungry, but too scared to tell the mean figure that I needed food. And as if the security officer read my mind, he went to a cupboard beside the door and presented me with a plate of Tuwo shinkafa and a stew. I attacked the food like a wolf, eating voraciously. I finished the food within five minutes and my eyes pleaded for more. The figure further offered me a basin of water with which to wash my hands, and a bottle of water to drink. This food, although not actually sustaining me enough, managed to curb my hunger. As soon as I was done with the meal, the figure extracted a mobile phone from his pocket as said into it: "He's awake."

I looked wide-eyed at the figure. My surprise knew no bounds. The figure—the figure watching over me—proved to be a female! I looked at the eyes again and saw the lined eyebrows and eyelashes. They were darkened with eye pencil. I became confused. Where had this person come from? What task had she been assigned? A woman armed with a gun? I had no logical explanation for what I had just witnessed. Then just five minutes later, a very tall man entered the room. The covered woman left as soon as the tall man entered the room. The man had an ugly scar under his left eye. He loomed as huge as his height. He sat beside me on the bed and looked straight into my eyes. I tried to look back; I believed I had started reaching that level of rationality that goes beyond fear. Nothing seemed scary to me anymore. I believed I had attained a level where pain could go no further. So, I would not allow myself to be intimidated by this man's stare. To hell with him! Let him go ahead and inflict punishment on me. What other punishment could match the terror I had already endured? He looked at me without smiling. I, too, didn't reward him with a grin either. We continued staring at each other for a few minutes until the man broke the silence by speaking to me in Hausa language.

"I welcome you to this community of liberation, Idris Abu. You are chosen for a divine purpose."

nice one bro,continue

as I continue to read this story, it looks quite similar to the horrors described in "Beasts of no Nation".
Terror is a grave evil that must not be unleashed on even the worst of men.

pls mr Larrysun ,finish d black maria story now

http://writertainpublishers.com/?p=2301

Guys, click on the link to vote for LarrySun as the best writer in this year's Nairaland writer's award..
Let's show him love and support,we can do this..

#TeamLarrysun