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EPISODE FOURTEEN


Jemeh retired to the shaded part of the structure.

He would turn down any other block-lifter’s request to work with him except Sesan’s, Jemeh chuckled. ‘Who know man’in labourers niche? he shook his head and put on the mean look needed to say no! When ‘the boys’ come pouring their request with an appealing gesture.

The difficulty of the situation was that he was no stranger to 'The boys', as most of them had worked together before in one way or the other. But then, he trusted Sesan to act with no mercy, but he was no were to be found.

"Hello! Sesan, what’re you still doing out there? The block suppliers just left," Jemeh said over a phone call.

“Ehen! Did they bring the block?”

“Of course!”

“E make sense. I am in the gate now. But that fat security man is showing himself.”

“Dude, what did you do?”

“He did not want to allow me come inside ni o.”

“I told you not to exit without putting on your safety kit, didn’t I? But you insisted. So, find your way in, dude!”

“Ok, no worry. I know how to handle him, but don’t allowed those boys to carry o,”Sesan said, referring to the 'block-lifters'

“Eish! Okay, just get your ass inside,”Jemeh said and ended the call.

Some minutes later, Sesan came standing beside Jemeh.

“Did you buy water?”Jemeh asked with his head tilted up a little enough to just rest his eyes on Sesan’s broad and dark face.

“But you did not told me to buy na,” Sesan said and helped himself to a seat on a nearby concrete block.

Jemeh wished Sesan could just stick to Pidgin English and stop pushing himself.

“I don’t have to tell you, Sesan,”Jemeh said with a visible sigh.

“Ok, no vex, my engineer. Next time I go buy,“Sesan said, smilling.

Sesan was the cheerful type, and was a good sycophant when he wanted something.

He'd approached Jemeh on Jemeh's first day at the site. At first, Jemeh wasn't sure about having a conversation with him. But he kept pushing until Jemeh heard him out, and found his topics interesting, especially the one on the different categories of contractors at the site: the ones that don’t pay labourers in time, the ones that would never pay completely and the good ones of course.

Ever since then, Jemeh and Sesan'd been seen moving in pair, even though their energy for work didn’t equal, the same way their view about each other was in discrepancy; Sesan was a friend of Jemeh but Jemeh was not a friend
of Sesan.

Jemeh would carefully choose his friends, but not Sesan, who trusted people on first sight.

Towards evening, Jemeh changed to a raggy outfit – his ‘hustle kit’ as he usually called it: a beanie to
keep his hair from having contact with grains of sand, a faded polo shirt and a pair of Moccasins that let out his right toe through an opening on the toe cap. Sesan never had to go through the stress of changing his outfit because he was always in his hustling kit.

The young men began the sweaty task immediately. Jemeh lagged behind by a hundred blocks one hour-thirty minutes after.

“My guy, try and used that ‘level’ that I give you the other day. Use half since full tablet make you to vomited,” Sesan said to Jemeh as he was lifting two blocks on his head.

Jemeh said nothing – he was gasping for hair. He’d had all the water in his body system lost to the atmosphere through transpiration and sweating. He took a short glance at Sesan; he was still looking strong on the doddery staircase as he climbed. He lowered his eyes back to his shoe lace and continued to untie them as he sat back, leaning against a pillar.

“ How many did you carried?”Sesan asked as he was descending the stairs.

“You mean, how many blocks have I carried?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I’ve carried one hundred and thirty.”

“You try sha, but me have carry four hundred and twenty.”

“Wow! Tomorrow I’ll do better and without your stimulants.”

“I will stopped using the tablet but not now that I wanted to pay my daughter's school fees. Baba I need money bad bad.”

Jemeh understood his point. He'd stopped judging people long ago. If it was not so, he’d have criticized Sesan for having a child outside wedlock and for abusing drugs. He wished Sesan could just stop taking him into his confidence because he wasn’t ready to reciprocate.

