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Stats: 2,524,986 members, 5,778,569 topics. Date: Sunday, 09 August 2020 at 06:30 AM
For Ten Thousand Dollars- The Aftermath Of An Unintended Office Romance / Clovin - The Secret Of The Journey. By Palmer Emmanuel / Hereafter (A Journey To The Otherside) By Alexander Busybrain (2) (3) (4)
|The Journey To A Thousand Flash by LarrySun(m): 8:29pm On Jul 11|
Some of you know that I have written a few books and some short stories. Indeed, I have written a few flash fiction pieces too. While I still have a lot of other books and stories to write (of course), I have decided to also put myself on a new quest.
I want to write 1000 different flash fiction pieces. While I may not be able to write 50 books in my lifetime, or a hundred short stories. I want to be able to tell people that I have written a thousand flash fiction pieces.
I don't know how long this is going to take me, but I want cover this milestone before my mortal eviction. A few people had said this would take about three years even if I write every day, but I hope it doesn't take that long.
I have written three already and I'm going to post them here. I will continue to post more as I write.
They're flash fiction works and apparently short, but I plan to make them thrilling.
May God help me, and may He bless you as you read. Thank you for following me in this quest.
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|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by LarrySun(m): 8:32pm On Jul 11|
Flash 1: Cell Block 71
For twenty-seven years, I was held in a special maximum security prison. It was called the Black Hole, or BH, as few people who knew about the existence of this place called it. You see, the Black Hole lives up to its name. It was indeed a hole, and everywhere was pitch black.
BH was the nightmare of every prisoner. A convicted felon would choose the electric chair over the BH, for in this prison, even animals were treated a lot of more humanely, and this was where I spent twenty-seven years of my life...for a crime I knew nothing about.
BH was an underground prison. A large tunnel had been dug in the early forties for the incarceration of POWs. Hundreds, no, thousands of prisoners had died in this underground gaol. Till today, if you walk through the passageway of BH, besides the putrid odour of decaying flesh, your feet would kick a skull or two in the darkness.
It was on a Saturday morning of twenty-seven years ago when I was dragged from my room and pushed into a waiting van. I can still recall the moment clearly. The time was exactly 2:45 AM. I was blindfolded in the van and we drove for many hours until I lost sense of what the time was.
I was eventually dragged out of the van and led to the tunnel. I had absolutely no idea whether it was daybreak or not as I was being taken through the malodorous passageway. I remember that I kept asking what I did wrong but none of my abductors gave me an answer. Little did I know that I would not be seeing the light of day for the next three hundred and twenty-five months.
Everywhere was often pitch-black, except on few occasions when there would be faint lights in the corridor of our cells. I was able to identify my cell number through the inmate who occupied the cell opposite mine. He told me my number was 71, and I in turn told him his was 154. The following day, or so I think, the corpse of the inmate in Cell 154 was taken away by men in black. That was when it dawned on me that we were not supposed to speak to each other.
However, there were two inmates on either sides of me who always played a game of chess with each other. I was usually the conduit between these players. I knew nothing about chess. I couldn't push a pawn to save my life. But I was a lot useful in helping these two prisoners enjoy their games. They never had a board, so each one drew a board on the floor of his cell, made pieces with stones. Whenever the inmate in Cell Block 70 made a move, he would scribble the move on the floor outside his cell for me to see. I would in turn scribble the same move for the inmate of Cell Block 72 to see. The recipient would in turn scribble a responding move for my view and I would relay the same message to 70.
All through my twenty-seven years in that hole, the three of us (70, 71 and 72) never saw each other's face. I only had the privilege of noticing their arms. 70 had the tattoo of an eagle just around his wrist, and 72 had an ugly scar on his left palm.
How was I supposed to know that these two strangers played a significant role in my incarceration?
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by LarrySun(m): 8:34pm On Jul 11|
Flash 2: The Drive
The time was 10:14 PM when the bus dropped me at the bus stop. Now I would need to take a bike from the bus stop to my apartment a few kilometres away. This was one of my most terrible days. Apart from the fact that work had been very hectic today, I was stuck in traffic for hours. Everyone living in Lagos would understand the kind of traffic on a rainy night.
