This story is good, you have managed to maintain the balance and this brings up my curiosity to know what happens next. I must commend your effort, it is good. Well done.

Fazemood:
This story is good, you have managed to maintain the balance and this brings up my curiosity to know what happens next. I must commend your effort, it is good. well done.

thanks man.
you haven't seen anything yet.

Waiting...please update.

Update o

some keys that might help.

NASA= National Aeronautics and Space Administration.

the traces of carbon emission= smoke from motor exhaust, fire wood, plastic and rubber materials etc

Read slowly with a better understanding to uncover some hidden meanings and be best entertained.

my writing is unusual but there is a levelling-up.

my chosen style of writing is on purpose; I have Amazon in mind.

stay tuned for more episodes...

authorsegun:
#SURVIVORSepisodeA
(c) S.O. Joseph
(c) JOS Literatures
All rights reserved

EPILOGUE

"… NASA further explained, that these creatures feed on the traces of emitted carbon that had escaped to the far space and warns that it could mean a great threat to earth and its occupants in the nearest future.…Racia Smith, reporting from Washington D.C"

The voice suddenly paused for some seconds and continued as a song.


EPISODE ONE

Mrs. Walker had to screw up her eyes against the glare; the glittering golden kitchen knife in her hand had been mirror-angled to the dazzling light of the pale orange morning sun that had mischievously found its way into the mild light-up room, and it was ten seconds later before she could see clearly.

She swifted a quick glance at the wall clock and yelled in her mind, sweet Jesus! Quarter past eight already?


With a single stroke of the knife, she crack-opened the egg in her hand and emptied its content into the Borosil glass mixing bowl resting on the glass cabinet in front of her and began to stir.

The kitchen had a perimeter twice the size of two standard rooms, and was furnished by Snaidero - a leading kitchen manufacturer in Europe.

Mrs. Walker was still mixing spices to the mixed-up glair and yolk in the bowl when a beeping sound came hooting from the toasting machine beside her – indicating that the bread inside it 'd been fully toasted. She remembered she'd need to scrape off the brownish part of the loafs; Amanda disliked brown breads. The profuse smoke coming from the oil inside the frying pan would likely poke the snoozing smoke detector if nothing is added to the oil ASAP. Mrs. Walker whirled around the kitchen like a cook that had to meet up an important order. She'd need to stay in control of things, else things would get messy, and somehow she did.


She'd to change Amanda's usual breakfast, else the little one would be late for school - I mean, more than she was already.

Scrambled eggs, stir-fried Zucchini and sausage had been Amanda’s favorite for breakfast, but not today. If only hear husband - Mr. Walker was around, he'd have been useful in convincing Amanda to accepting her accidental breakfast. But then, he'd left the house since five in the morning for a business trip, making Mrs. Walker a married single once again. And even though she was used to it - having him away, she couldn't get used to his cold heart. She kept blaming herself for ending up with such a cruel man... Merit Walker; a renowned business tyrant, who took business above every other thing in life.

"Amanda!”

It was Mrs. Walker calling out from the kitchen. She was now ready to pet and scold her only child to a compromise.

“Breakfast is ready, honey!”she shouted.“Come on down here, we ain’t got time!”

Still, there was no answer.

"Sweetheart, you'd better come of your own accord. Mommie is in a hurry and has no time for your hide and seek this morning!” Mrs. Walker shouted again and started for the upper floor of the mansion.

Two things used to keep Amanda from Mommies call: one was cartoon network and the other, when she wanted to be playful. But Mrs. Walker wasn’t in the mood for neither. All she wanted at the moment was - not to waste more time in the house.


She'd definitely get harsh voices at the office and a long sheet of questionnaire from Mrs. Broklin – Amanda’s class teacher.

The words of Mrs. Broklin started groaning in her ears like the sound of a snarling dog; she was advising Mrs. Walker to take a nanny for Amanda and enroll her for a school bus. Mrs. Walker's face tightened a little to the thought. She would tell Mrs. Broklin to start keeping her opinion to herself this time, if she brings up the topic again.

As far as Mrs. Walker was concerned, Amanda was her world; her only responsibility and was ready to trade anything for her baby’s attention, even her job.