“I’m sure you’ll make a reasonable amount by the time the supplier brings more loads,”Jemeh said.

“How many?”Sesan asked.

“Two are coming tomorrow.”

“E make sense."

TBC..

Report writing (journalism) is learnable, while creativity (creativity writing) is personified.

EPISODE THIRTEEN

At the construction site, (the seal finally removed) a handful of labourers were sighted, moving up the decking of a storey building through a temporal exterior bamboo staircase. While some moved swiftly with concrete-filled head pan on their heads, others moved heavily and with the help of the bamboo handrill in climbing against gravity. The rest were descending the stairs to refill their empty pan by the two men having the shovels, and standing by the noisy mixer.

The process was a continuous one, so that with the non-stop feeding of the rotating pot of the mixing machine with sand, granite and water by another set of workers, the activity didn’t stop at any time.

Jemeh watched with a lack of interest. His adventure with those fellows about two weeks ago wouldn’t be easily forgotten, not after working with them for twelve straight hours and was given only ten minutes break. His bruised lower arm kept staring at him as he tried to still an eye-track on an approaching truck from a distance. The corrosive effect of liquidized cement was so devastating on his soft and light skin that it'd eaten up the upper layers of his fingers. He stole a quick glance at them again, hissed and revoked his vow never again to work with those tireless Aboki.

The yellow pick-up truck plodding across the field from afar was carrying nine inches concrete blocks; and he was there to redirect it away from a road block that had been fashioned by a break-down excavator.

A few seconds later, the truck came hooting non-stop on the dead excavator, bringing back Jemeh's attention. He grimaced at the sudden loud sound, and quickened up to take the driver through another route leading to the two-storey building standing in the pillars of it's skeleton.

“Oga, please sign here," the truck driver pointed to a ruled line at the bottom strip of the pink paper in his hand as he got out of the truck.

Jemeh feeling reluctant to collect the papers from him, asked, “Did Engineer
Saliu asked me to sign the waybill?”

The driver looked stunned for a moment before answering, “yes…yes, this one is not a big deal na, just sign.”

Jemeh collected the papers and signed on them grudgingly.

“Are you bringing more today?” he asked and gave the driver his copy.

“Yes, we are bringing two more loads.”

“Very well then,”Jemeh said and gave way, and the two masculine loaders swung into action. And by the time they were done offloading and counted, it was in the hots of the midday tropical sun. Jemeh wouldn’t dare move the blocks in such odd hours of the day. He'd suffered severe sunburn already, he thought, there was no need to rush,
after all he was in charge of the task.

Engineer Saliu had put him in charge of making sure the blocks got to the right place and at the appropriate timing – a new responsibility that came with little or no additional benefits, but somehow more dignified than being a floor labourer. His recommendation however came from the basis of his good coordination displays at the site.

TBC...

Guess what?? Amanda is coming to town!

Bluehaven:
As I thread along your updates, something tells me I would read again from the beginning to get those hidden messages/information.
I'm starving anyways.

Exactly!
It's not an easy read.

Fazemood:
Nice one bro, but I still insist on knowing the connection Jemeh's part has with the beginning of this tale.

Be patient, sir.
If I was not the author of the piece, i would have asked same question.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Jemeh listened all along in absolute quietness and tried to maintain an indifference demeanor, though it
was really shameful how Chivera had described his phone.

“No probs, as for my phone. I really appreciate your sincerity, I must confess.”

“I’ll get you another phone. Name your choice.”

“No, but if you insist… then make sure I get the job instead,” Jemeh said, trying to change the topic. He was not the type that would accept such offer, much so from a proud person.

“How am I gonna do that?”Chivera’s first smile surged. She thought Jemeh was out of his mind but she liked his guts.

Jemeh shrugged his shoulders, smiling back at her.

“I saw your face after the interview. I guess you performed poorly?”