It was in this heavy rain I was dropped. Everywhere was deserted; the bus stop, the streets, no motorcyclist, no vehicle. It was like I was the only living person in the world, the cold rainy world.
As soon as I alighted from the bus, I ran to the veranda of an uncompleted building to protect myself from the downpour. But it seemed like the deluge was not going to end very soon. I was tired and famished. It eventually dawned on me that I have to trek home in the rain, except of course I wanted to pass the night at that veranda; a plan that would constitute perilous foolhardiness, or foolhardy perilousness, as the case may be.
Then just as I was about to step back into the rain and struggle my way homeward, I noticed an umbrella resting again a wall in the corner of the veranda. I almost jumped in glee. The availability of the umbrella had automatically solved fifty percent of my problems. I did not even bother to occupy my thoughts on whom the object might belong. I just picked it up, set it up and dashed into the rain.
I had barely trekked thirty minutes when a black sedan suddenly pulled beside me.
"Hey Tony," the man behind the wheel called. I couldn't see his face clearly because he was wearing a face cap. I was sure he couldn't see my face either.
He could have mistaken me for someone else because my name isn't Tony. I wanted to tell him I wasn't Tony. I was about to say my name is Sam when he interrupted me. He seemed to be in a hurry.
"Okay, there's no time to waste," he said, "Raphael and Edet have been killed. We are the only two people alive. They are tracking us. Protect this with your life." The stranger tossed a small box at me and drove off at full speed.
Shortly after then, another vehicle zoomed past me in pursuit of the stranger. Then I heard about a dozen gunshots. I threw away my umbrella and dashed into the bush. I was still holding the package the stranger had tossed to me. I had no one to tell me I had been roped into something beyond my power.
By sheer dint of good fortune, I managed to make it home in one piece. I bolted my door shut and opened the package. I was staring at a flash drive.
My mind told me not to view the content of drive, but I didn't listen. What I saw on it changed my life.
I have been on the run ever since.
Would you like to know? Your life will never remain the same if you do.
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|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by LarrySun(m): 8:35pm On Jul 11|
Flash 3: The Chronicle of Gbenga
I remember the first day Gbenga joined my class. That was the moment I knew we were going to become great friends. It wasn't because he was brilliant, for he wasn't. As a matter of fact, you couldn't juxtapose 'brilliant' and 'Gbenga' in any expression of virtue. But even though he wasn't the fastest sprinter in the intellectual, he wasn't the biggest stone in the shoe either.
Gbenga made a lasting impression on me the day he joined my class. Well, he actually joined the class because of me, but that's another story for another time. I could still recall vividly how Gbenga would rise up to answer any question asked by the teacher when the rest of us were afraid to answer even though a few of us knew the answers.
Although Gbenga never gave a correct answer to any of the questions asked, I admired his courage. And he was able to create a brief impression on us, albeit wrongly, that he was a brilliant chap. Even the brightest boy in the class believed Gbenga was a formidable adversary, someone that might soon overthrow him from his pedestal position of brilliance.
But after a week, it was soon discovered that Gbenga's brilliance was a sham. Saying Gbenga did not know much could constitute the greatest litotes in the history of descriptions. However, what my friend lacked in sagacity, acuteness, wit and acumen, he made up for in courage. Gbenga had the confidence of tarrying in places even angels feared to tread.
And, of course, his overzealousness often landed him in some embarrassing pickle.
We were in our final year in high school when Gbenga's naughtiness, and of course fatuity, almost resulted in an imbroglio that might have caused us to feel the ambience of a detention facility.
My courageous friend spoke with a girl named Basira at one party we chose to crash. The following weekend, I saw Gbenga and Basira appear in my house. I was surprised because I thought the two would never meet each other again after the first encounter. Gbenga always talked to girls as a pastime, something I didn't have the courage to do, and he never pursued them after the first meeting even though most of them always agreed to be his girlfriend. My friend was blessed with the gift of the gab; he always knew the magic words to say for girls to fall head over heels in love with him.