Mrs. Walker stamped over to the sitting room to show her daughter how sober she was. As she got closer, she could hear low-pitched yell, coming from the television set.

Yeah, right, Mrs. Walker smirked at her own thoughts. she's onto cartoons as predicted.

"Hey baby! Didn't you hear…”Mrs. Walker had barely
completed the statement when her eyes stumbled onto her seven year old daughter, sitting curled up in a foetal position in front of the TV, watching a violent scene; where a white man was beating up a black woman in a domestic violence.

“Mommie, look!" Amanda pointed to the TV screen. “He's hurting her. It’s not fair", Amanda grunted and poked out her pink little lower lip.

“Yes baby, it’s not moral", Mrs. Walker said, as she switched off the TV and took Amanda’s school
bag.“C'mon lets go, you’re late for school already. Breakfast is down stairs.”

Half way down the stairs, Amanda suddenly stopped; she whirled around to face Mrs. Walker and asked,“Is Dad not moral to you, Mommie?”

Mrs. Walker, who had stopped also, squatted to equal her face with Amanda's and said, “Aye, how about you leave all your questions till evening, hon?"
She placed her right hand on Amanda’s left shoulder and continued, "then you can
interview me all you wanna. But only in the evening, sweetheart."

Mrs. Walker had used the wisdom to avoid another possible question, such as: "Mommie, why am I eating toast bread for breakfast?
"

“You promise, Mommie?” Amanda asked in a most adoring voice.

“ Cross my heart, Pompkin", Mrs.
Walker said, amidst smiles and with her right hand placed across the pink tie running down her white collard shirt, that was embraced by an ash Italian blazers.

A contented smile surged out of Amanda’s face, not because of her mother’s demonstration, but because of 'Pompkin' – her pet-name; a name which meant nothing but somehow conveyed an impression of beauty.

Amanda was only four the last time the black and white couple careless went physical in her presence. Somehow, the ugly scene still rankled in her memory. Mrs. Walker was sure right about that. Amanda had been taking note of their frequent exchange of harsh voices ever since.

One of Amanda’s teachers had summoned Mrs. Walker a couple of times over Amanda’s inquisitiveness on domestic violence. It’d been
embarrassing and awkward for Mrs. Walker all the way.

The last straw was Walker’s grubby affair with a white woman in Las Vegas - the reason for his timeless
business trips to the beachy city, as stated by Mrs. Walker’s spy.

Amanda ate her breakfast slowly and not looking up from the plate as she ate. Her eyes would glow less brighter whenever she'd to do something just to please her mother.

When Mrs. Walker walked out of her room, looking all ready to go, her daughter was looking otherwise.

“Baby, don’t do this to me... please hurry up and let’s go,” Mrs. Walker said, as she took Amanda’s lunch-box and headed for the main entrance door. Amanda trudged behind behind her.

"Mommie, I don’t wanna go to school today,”Amanda said with an appealing stare from her little grey eyes, then she suddenly halted and folded her hands.

A deep sense of despair took over Mrs. Walker. She became stunned by Amanda’s utterance.

Though she dreaded denying her daughter anything, especially when she had that looks, she
wouldn’t condole any attempt of her skipping school.

"A better try next time, Pompkin," Mrs. Walker almost murmured aloud.

“Oh baby! We don’t have to go through this again. I told you beautiful girls don’t skip school. Don’t you wanna be a Lawyer anymore?"

“I wanna, Mommie."

"Then unfold your hands and let’s go.”

As they walked on, Mrs. Walker thought of societal influence as a major factor behind Amanda’s sudden negative attitude towards
education, but she wouldn’t allow the play-out.

One thing she feared most was her daughter becoming a factory fodder as the uneducated blacks in her society - a society dominated by educated whites.

Mrs. Walker thought it was high time she gave her daughter a better upbringing. Hence, the need to dissolve the union that had kept her in Philadelphia.

Last night, she'd quietly discussed divorce with Mr. Walker and even threatened to serve him the papers as soon as he returns from his trip. But he was however reticent about the issue; so self-centred as he used to be.

When they got to the garage, The car was no where to be found; Walker
had switched it for his.

“Where's your car Mommie?” Amanda asked.