“No, not exactly”, Jemeh said, "but that man with pot-belly, he was really hard on me”

“Tall?”

“Yes.”

“Dark?”

“Yes."

"Nase!...that man is always like that," Chivera said.

Jemeh looked at her with a questioning gaze and she was quick to understand Jemeh’s confusion.

“In French, it means…boring.” Chivera tried to explain. It took Jemeh a little time to comprehend her. She had a homour that was quintessentially French. And as for her, anyone who acted weird was boring.

“I’m just trying to say...he’s usually that way and any applicant that gets his disapproval stands a slim or no chance at all."

“Eish! Is he that bad?”

“Excuse me, please,”Chivera butted-in and moved out of hearing to answer a phone call and after a little while, she was back.

“Mr. Jemeh, I'd be on my way now.”

“Alright… let me walk you to the bus stop.”

“Thanks, but that’s my car,” Chivera pointed to a red sport car packed about twenty meters away from the fenceless compound. Jemeh never knew until now, that he was so far away from his surroundings.

“Nice, then to your car!"

“Never mind. Chao!” Chivera said and selected her steps to the car and drove off.

Fatima rushed out, her hair awry to see Jemeh’s august visitor. She'd just had her bath when a busybody tenant called on her. But to their disappointment, Chivera was gone by the time got to the balcony.

Later that evening, Judas returned from work with a commodity bag in his hand. Jemeh was in the room watching TV. Jemeh shifted uncomfortably in his sitting position and mumbled a greeting – he knew Judas would have something to nag upon as usual.

“Nawao! Guy!, why didn’t you refill the empty bottles with water na, and you’ve been home all day o,” Judas
said, Confirming Jemeh's hypothesis as he put the water-melon from the bag into the refrigerator.

“It skipped my mind man… first thing tomorrow morning, please,” Jemeh said, he stood up and walked to the door.

“So, what did you cook?" Judas asked with mockery dripping in his voice.

Jemeh wanted to ignore him but words had congested his throat.

“But you know very well, that I’ve not done any job for about two and half weeks now." Jemeh continued, "The construction site where I hustle is under government seal. You know all these but you just want to be annoying.”

“Guy, packwell abeg… I’m tired of this your no job, no job excuses. I asked you a simple question but you decided to narrate a full soap-opera of your problems to me, shoo! Look, it is in the eyes of a lazy man that maize will get ripen, continue staying idle in the name of searching for a white collar job.”

Jemeh wanted to ignore for real this time and was about to slam the door behind him when Judas said something very significant.

“For your information, Judith will be spending the weekend with me.”

Jemeh now came to the understanding of Judas's high frustration. Judas wasn't the confronting type - he didn’t have the nerves. Most of the time, he'd have to get drunk for dutch courage. Jemeh had perceived the smell of alcohol in his breath, the reason why he wanted to leave at first.

“She’s welcomed!” Jemeh said and slammed the door behind him. He left criticizing Freda for being a hypocrite. He recalled she'd once told him she was against 'Lagos marriage' the phrase used by Lagosians to describe a lady living with a man that is yet to paid her bride-price.

Jemeh got to the balcony and found Fatima seated all by herself. He tip-toed to her back, poked her by the side and whispered a shortened version of her name; he hardly called people by their full names.

Fatima jerked and whirled her chubby body around to face Jemeh whose left hand had almost gone round her waist as he now was sitting beside her on the short wooden bench.

Jemeh was in the mood for a little romance but the teen was far from it, even though it was what she'd always wanted.

“Stop jor!” groaned Fatima. She pulled out of Jemeh’s weak grip and turned her face to the other end.

“What’s the problem?”Jemeh inquired, “Fati, talk to me, I said what’s the problem?”He made effort to turn her stiffen head to face himself.

“Jemeh, you are hiding something from me,” she spoke at last

“And – what could that be?”Jemeh raised his eyeballs.

“Who was that girl this morning?” she inquired, still not facing him.