So I was greatly surprised to see him at my doorstep with Basira, of oeuvre of girls he had met. But what was more surprising was the fact that he had brought Basira to my parents' house to consummate his relationship with her, because apparently, his jobless step-father was always at home. He knew my own parents would not be around.
Gbenga was excited because that was going to be his first experience with a girl. I wondered what he must have told the girl for her to agree to let him stick his thing into her. Well, it was after everything that I learnt that it was the girl herself who persuaded him.
I allowed the two in and told them to hurry. I wouldn't want my parents to return home and meet two teenagers making out in their space. I was sure my parents wouldn't like that, and I wouldn't be spared from the inevitable rod.
I was sitting outside and watching the time. I had decided that I would burst in and chase them out ofter an hour. But just within thirty minutes, I heard Gbenga call my name. His voice registered a note of fear. I quickly rushed in and found Gbenga and the girl in their birthday suits. Basira was unconscious.
"What's wrong?" I asked, knowing that something was definitely amiss.
"I don't know," he replied nervously. "We were doing it and she suddenly stopped responding."
My heart did a somersault. I knew what the 'it' he was talking about meant, but I didn't know why the had chosen our living room to trip off. Even in the midst of the situation, Gbenga's phallus was still standing straight like an exclamation mark of doom.
"She's not moving," I said for the lack of any other sensible thing to say.
"I think she's dead," Gbenga said.
"Dead?" I couldn't believe what I had just heard. If she was truly dead, a yoke of oxen would not be enough to drag us out of jail. What kept itself on repeat in my head was that Gbenga had stabbed a girl to death with his member, in our house! My parents would kill me first before the police arrived.
"What are we going to now?" I asked nervously, aware that either of my parents could step in any second.
"We have to get rid of her," he replied confidently.
"How?" I asked incredulously.
"Do you have a big bag that can accommodate her?"
"What?" I could hardly process what I had just heard. It started dawning on me that I was an accessory to murder.
"A bag!" he repeated urgently.
"We have a Ghana-must-go," I replied. It was a large bag usually used for packing bulky loads. I apologise to my Ghanaian friends for the vicious stereotype, but I didn't invent the term.
"Bring it!" he commanded.
At that moment, my reasoning faculty had shut off. Gbenga seemed to be the radically nimble one in the situation. I searched around the house and located the bag. Immediately, my friend began to direct the unconscious girl into the bag. I could do nothing but watch. I didn't want to involve myself in stuffing a human being into a bag.
"I'm so sorry, Basira," Gbenga began to cry as he struggled to put her into the bag.
Finally, after what seemed like eternity, Gbenga succeeded in getting Basira into the bag. He dropped her clothes - bra, panties and wig inclusive. As he was about to zip the bag shut, the girl stirred and opened her eyes. Gbenga and I froze.
She was surprised in the awkward situation she woke up to. She looked around and saw Gbenga hovering over her with tears in his eyes. Then she saw me, the only dressed person in the house.
She turned her attention to Gbenga and asked, "What are you trying to do?"
There was no sensible explanation for the awkwardness of the moment. Since that moment, the girl had always avoided Gbenga and me. She was convinced we were ritual killers.
Well, who would blame her?
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|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by fabulousbrainzz(m): 10:50pm On Jul 11|
I'm following you bumper to bumper anywhere you go
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by eyezik3(m): 11:07pm On Jul 11|
Oga Larry we are with you and we'll always follow you, but don't let this work affect our dear Black Maria...
Hope you'll keep updating us with that too... We are always with you brodaly!!
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by LarrySun(m): 12:30am On Jul 12|
Flash 4: The Despot
It is 1958. I am only fifteen years old. I have been told that I am leaving Kano to go and study in England. My family is one of the wealthiest in Kano. The plan is to travel abroad and return to Nigeria to serve my fatherland, a noble plan.