“We’re going on this Ferrari, since your Dad took it”

“But Mommie, Dad don’t let you drive his car”

“Maybe not today… see? He left the key behind,” Mrs. Walker said, pointing to the key in the power steering through the window,“Meaning he Wants us to take a ride in it!"

Amanda instinctively knew that something was wrong with the day, but didn’t know how best to express
it, being a kid that she was.

Mrs. Walker entered the car and opened the passenger door from inside. Amanda reluctantly hopped in and belted up with a straight face.

“This car moves very fast - just the kind of ride we need now, Pompkin." Mrs. Walker said, smiling.

As she reversed swiftly out of the garage, and into the street, little did she know they were on a swift ride to
doom....

welcome guys
scroll to see other episodes

Onijagidijagan Gucciqueen38 Sammy07 pu7pl3 tflaymez jerryLegend Enigmaticprof demsid Tolulopefinest Mustack hidhrhis censeakay QueenlyP XTLikeNat777 dammyd46 nastynic Ezionye twisteddany mercy0008 Donnellie afolabiwunmi frankdaholy miqos02 nittroboy Elfaris RickyMARIO maynia dingbang tjquib heylius collinometricx EKLE iampere Aniwhyte duruanyimhenry pheals Kingstone32 DeadRat Despirado21 sunnelzky omaigala12 lucksofy negzi vichrix jamilkb ianTOBBY 77al adedayo3193 olive33 mhizroh22 thebrightest demikol adeniyilamlek dhsfbi neurojosh Neeklaus Princehedris olumidephilip prince202020 SEEDBED Ayomicome LOGICALKEN chiagozien Daviestunech insp jamrid Raheemzee Bluefish7 wistadeRegal Treasure17 fvckname kaycee9242 itsandi tukdi kingin55 phantam95 smartoliver dannlukas hatchetman

Nice nice.

I'm following

authorsegun:

welcome guys
scroll to see other episodes

Onijagidijagan Gucciqueen38 Sammy07 pu7pl3 tflaymez jerryLegend Enigmaticprof demsid Tolulopefinest Mustack hidhrhis censeakay QueenlyP XTLikeNat777 dammyd46 nastynic Ezionye twisteddany mercy0008 Donnellie afolabiwunmi frankdaholy miqos02 nittroboy Elfaris RickyMARIO maynia dingbang tjquib heylius collinometricx EKLE iampere Aniwhyte duruanyimhenry pheals Kingstone32 DeadRat Despirado21 sunnelzky omaigala12 lucksofy negzi vichrix jamilkb ianTOBBY 77al adedayo3193 olive33 mhizroh22 thebrightest demikol adeniyilamlek dhsfbi neurojosh Neeklaus Princehedris olumidephilip prince202020 SEEDBED Ayomicome LOGICALKEN chiagozien Daviestunech insp jamrid Raheemzee Bluefish7 wistadeRegal Treasure17 fvckname kaycee9242 itsandi tukdi kingin55 phantam95 smartoliver dannlukas hatchetman

Thanks for the invite. Following!

Pinkberry5:
Nice nice.

I'm following

.sent you an email because I wanted to send you the e-book (Beneath my heart) if you have not gotten it. If you want it, then reply. We will send it to you.

sorry for the delay, I've been kinda busy.
I trust y'all good


EPISODE FIVE


Niyi swallowed the lump in his throat and started, “Mr. Jemeh, could you highlight six products from this company?”



“Merit Super Detergent, Merit Luscious perfume, White Luxuriant Cream, Lure Fine Powder, Okek Tobacco and....” . Jemeh scratched his head trying to remember the last one. He peered anxiously into Niyi’s face for remark, but the dark pot-bellied man said nothing.

Jemeh didn’t give much a damn about Niyi’s reaction anyway. He'd dropped interview anxiety and had pocketed every trace of shyness before walking into the yard.

“Do you know the word ‘cooperation’?” Mrs. Effiong threw the question at Jemeh as she adjusted to a
more upright position in her seat.

Jemeh shifted his gaze to her,“yes
ma’am," he answered.

“And what does it means?"

“It means – togetherness; working with someone else for a common goal and also em... doing as you're told.”

“… and if your team member is not cooperating?”

“I’ll report him to you”, Jemeh said with a wide grin that got faded by the mean look from Niyi’s face.
He wondered why the woman wouldn't laugh, though her face pregnant with laughter. He started thinking the interviewer's disposition was on purpose, as non had scored him yet.