Jemeh was astonished by her bold confrontation; she'd never had such guts. What has come over her?
He ruminated.

“Which girl?... oh, that must be Chivera – the receptionist from the company where I had my last interview," Jemeh explained on,“ She came to return my bag and phone. That’s kind of her, right?"

“I don’t know!” Fatima snapped.

“Eish, don’t tell me you're jealous, Fati.” Jemeh hummed a laugh.

“Jealous ke? I didn’t see her sef,” Fatima said.

“Jesus! Who now told you?.... aha! It is one of your jobless friends in the compound, right?"

Fatima laughed sheepishly and said, “I told you, I have many eyes on you, even the ones I did not send.”

Jemeh thought for a while, if he'd ever proposed a relationship to her. He was right about her: she was nervous, gullible and insecure, just for her age. He'd always despised dating a BIMBO almost half his age and much more now.

“So, you’re trying to be my Mum - watching me or what?”Jemeh laughed.

“Of cause, I’m your small Mummy.”

All Fatima had ever wished for was for Jemeh to step up his game. She'd told her friends about him and had gotten teen counsel from them. Perhaps, their counsel had increased her nagging, which may kill the chances of her wish ever coming through.

They kept chatting until sleep started at Fatima. It was about eleven o’clock and it looked only the two were left outside. Fatima stiffen a yarn and asked Jemeh if he was not ready to hit the sack.

“I have to wait a little longer.” Jemeh replied.

“Why?”

“Our lady is spending the night with us.”

“Who is our lady?” Fatima was now on her feet.

“Freda – Judas girlfriend.”

“She is staying for just tonight, abi?”

“I hope so.”

“Hmm! Let me stay with you then.”

“No, you don’t have to, besides, sleep is conquering your eyes already. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Just go to bed, Fati.”

“Yes sir!” Fatima said, and pulled Jemeh up to his feet. Jemeh didn't know what she was up to until she gave him that passionate hug. His body chemistry betrayed him – it was the first time, and it happened so fast.

“Good night!”

“Good night!”

Fatima walked into the passage, leaving Jemeh behind.

TBC...

EPISODE ELEVEN


It was exactly two weeks and three days since the day of the interview and still there was no feedback from the company. Jemeh wasn't expectant anyway, not after Mr. Niyi’s shroud rejection. He was doing the laundry in front of the house as he always did on Saturdays. Judas had gone to work very early that morning- he was a line supervisor in a milk producing factory. A few other tenants were doing one chores or the other. The chanting and trotting in and out of the building by the children made the yard a noisy one as usual.

As Jemeh buried his head in the laundry basket, searching for what next to wash, a small voice came from behind, “Hi!” the voice sounded unfamiliar.

Jemeh turned around and slowly resurrected his head to unveil the identity of the stranger.

She was on brown Gucci
count shoes, black jean and a brown short-sleeved shirt. Her slit eyes were penetrating, her Chickbones very sharp and her skin a little less as bright as Jemeh's but more succulent.

Her wild look set Jemeh’s eyes aflame and if he had his way, he'd rushed into his room to get dressed in a better outfit before saying a word to her.

“Good morning,” Jemeh said, forcing out a smile,“Please, how may I help you?”

“I’m looking for one Mr. Jemeh Dania. I was told he lives here. Can you help?”she said her words
distinctively and rushed them for only a good listener to comprehend.

“Very well,… yeah, I know him,” Jemeh said, trying to recall where he'd seen that pointed nose before. “Is he in trouble?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she chuckled, "I’ve got something for him instead. Take me to
him.” she said, scanning the neighborhood with her eyes. Her utterances exuded command and Jemeh accredited that to her elegance.

“I’m Jemeh Dania… so sorry for keeping you in the dark. I was just playing safe, you know?”he paused his smile.

“Sure!" she continued, "I’m Chivera, the girl at the reception… Merit Plc?”