"Hey boy," a voice calls me from behind. I turn around. I am seeing a stranger. The strange man is pointing a gun at me. The street is quiet. It feels like I am in a dream, but I am not.
I am not afraid. I have never been afraid in my life. Instead of being scared, I am curious.
"Who are you and what do you want from me?" I ask, my eyes never leaving the gun.
The stranger is tall. He is dressed in a black overcoat and he is wearing a hat. I size him up from head to foot and decide he is just a kidnapper. Well, this is not the first attempt of abductors. No matter where he takes me, I will be found and the kidnapper will be killed mercilessly. You don't mess with my family and not pay dearly.
"I am here to kill you," he replies.
"Kill me? Why do you want to kill me? Do you know who I am?" a faint trickle of fear begins to creep into my heart. Something about the man's demeanour shows that he means business; he actually, truly, has the intention of killing me.
"I know exactly who you are. I have seen what you did. I have to correct that. The fate of this nation rests on your death."
"I don't understand anything you're saying," I say to him.
He shooks his head. "You don't have to understand. All you need to know is that I came from the future. I am here to kill you to prevent you from becoming a vicious despot."
I still don't understand what he's saying. His grammar is too big for me. There is only one way of escaping. I have to run for my life.
I suddenly dash away from him and run across the street. I can feel the sounds of his footsteps as he hurries behind me.
"Stop!" he screams. "Stop right now."
But I am not going to stop. I continue running like someone being chased by a lion. We eventually arrive at a busy road. Cars zoom past us. With a calculated move, I dash across the road, a diesel truck missing me by an inch.
My pursuer crosses the road after me but he is not so lucky. Another truck hit him and climb over him, popping his head like a watermelon.
While pedestrians gather over the mangled remains of the assasin, I make my way homeward. But I can't help but wonder why the stranger wanted to kill me.
What does the word 'despot' mean? Why did he want me dead.
I am just an innocent boy. I have never offended anyone. My name is Sani. Sani Abacha. I am innocent.
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|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by LarrySun(m): 12:31am On Jul 12|
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by eyezik3(m): 7:43am On Jul 12|
Hmm Sank Abacha, lolz he's really an innocent person
Ride on Larry, we are onboard your ship...
My friends must see this, damselposh, anuoluwapo1234, Ann2012, Oyinela.. You need to be here and read this intriguing story.
Thumb up for you boss
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by Masking: 11:15am On Jul 12|
Interesting flashs. . .
That Gbenga story tho.
He stabbed her wt his member and stuffed her into a bag
That sani should've let himself b killed. And maybe, just maybe, d man would've gone on to finish other pen-thieving despots
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by Anigreat: 12:15pm On Jul 12|
Nice one LARRYSUN, i enjoyed every bit of it, can't wait for other updates.
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by EkopSparoAyara(m): 12:46pm On Jul 12|
Am with you till the end..
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by EkopSparoAyara(m): 1:21pm On Jul 12|
The Drive left me to drown in the ocean of curiosity..
Chronicles of Gbenga, he stabbed her with her member, so funny.. This Gbenga's Chronicles will be interesting..
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by Meekha(m): 6:43pm On Jul 12|
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by Creeza(m): 8:59pm On Jul 12|
I could only dream of being this good but I can be better if I try.
Larrysun, I respect you sir.
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by LarrySun(m): 9:09pm On Jul 12|
Flash 5: The Time Traveller
You were a time traveller. The first African time-traveller. You had been specifically chosen for this mission. Major Garba had chosen you for a personal reason.
"This is going to be your first and only mission," he told you. "You must not fail me."
"I will not fail, sir!" You replied firmly. You considered it an honour to be chosen for this mission. A thousand other soldiers would die for this opportunity, but it had been offered you on a platter of gold. Failure was not an option.
Major Garba, the sixty-eight-year-old diplomat handed you the gun and said, "The machine will take you back thirty years ago, 1990 precisely. Lady Stella was only nineteen years old at the time. She's a tyrant. You must kill her before she turned twenty-one."