Unlike him, he'd been keeping his cool in there - by not allowing any reproach to bring down his
spirit. He wished the borrowed temperament would be sustained.

"Peradventure, you’re hired as a marketer, what's your price?” Anderson asked
.

What! Niyi grimaced at Anderson’s statement. He never imagined Anderson would bargain with Jemeh, his low qualification notwithstanding. In Niyi’s arrogant opinion, Anderson ought to be in his spacious, artifact enriched office puffing cigar and making those endless calls or should be on his unending business trips and not in the board room right now. He cursed management shake-up for bringing Anderson back to workers recruitment exercise, after three years of doing it without him.

“Like three hundred K, Sir”

"Nul! Be formal!”

“Eish!, I’m sorry sir, anything around three hundred thousand naira would do.”

“We pay in dollars.”

“Oops!”

It took Jemeh only ten seconds to work out the dollar equivalent off hand. Jemeh knew by himself that it was
impossible for him to be paid such a huge amount as a diploma holder in an economy undergoing
economic recession, but to his utter astonishment, the 'Oyinbo-looking' man seemed to more generous than he'd thought.

“Bof!... okay, Mr. Dania, you may leave. We’ll get back to you”Anderson said, shifting his attention away from his file.

“Sir, you mean I should - go?” Jemeh asked in a voice drifting between high and low pitch as he looked into Anderson’s eyes.

“Young man! You should go-ahead and stop asking gawky questions!” Niyi cut-in a yell. "Look, we have other appellants on the queue."

Anderson let out a faint smile with the rare flash of humour from Jemeh’s facial
expression. And Mrs. Effiong couldn’t hold back this time and so, she bursted into a loud laugh, banging the table with her short fat hands and hitting her chubby head on it as well.

OMG! (Oh My God!)! This woman is hilarious! Jemeh chuckled. Her laugh was contagious, he would have love to join her.


Now, Jemeh who had taken a rather jaundiced view of interviews ending in, 'We’ll get back to you' left
the building with no expectations. His pensive mood was observable as he got to the reception. He exited, forgetting his bag where he'd kept it.



There were no much commuters as Jemeh got to Siemens bus stop. But it took him some minutes to join
a commercial bus heading Oshodi. The traffic on the mainland bridge was heavy, it usually was at that time of the day. The vehicles crawled along the road like giant Tortoises, while the yellow buses (danfo), impatiently as ever, meander through the traffic as if only they had had reason to be in hurry.

“ Make una bring out your moni,” the Bus-boy requested for the passengers transport-fare with a twist of accent and stretched out his right hand to the two passengers in the front seat.

“Oya na!” he hastened the passengers in a dry rasping voice - the voice that woke
Jemeh from his little slumber and caused him a little agitation.

After eight months, Jemeh was still
struggling with the frenzy lifestyle of the most populous black city in the world, where no perfect gentleman existed.

By the time he realized he wasn’t with his bag, the Bus-boy was
already at him.

“Oga, your moni?” the Bus-boy asked. Jemeh was looking unwilling to comply. Without quarrel, the Bus-boy moved to other passengers with the aim of returning.
Jemeh started contemplating on the most patronizing excuse to give for his shortcoming, but just then, the Bus-boy returned.

“Alaye! Pay me my moni na!,”he shouted at Jemeh, tapping his fingers - running out of
patience and in no time, he'd speak completely in native dialect to enable him vent his full frustration verbally.

“I… I misplaced my money" Jemeh spluttered. "I’m sorry, abeg help me,” he said in a low voice, without looking up from his black silky trousers.

The Bus-boy let out a loud and embarrassing guffaw and began to yell threats at Jemeh,“Story for the gods! Wo, maa gba owo mi!”

Jemeh could see an assurance of trouble in the rugged face of the full-grown man, even though he didn't understand the latter part of his sentence.

“Hey bro., pay na! You people're disturbing me o!” Jemeh was now being accosted by the passenger on his right side.

No one seemed to be nice and understanding here! Jemeh lamented in his mind. At this point, he began to lose his composure. As he sat head-bow, he could imagine the eyes in the bus falling on him. The bus suddenly became a choking narrow alley. He prayed for an escape route that never came. His body temperature rose above normal in the heat of the moment, his memory travelled back to Benin City where he'd come from.