“Eish! I recognize your face now… shame on me,” Jemeh quickly came in to stop her from giving more clues.

Jemeh would do this whenever he was with someone like Chivera.

“Please let’s go in” Jemeh led the way, even though he wasn't frank about showcasing his unkept room.

“No, no, please. I won’t stay longer than this,” Chivera said and exhaled in freedom, as Jemeh took out an inner and began to wear over his hairy and broad chest. She also had noticed his other unique features but had managed to keep it out of thinking.

“I brought your – em…,” Chivera sputtered. She didn’t know the word to classify the slim leather envelope. “Here it is,” she stretched her hand with
it to Jemeh.

“Wow! How can I thank you enough?” Jemeh said, on receiving the 'document-bag' a name Jemeh had given the thin bag.

She thought, if only Jemeh knew that his cell phone was no longer in order he wouldn’t be thanking her. She went ahead to explain as detailed as possible, how the phone had slept off her fingers and its screen broken. She had taken the phone out to be fixed but its parts were out of circulation because it was outdated.

TBC...

Pinkberry5:
9ja police ehh

LOL

EPISODE TEN

“Baba, you sure say this place safe?” a second voice asked.

“yes na, na only us dey come smoke here…”

Jemeh peeped through an opening on the door but couldn't identify the men until lightning came and swallowed up the darkness that had masked their faces, and was shocked to see that they were the two men that had approached him earlier at the grave-yard. In their conversation, Jemeh decoded the‘tools’ they'd been referring to as guns.

Suddenly, a heavy thunderstorm followed a lightning and raindrops was the result. Jemeh’s eyes widen with horror, he was now certain the men would join him for a shade - a matter of life and death. He tried to compose himself as much as he could, awaiting his fate, but as luck would have it, the two men dashed off hurriedly after a little more argument, with the believe that the uniform men would have fled the checkpoint, shading from the heavy downpour.

Jemeh breathed a sign of relief, having the men away. He laid back on the bench with his eyes opened - trying to keep a watch-night but sleep soon came and knocked him off until a few hours later when he began to hear the rumble of metal and concrete and an unusual whirring in his subconscious mind. He looked up in a daze to see what looked like little tremors from the decking. With an instinctive agility he could muster but could not explain how he hauled himself out of the building in a flash just as the roof came down in a terrifying rain of steel and wood and splinters.

He stood some meters away and watched the debris accumulated just as lights came on in the neighborhood.

His skin was covered with grime, it'd been a long right. The rain was gone, his wrist watch too. He looked back to the collapsed building and gave thanks to God - never had he been so fear death.

Jemeh thought it was dawn already as the vehicles resumed their parade on the road, so he started moving to the bus-stop with the faith that he'd get help at all cost and would get home before the clouds clear up.

Very close to the bus-stop, he sighted a police van, with four officers standing beside it and forming a sort of roadblock. If he'd seen them early enough, he would have by-passed them.

“Hey! Come here! Where are you going by this time of the day?" one of the officers shouted.

“…in a city awash with drugs and criminals,” Jemeh humoured under his breath, added to the words of the officer as he walked towards the man.

Bluff it out and be free from police Wahala, the thought fell on Jemeh as he moved closer to the men in black
uniform.

“Didn’t you hear what he asked you?” another officer shouted at Jemeh, clenching his fist.

“Arrgh! I’m going to work na, officer!"

“By this time of the day, what is it by your time?" the only officer with a gun asked. The rest held on to a wooden Barton and a torch light, which was now shinning bright in Jemeh’s face.

“it should be about, em… six A.M," Jemeh replied.

“No! It’s four A.M”, the officer said.

“Oh, really? My wrist watch just stopped working though.”

“Where did you sleep last night?”, another officer queried.

“Me?” Jemeh asked back, wondering if they actually saw him last night.

“Yes you. Look, we are not joking here!”