You knew all about the story. Lady Stella was responsible for a lot of terrorist attacks in the country, and the continent in general. Every attempt to capture her had failed. Major Garba had suggested a permanent solution. A soldier had to go back to the time when Stella was defenseless and kill her. If she was killed in the past, she would not exist in the present.
You had made your personal research. You tried to find out why Lady Stella became an evil person. You couldn't find anything concrete. All you knew was that she had gone crazy. Something precious to her had been taken from her and she held humanity responsible. But one thing stood out firmly in your research - Lady Stella would kill Major Garba if she was not gotten rid of immediately. You couldn't allow that to happen. You had sworn to protect the major with your life.
"You know what this means, don't you?" Major Garba said.
"You're only twenty-eight years old," he told you. "You have never been born in 1990. When you go there, you will need to return back here after killing Stella. You have to disappear from that time before you were born or there would be a major problem in the space-time continuum. The coordinate of where you need to be after killing Stella has been given to you. July 19th is the date. You have to be at that location at exactly 5:00 PM on July 19th 1990. If you are not, you will be forever stuck in the past. Do you understand?"
"Do not fail me, boy."
And so you stepped into the time machine. A few minutes later, you were in another place. To be sure that the machine had brought you to the right location and time, you asked a passing stranger what the date was.
"It's June 29th," the stranger replied you.
"June 29th what?" You asked to be sure.
"1990 of course," the stranger rewarded you with a stare meant for retards and walked away. You had just given him a reason to create as much distance between both of you as possible.
Satisfied, you sought out young Stella. You located her home address. You kept you right hand in your pocket, holding the gun ready. You would kill her, leave and wait till July 19th when you would return to 2020.
You found Stella's address and stepped into the compound. You found her immediately. She was tending to an injured bird. Her back was turned to you. This was your opportunity to carry out the mission. You brought out your gun, aimed it at her back. Your finger was on the trigger. You only had to pull and the mission would be completed. But you hesitated. You had your chance but you didn't take it.
Then Stella turned and you saw her face. You saw her face before she saw yours. That was the moment you knew the mission had failed.
You had fallen in love with your target. It was those eyes. They were full of kindness, of compassion. It was hard to think this innocent girl was the terrorist of the future. The way she tended to the injured bird showed that her heart was pure. How could someone as innocent, as kind, as selfless and as caring as this become such a tyrant? You found it hard to imagine.
You quickly put your gun away before she saw it. As her eyes lit up when she saw you, you knew immediately that she had fallen in love with you just like you had with her. You decided to damn the mission. You were never going to kill her. She was the love of your life. To hell with the mission. To hell with Major Garba.
In a month's time, you and Stella were married. You had chosen to be with her. To be stuck in the past with the love of your life. You were scared the major might send another soldier to complete the mission you couldn't. So you and Stella moved to a distant state. You got a job in the local factory and both of you lived in quiet life.
Two years later, Stella became pregnant. You were overjoyed. The doctor had told both of you that the child was a boy. You couldn't wait to see your baby.
But one afternoon, on a weekend of 1992, Stella was seven months pregnant, an uninvited guest appeared in your house. You recognised him immediately as Major Garba. But he was not a major. He was the younger Garba, about thirty years younger.
He walked up to you, drew out his gun and shot you in the head. You died immediately.
Your death made Stella mad. She went crazy. Garba had been responsible for the death of her parents. Now he had taken the person she loved.
Your death changed Stella. The innocent girl became an evil tyrant because Garba had taken everything she loved. He not only killed her parents, he not only murdered her husband, he also took her baby when he was born.
You were the baby.
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by tunjilomo(m): 9:51pm On Jul 12|
The time traveller.
I think this is my first time of seeing a piece written in second person. I am fascinated.
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by Ann2012(f): 10:45pm On Jul 12|
Thanks for the mention, pls pass me the wine
Ride on Boss Larrysun
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by eyezik3(m): 11:15pm On Jul 12|
You're welcome dear, abeg sit beside me as we sip this chilled wine together enjoying Larry's write-up.