Is it that the people here don’t show concern about their neighbours, or are they just too sensitive and naïve? Jemeh asked the rhetorical in thought.
But one thing was certain about Lagosians, as the people of the city were foundly called: they learnt very fast from their past mistakes and that of others.

As Jemeh lifted his head, his eyes beamed upon a poster in an A5 size, pasted on the right end of the window facing him, 'Lagos is for all of us.' the poster read. Jemeh muffled a hiss and retracted his eyes. He began to question the ideology of the political party that owned the poster. His mind flew back to the interview room and back to the front-toothless Ogre snarling at him at the moment and thought a day couldn't be worse, unknowing to him his day had just begun.....

TBC...

Beautiful piece my friend. Keep it up!

Interesting

Kudos OP

Nice 1 pls update

queenitee:
Lemme invite some people
Evajael, Kimberlywest, centino, jagugu8li, fazemood, Eyinimofeoluwa, creeza(been long tho, where have you been?) pinkfeet

thanks for the invite.

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Waiting

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I'm here oo

patjane:
I'm here oo

take a seat, we're heading somewhere!

Bus-boys in the city of Lagos had a clear


EPISODE SIX



Bus-boys in the city of Lagos had a clear reputation of being arrogant and cruel. Most of them were touts - always ready to strike their adversary unprecedentedly.

“You no want to pay me my
moni, abi? Ahhhh! maa lu e pa!” the Bus-boy threatened on and poised his right pawl to strike.

That was the point when the driver’s attention was drawn - when he stole a glace to see what was happening at the back through the rare-mirror and saw what had resemblance with electric sparks in Jemeh’s eyes.

May God not allow me encounter spirits, the driver made a quick prayer under his breath and hauled-in in the nick of time, to prevent any eventuality.

“Condor… kilo n sele?”he asked the Bus-boy over his shoulder.

“Oga mi, alaye yini sha…” the Bus-boy launched into an explanation. And after a
little more conversation between both in dialect, the driver started stepping on the breaks.

Had Jemeh been able to speak the dialect, perhaps he could have found favour from the locals - the outward effect of a nation with numerous ethnicities and where ethnic prejudice had found cheap accommodation, Jemeh thought.

“Oga, come down!” said the driver as the bus braked to a total halt. Jemeh alighted and the bus sped off immediately, leaving behind thick smoke.

Jemeh would need to come out of his melancholic shell if he must survive with an empty pocket in the streets of Lagos.

Not so long, he sighted two men approaching from the far left of the road. A quick thought crept into his head and he began to untuck his shirt. He unbuttoned half way down then put on a straight face, as he waited.

The two men acted as predicted by Jemeh; for some seconds they paraded him with that look as if searching for something in his body before the one with small body and a haircut that had the shape of an African chief cap broke the silence by asking, “who you dey wait for?”

Jemeh remained quiet.

“you deaf? I say wetin you dey do here?”he asked even louder.

In a government road? What a rude Arrow! What an effrontery! Jemeh lamented inwardly, if not for his big colleague he'd have challenged him to a fight and pour out his frustration on him. But even at that, Jemeh had made up his mind not to be on the defensive or show any sign of weakness no matter what.

“Na you father get this place?” Jemeh gave him a surprising yell.

“Them dey follow you talk now, you dey para, abi?” the big one with tattoo all over his exposed arm said in a deep husky voice. "This place na bad place."

"Anaconda, abeg leave this Jew make we delete." the small one tusked the bigger man by the arm.

They continued their journey along the quiet road, chatting and looking back at Jemeh until they disappeared from view.

Jemeh stood numbed with dripping self-criticism after which the men had gone out of sight. He thought it was wrong of him to have judged them by appearance though he was still seeing no sense in their alert, judging by the busy and straight road with only short grasses along its sides, until he raised his eyes to the sign on the old and rusted giant signboard looming beside him....

Tbc.

Update oh

EPISODE SEVEN

The board had an inscription,‘welcome to Mutori Burial Grounds.' It was then he noticed an arrangement of grave headstones, peeping through the openings in the perimeter fence he'd been resting his back upon. A cold wind of horror descended on him. He pulled away from the fence without knowing what exactly he was afraid of and began to move out of the area - to the direction where the two men had left.