“Alright, what if I say in an uncompleted building? Officer, I don’t think all these questions are necessary.”

“ You want to teach us our work, abi? Oya turn around, place your hands on your head and stop talking! You are under arrest!” the officer yelled at Jemeh.

Jemeh obeyed, but only the first two commands.

"Under arrest, just like that!" he yelled back at the officer. His legs began to shiver, even though he'd no skeleton in his cupboard.

The officer moved closest to him and gave him the most scrutinizing search of his life, leaving his clothes rumpled. In the end of the fruitless search, the officer flashed a well-folded five hundred naira note which he’d taken from Jemeh’s back pocket and began to unfold it bit by bit, peering into Jemeh’s face with a smear as if expecting something illegal in between the foldings. But to his disappointment he found
nothing.

“You are clean...but why acting weird?” the officer asked Jemeh.

“I’m not feeling too well,” Jemeh groaned. He was now fixing his rumpled shirt and trousers.

“So sorry about your health," the officer said, and the other officers gave an acknowledgement nod.

“Are you aware that some people’s brain got ripped out last night in this
neighbourhood?”

Jemeh shook his head, “I don’t have the foggiest idea. Look, am I still under arrest here?”

“No, no… you
may go. Or do you want to take a bus here?”

“No, thanks, I’ll just take my leave," Jemeh answered and started moving away.

“…be careful!” the distant voice of one of the officers dropped on the eardrums of Jemeh, whose face had been
brightened up by the currency in his hand as he gave it a stare once again. Thanks to the officer, he never knew he'd the note hiding somewhere in his pocket. He kept smiling as he trudged down the lonely road, singing the piece by R. Kelly:

#√...but then I climbed the hills,
And saw the mountains,
I hollered help 'cause I was lost,
Then I felt the strong wind,
Heard a small voice sayin'

The storm is over,
(The storm is over now)
And I can see the sunshine, (Somewhere beyond the clouds)
I feel Heaven, yeah,
(Heaven is over me)
Come on and set me free, whoa!...¶~

TBC...

Fazemood:
Hmmm.

it could be a little complicated but u can still follow up. Try to understand the characterization and the storyline, you will get the theme of the story even before it is unveiled.

EPISODE NINE

At night the dark streets became menacing, the moon and stars hid their faces and left the clouds with distant grumble of thunder and lightening. Dark shapes loomed up at different parts of the street.

The terrifying hooting of a nearby owl and the crocking of frogs didn’t allow Jemeh to fall asleep as he laid alerted on the wooden bench he'd found in one of the rooms in the abandoned doddery one-storey shopping mall somewhere around the bus stop.

The structure had been a victim of government demolition for the sake of road expansion. Though it wasn’t totally taken off, but it'd the face of‘Terminator' - half of it including the staircase had been bulldozed. Jemeh had to take to the ground floor, even though he felt it was more dangerous; he earnestly wished he had found a safer place to pass the night.

He checked his digital wrist watch, it was exactly half-past one in the horrifying of the night. A deep sense of despair overwhelmed him as he laid there. So many weird imaginations began to troop in and out of his mind.

Some minutes later, a creepy noise geared him up to consciousness. The first thing on his mind was a snake but the room was too gloomy for anything to be seen. He stamped his right foot on the tiled floor again and again in an attempt to scare away the unseen creature(s). And was fortunate to have some smokers left a match box on the bench with three sticks in it.

He struck the first stick but heavy wind came and blew it off. But just before it was put off, a creature’s eyes gleamed as it caught the light. Jemeh’s heart flipped, a cold breeze ran down his spine, his eyes were popping out of his head in an effort to see through the dark. With trembling fingers, he struck the second stick but the lighted stick slept off his weak grip and was extinguished immediately. At this point, his heartbeat was a drumbeat, his head had increased ten times its original weight and how he'd managed to sustain the fire on the last stick and looked round him remained a misery.