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by EkopSparoAyara(m): 11:25pm On Jul 12|
Time Traveller, that's superb..
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by LarrySun(m): 2:21am On Jul 13|
Flash 6: Random Love
Ike and Tima were best friends. They were both in their mid-thirties but never married. In fact, neither of the two friends ever dated any girl before. They had never met any girl who was committed to be in a relationship with either of them. After many failed attempts at a relationship, the two buddies gave up, resigning to the fact that they might never find love. So, to mask their feelings of unrequited affections, the two friends resorted to visiting the local brothel once or twice every week.
At a time, they were so desperate for companionship that they asked hookers out. Well, the pleasant ladies agreed to be whatever the two friends wanted them to be as far as they got paid for the role. But this was not what Ike and Tima wanted. They wanted a genuine love, girls who would love them for who they were, not for their money or whatever. As a matter of fact, neither of them had fat bank accounts. Perhaps that was why finding love seemed like such an arduous task.
As every pot has its cover, or vice versa, Tima eventually met his soulmate. It was the widow of his landlord. Even though the woman was already a mother of five kids and her eldest child had already graduated from high school, Tima didn't mind. She liked him and he liked her as much. It took the death of her husband to whom she had been married for twenty years to realise that the love of her life was their tenant.
While Tima had finally found love, Ike still remained single.
"I'll die a bachelor," Ike had lamented to his friend as they drank in the bar. They had already consumed a dozen bottles of beer, and they were still shooting for more.
"Don't say that," Tima had replied, belching loudly. "The love of your life will come in the most unexpected manner. She is searching for you as much as you are searching for her. She will meet a few other guys whom she might think were the right ones, but they would all break her heart. She would break a few hearts too. She would fall out of love with the person she thought was the one. She would cheat on him with another she thought was the right man. She would break hearts and hers would break in return. She would never rest until she meets you. You will be her final destination, and she yours. Just be patient, my friend. If you desire love, it will find you."
Ike stared at his friend and said, "You talk more sense when you're drunk. You should never be sober!"
They both laughed. They were both heavily inebriated.
"An idea just occurred to me," Tima suddenly said. "Where's your phone?"
"It's in my pocket."
"Bring it out." Ike did as was told.
"Now text her that you love her."
Ike frowned. "Text who?"
"The love of your life."
"You must be crazy!"
"No, I'm serious. Text her."
"How would I text someone I don't know? I don't even have her number."
"That's the idea. Out of seven billion people in the world, what's the chance of both of you ever meeting each other in your lifetimes? Someone would have to trigger that meeting or it would never happen."
"What nonsense are you talking about? I think it's time we left this bar. Let's call it a night."
"We're not going anywhere until you do what I told you."
"I don't have her number."
"You do. It's in your head. Form a random number and text it."
"You're crazy. That's insane! What if it's a male person's number? Or a married woman's? That could destroy her marriage, you know?"
"The universe finds a way to balance itself. I assure you it won't ruin anyone's marriage. Just do it."
Ike stared at Tima for a few seconds, shrugged his shoulders and started forming a phone number from his head.
Then he typed the text I LOVE YOU. He pressed SEND.
The message was delivered.
By the time the two drunk friends staggered out of the bar, they had forgotten about the little prank they just pulled.
They parted ways.
But on his way home, Ike dropped his phone. He was too drunk to notice. A young woman passed the same route a few minutes later and came across the phone. She picked it up and took it home.
The next morning. She was awoken by the ringing of the phone. She picked it up.
"Hello," she spoke into the phone.
"We need to talk about the message," the caller said. It was a male voice.
"Message?" she was confused.
"My name is Andrew. What's yours?"
"Do you reside in Lagos?"
"We need to meet. I'll text you the address. It's nice meeting you, Lizzy."
Ike eventually got back his phone, and he was invited to the wedding of Andrew and Lizzy. He met Rebecca at the wedding. Rebecca was the love of his life. She was Lizzy's bridesmaid.