As he was walking,‘thriller’ by Michael Jackson flashed into his memory. His steps increased involuntarily. He wondered how inhuman and cruel the driver and his boy could be to have dropped him off in such location.

By the time he got to the closest bus-stop, he'd trekked for about thirty minutes. He discovered that the roof of houses he'd seen earlier were just a mirage of their actual distance. His digital wrist watch started beeping six o'clock in the evening.

Although there were no much commuters as he got there, but the number increased few minutes after. He shifted his stare from one person to another, trying to figure out the ones with the coolest appearance to approach for money, as begging was now his only option.

The first person he'd approached didn’t wait to hear him out before crawling away from him as though being menaced. The man’s reaction left Jemeh totally devastated and bemused, and it had taken him twenty minutes before he could get back his composure.

Jemeh was now standing by the side of a lady. Her appearance suggested a working class. She looked anxiously waiting for a bus. Jemeh prayed in his heart before unlocking his slim, pale-pink lips to say something. As courtesy would demand, he started the conversation with greetings. The lady gave him a quick glance, took a cautious position and returned his salutation. As the conversation advanced, Jemeh noticed his rehearsed lines striking a soft spot in the lady’s heart as she listened to him with all seriousness and pity face. She was about to open her hand bag when a bus arrived. She left Jemeh on the spot, rushed forward to join other commuters struggling for a seat in the waggling bus.

If she had missed the bus, it would have taken her another hour or more to get another bus. It usually was so in the evenings of working days, the traffic jam on most busy routes would hold back vehicles from arriving the bus-stops in time.

Jemeh knew he'd missed his best chance as he watched the lady took to a comfortable seat in the bus. He cursed himself for not approaching the lady at first, instead of the timid old man.

As the pale-orange sun began to disappear into the horizon, Jemeh was propped to time consciousness, he stood from where he'd sat and doggedly continued his quest for help.

The last person that broke Jemeh’s nerves had agreed to help him on one strict condition; he would pay Jemeh fare directly to the bus-boy and wouldn’t hand over cash to Jemeh.

Here was the problem: Jemeh’s final destination was Ipaja, while the man's destination was Berger.

The only explanation given by the man was that, it was against his policy to give cash to strangers.

But here was the thing: most Lagosians shared the school of thought that a lot of beggars in the city were pretentious and diabolical and would hurt their benefactor through voodoo, using cash as the most medium.

Jemeh could but only think of the man as casting aspersion on his integrity. And in as much as he wanted to prove the man wrong, he wouldn't change his destination just to establish that point. And so, he just let the man go away with his policy.

All Jemeh’s effort to avert the impending danger was to no avail. Some minutes later, the busy and noisy bus-stop became as quiet as the grave yard back there; It was about eleven o’clock in the night. Dejected and weak Jemeh felt like screaming but his strength had vaporized, so that instead of screaming, he was whining in self-pity. He kept on whining as he hopelessly watched the bus-stop go completely devoid of people.


TBC

Jeez... I'm scared for Jemeh ooh

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Pinkberry5:
Jeez... I'm scared for Jemeh ooh

lolz.... Jemeh is about to experience what I passed through the day I slept out.

What will he do now?

Update

Hmmmm

Well done OP

EPISODE EIGHT


“Up NEPA!!!” the shout of excitement in celebration of the restored electrical power supply, which had been out for the past twelve hours came from the next room and woke Judas from his shallow slumber.

Only the kids in the neighbourhood, except Linus, would shout whenever power was restored. Other Adults would simply mute the joy and snarl abuses on the
officials for their inability to provide the citizenry with an uninterrupted supply.

Judas stood up in the gloomy room, dabbled his fingers around the wall, flickered one of the switches and all the lights came on. He was momentarily dazzled for a while before he could read the wall clock out of rush.

“ Half past twelve!” he yelled as if Jemeh had just walked into the room. He lowered to the edge of the bed and suspended his head with his hand and began to scratch his crewcut hair with his phalanges.