To his utter astonishment, all he could see were fat Lazy-looking lizards, hanging carefree on the rough walls of the room.

What about those eyes? Jemeh wondered. Or was it just a picture in his head? Where was the awful odour coming from?
His anxiety continued in confusion, but a bit reduced. He moved closer to the lizards with the burning stick - trying to scare them away but they felt so reluctant to move.

Maybe they had night-blindness, Jemeh speculated, perhaps they considered him an intruder, he managed to mumbled a chuckle in the midst of his horrors before the fire went out, and darkness returned with its snarls.

Although he felt irritated sharing a room with the ugly-headed lazy lizards, there was no much choice than to swallow the disgust. He remembered in his kiddies days, how he and his friends would haunt the creature around the neighbourhood with catapult and stones - because their fathers had told them tales of how the creature got its ugly head from the old tortoise as a result of greed.

Just then, the wailing of a racing police van siren hooted in and dissolved the reckoning in Jemeh’s head. He took a statued position until it had gone out of hearing, then he laid back on the bench and continued to look back to the nostalgic days of his childhood. He remembered how famous his father - Chief Dania was in his lifetime; famous for his extravagant spending in buying all sort of alcoholic content for his colleagues in the drunken circle without a property nor an establishment to boast of. All he left behind was his cocoa plantation, that was being encroached by wild fire annually.

How dare Chief Dania even boasted of his polygamous home and went as far as admonishing ‘his boys’
to keep the tradition alive? Jemeh shook his head in disgust. Had it been now, Jemeh and his brothers would have objected Chief Dania's councel emphatically and not even with a tongue-in-check remark would they have agreed to it.

At twenty one, Jemeh had found life stifling; his father was the breadwinner of the family until he was lowered to the earth.

Late Chief's only surviving brother, Osas had confiscated the money left in Chief's bank account - he was Chief's PA when Chief was alive. The villain uncle had further threatened to hurt Jemeh if he dared him, and that was the major reason why Jemeh's mother persuaded Jemeh to move out to Lagos.

However, revenge was still nurtured in Jemeh’s heart. He would strike when prepared financially and mentally, the thought gave him more reason to survive the night.

All of a sudden, a husky voice accompanied the distant grumbling of thunder,“Scorpion, make we hide these tools here because of the police check point for front,” the voice sounded very close to the door.

Tbc...

Fazemood:
Nice work brother. I need to ask, is this a Sci-fi, Paranormal or romance story?

....a blend of the three and literary inclusive

sheikshegetto:
Present sir...better late than never,now let's get a-reading.

glad you love my work.... I'm sorry for the delay!

Thanks for the comments... that's what keeps me going

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...

07064376494 whatsapp

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

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

Shalomdee(f), Akuruoulo(m), damselposh (f), DjHypno (m ), DrayZee, rachealfst(f), donkelz (m), Dackrapper (m), Jqueen16 (f), bibijay123 (f), kelvyn7 (m), Hungarriman , Articul8 (m), Coolkhat , AremoOG(m ), SapphirePRINCEX(f), Hislordship12 (m), purem(m ), cbella (f), TiffanyJ (f), NaNaYaaah(f), victorbk (m), phollybee (m), amenna(f), Ochyglowsglows(f), LuvU2 (f), PamelB (f), alphacyborg (m), EvaJael (f), queenitee (f),

divepen1, you're a kind man. Thanks for the info...God bless!

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

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.

is first bank accepted for author's cash out? cos I didn't see it on the list of banks

patjane:
I'm here oo

take a seat, we're heading somewhere!

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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...

wow! this guy is good! Weldon!

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
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sosa993:
You can write down my reader's name, create a thread and mention them. That's what I do when I need more readers. Its like sorting out for readers in a good way. I could've gone to stories with thousands of reads to do that but it'd be very unfair to the authors. Please let's not repeat this. Thank you.

fair enough... thanks. And I'm sorry for the inconveniences