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by tunjilomo(m): 10:11am On Jul 13|
The universe finds a way to balance itself.
This is an amazing example.
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by cassbeat(m): 10:24am On Jul 13|
Keep this coming sir....
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by EkopSparoAyara(m): 11:58am On Jul 13|
Are you kidding me.. I thought Ike was going to lose out oh.. Wow, the universe has a way of balancing itself.. Larrysun, you dey burst my brain..
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by Tolulopefinest(m): 12:28pm On Jul 13|
Larrysun want to make me run mad mehn. This story looks like Engineering mathematics. I've read this 10 times now and I couldn't still understand this. Oluwa o who will now break this down for me abeg ?
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by poetictwenty(m): 1:30pm On Jul 13|
lol..it's simple. The women the boy was sent to kill, is his mother, who major Garba killed his husband(the boys fathers) and took his child(the boy)...
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by eyezik3(m): 1:46pm On Jul 13|
Chai Larrysun has a way of twisting is reader and get them wondering.. Intriguing suspense I say, you can never get enough until you read to the end.
Boss I dey follow you loyally, abeg damselposh shift make I sit between you and Ann2012
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by fioky(m): 6:56pm On Jul 13|
Aren't y'all on Facebook?
Go follow Larrysun,there is something interesting he posted today about W. Soyinka
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by EkopSparoAyara(m): 7:03pm On Jul 13|
He is good..
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by LarrySun(m): 8:31pm On Jul 13|
Flash 7: Twins
I believe it is impossible for the dead to associate with the living. When a person dies, he has gone to another realm. Only their fellow dead people can communicate with them. I have read a lot of stories about dead people talking to the living. That's utter nonsense. It's simply impossible. The dead can never talk to the living. Even if they try to do, the living would never get the message. Only the dead can hear, feel, see or communicate with the dead - and the living communicate with the living. It's as simple as that.
My name is Frank. Five years ago, I lost my twin brother. We were only fifteen years old. Life has never been the same with me since that tragic moment. There has been an established myth that twins are supernaturally connected, that they communicate with each other even after one has passed away. I wanted to believe in this myth when I lost my twin brother. For five years, I waited for a sign from Ken, but it never came. He was dead and gone forever. He would never be coming back. No sign from him would ever be forthcoming. He's in a different realm where he would forever be, until I die too and join him in this realm.
Today was supposed to be our twentieth birthday. I miss Ken immensely. Every September 14 has always been a sad day since Ken's death. The house has been lonely without him.
I decided to visit his room. I was going to spend the day in my brother's room. I pulled out a family album and flipped through pictures of us. There we were together at a year old. Another when we turned five, then other pictures as we grew up, until our last picture before the tragedy. We had taken the picture on our fifteenth birthday. Then a week later, September 21, the accident occurred. The accident that took my brother from me.
We were returning home from the cinemas when our car collided head-on with a truck. Ken had been in the front seat. He took most of the impact. I came out unscathed.
As I was skimming through the album, a little paper fell to the floor. I picked it up. There was a note on it. It was dated September 28 - a week after the accident. It was in Ken's handwriting.
Rest in peace, Frank. I miss you, my brother.
I dropped the note like it was a hot iron. Ken's handwriting! That means Ken didn't die. If Ken isn't the dead one, then you know who is.
If you know who is dead, then who are you - or what are you?
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by EkopSparoAyara(m): 11:55pm On Jul 13|
Larrysun is at it again.. Leaving you in the shallow ocean of mystery, making you feel like you didn't read the sentence correctly, forcing you to read it again but you still find it there, it's indeed a mystery only know to Larrysun alone..
|Re: The Journey To A Thousand Flash by eyezik3(m): 1:15am On Jul 14|
A standing ovation applause for you boss, this one really got me cracking my brain.. Like WTF is really happening!!!
Who is the dead person, Frank or Ken?
It is only you that can deliver us from this mind cracking suspense Larry
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