He had had enough of Jemeh’s insolence. Even if he was going to sleep outdoor, he should have informed him. Judas drew his conclusions irrationally and that was it. He was such a man that believed so much in his own opinion, even when the truth came shrinking at him. And tonight, he'd seen the most justified reason to send Jemeh packing.

What was with Jemeh anyway? Judas questioned in thoughts, He won't contribute to the payment of bills; he'd been jobless, whose fault?

“Goal!!!,” another scream came from Linus and brought back Judas from his thoughts. He then remembered the football match that had been scheduled for the night. It was Nigeria versus an African country - their last qualifying match for the coming world cup competition.

The match had been trendy at Judas’ place of work for some days. They'd all waited the night for the excitement of the match.

"This stupid boy would have caused me to miss this match, eh!” Judas grunted and dashed for the black box colour TV resting on the glass shelf facing the bed and switched it on at once. The match was being transmitted by almost all the local TV stations. Judas selected the station with the most perfect signal and retired to the sofa for a better relaxation.

Linus would have retained his 'fat-fool' tag, if not for the football match alarm.

The only person that was worried, rather than angry about Jemeh’s night-out was Fatima; the landlord’s daughter. For some time now, Jemeh and Fatima had been spending their evenings together at the balcony of the old and rambling one storey building before going to bed. Gradually, they'd grown fond of each other. Their day was never completed without their usual evening chit-chat. Fatima had once opened up in one of their conversation, that she liked him because of his intelligence and reserved personality. Jemeh had shrugged nonchalantly so as not to appear flattered by Fatima's words.

On the other hand, Jemeh was in love with her vocal acrobatic – the way she performed skillfully with her voice when singing. And even though she wasn't so blessed with facial appearance, Jemeh saw her voice as a balance for the lapse.

Their friendship soon became a toothpick in the mouth of many in the neighbourhood; everyone had his or her own opinion about them and Judas had the most naive. The irony was that Judas had been a secret admirer of Fatima. He was lusting after her large bosoms and buttocks.

Indeed Fatima exuded more sex appeal compared to she was only sixteen. Her curves were inviting to both the old and young and Judas had vowed to take his share.

Jemeh had informed Fatima about the interview the previous night, and when at sunset, Jemeh wasn't back, Fatima was on pins and needles and much more disturbed when he didn’t pick her calls until his number went out of reach.

She suddenly got up from her bed and headed for Jemeh’s apartment. It was ten o'clock and she was about to throw the full weight of her chubby hand on the wooden door when the flashback of her last experience with Judas boomeranged on her memory. She suspended her arm in the air, turned around and walked slowly back to her room.

She had gone to look for Jemeh on that fateful night in his apartment when she met Judas, Jemeh's roommate alone in the room. She'd wanted to leave at once but Judas had insisted that she stayed a little longer.

“Why do you always run from me, Fatima?” Judas asked in his lowest voice.“Abi, am I not a people?” he humoured, imitating a popular comedian's line.

“And we are a person,” Fatima returned the humour - she understood the lines Judas had used so well. They stole a primitive glance at each other and twinkled smiles. Fatima loosened up and sat on the sofa with Judas, intending to stay for five minutes just to please Judas.

Judas seized the opportunity to unleash his lustful desires and intentions, instead of starting a good conversation with the teen.

While they were both in gloomy silence, and Fatima lost in the soap opera showing on the TV, Judas quietly moved closer to Fatima on the sofa until his thigh almost clunk to hers. He narrowed
her curves with a desirous gaze. His heartbeat began to miss its sequence as he couldn’t withstand the sexy baby-doll she was wearing that night – a short night gown that almost betrayed her pink-flowered tanga pant as she sat on the sofa. It was Judas’ touch on her soft spot that brought back her attention. She jerked at the touch and looked up with a puzzled frown on her face. She for a second wished it was Jemeh but of course not. She stood up and headed for the door when Judas made a second move. At this point, her face had metamorphosed from a frown unto a brooding snarl.

“Oloshi! I don’t blame you, Idiot!” she hissed and slammed the door behind her as she stomped out of the room.

Back in the room, Fatima laid on the bed with the worries of Jemeh’s safety until sleep came to her rescue. But then she'd filed up a long list of queries awaiting his return.


TBC...

Well done OP

Am here now, let me grab my seat

This is getting more interesting