₦airaland Forum

tracyberry:
Tracy just starred all the girls as they praised Bluehaven, but she quickly remembered...

Nice updates you're making tracy...keep it up, but don't forget that you really need to meet up writing standard.
For now, you are still a novice in the writer's world. And you can only get to be a professional after so many levels like that of the 2go Social Network/Media.
*winks*

badohemmy:
So Thanks for your comments (in anticipation).
I hope you enjoyed the first part?

TWO STORIES?!
Where is the second one?!
What's the link to the second one?
What's the title of the second one?
I hope it's in no way less mouth-gaping than this?

badohemmy:
Thanks jare, update will show soon. Posting 2 stories at the same time ain't easy.

TWO STORIES?!
Where is the second one?!
What's the link to the second one?
What's the title of the second one?
I hope it's in no way less mouth-gaping than this?

sheikshegetto:
lool... Sorry bruh, na world cup distraction o, update still not lenghtly enough for pasting.

See eghn!
Sheikshegetto, you need to make up particular days to update us.
If you're banking on not promising due to failure, then you're not up to some certain standards for it's from stages like this you man up to decisons and policies/principles.
You should be a man of principle.
In anyway, don't forget to mention me.
*thumbs up*

kingswaydavid:
Make Nigeria match no hold today update o.....shola up say u no dey watch football..cus i no wan hear say bkus 9ja lose u..come stop this thread

That's true o...
Nice point you've gat there.
Jackossky, no come perform negativity for here o!

tracyberry:
Ella: Please kidnap (mention) Bluehaven (me) in this your car.

Nice story you've gat here... Keep it balling hard. *winks* Don't forget to mention me in your updates o.

tracyberry:
On thursday when she had gotten better and was cleaning her room when her phone rang when she checked who it is...

On thursday, she was healthier and got down to cleaning her dusty room while her phone rang. She checked who the caller was...

Jackossky:
Update drops by 8pm on Saturday.
Catch ya then.

Make I fast forward time for tomorrow make e show face now now?!

Sheikshegetto, I started reading your memoirs yesterday morning (08:03am) and I'm done reading till your last update at 12:21am.
You made me forget to call my p*una manager (gf) all because of the style of your inking.
I don't regret sha...it was worth it.
Now, don't make me regret by not mentioning me against further updates.
May the puna forces be with you.
*winks*

You can tag me to this updates of yours 'aiit?!
I would appreciate if you do the needful...and do ensure to complete what you've started OlufemiWhit.

The first time I saw my sister naked, I remember my knees trembling and my throat becoming suddenly dry. Pictures of naked women abounded on my password-protected computer, of course, but to this point in my life I had not seen a real naked woman. Maybe when we were both younger, we had inadvertently seen each other but it was certainly not anything either of us remembered. Our normal childhood was just like any other. But even at a young age I do remember being aware that my sister, who I was not supposed to notice sexually, was quite a stunning creature.
She was a very natural blond, with beautiful skin that was just begging to be tasted. Her neck especially looked delicious, when she tilted her head to one side, revealing that sensitive and vulnerable part that I could sink my teeth into. I loved the way her long strands of hair fell to one side when she did that, cascading over her shoulder. How I longed to touch her…
But it wasn’t allowed. I knew that, even at a young age.
Now that I was old enough to act on my inclinations with any female I wanted, it seemed that the only one I wanted could not be had. The thought of other men, or boys really in our teenage social circles, staring at her and desiring her as I did, feeling the same urges as I had for years, drove me to insanity. I was the one who desired her, and yet they all had their opportunities to be with her while I never did. I learned to accept this finally, and moved on. It had not been easy, but an entire society of stigmas would eventually ward off my desires and stow them away where I no longer paid any attention to them. That is, until I saw her naked.
To be fair, it was not in any way her fault. I had come home unexpected, and in our bedrooms upstairs the front door could not be heard. I knew she was home, but did not realize that she had slept in late and waited until now to take her morning shower. I had been up earlier, and our parents were long gone for the day. I hadn’t bothered to call out to her when I realized the bathroom door was wide open. I simply hopped up the stairs and went for my room, which was past the bathroom and her bedroom. I was going to change out of my shorts and into some nicer clothes, when I caught sight of her as I passed. She was bent over, already having dried off with the towel that she was now using on her dripping hair.
Thinking that she was alone in the house, she had not bothered to close the door, likely so that the mirror wouldn’t steam over. I did the same thing when I was home alone.
Roughly tousling the towel through her hair, she could not hear my quiet steps. My body stopped instinctively, and my gaze went right to her legs and rear end, both splendidly on display as she bent at the waist. I knew it was wrong to look, and the guilt kept growing the longer I stared. But I couldn’t look away. Her legs were lovely, for sure. But they only led my eyes upwards to the wondrous spectacle of her ass. A single drop of moisture began to roll down the luscious curve of her buttocks, stopping at that sweet inward angle where her cheeks met her thighs. I wanted to dive forward and catch that drop on my tongue, but I restrained myself understandably. Still, despite what I knew to be right and wrong, I felt an uncontrollable erection strain my shorts. I had to get out of there, now. Any second she would stand up and see me, and my obvious arousal, and it would be hell. She would think me sick and perverted, and she would be right. In seemingly slow motion, it happened.
She straightened, shook the hair from her face, and turned while still holding the towel in her hand. She pivoted around to face the mirror, but saw someone in the doorway. Without covering herself, she glanced up to see me frozen in both terror and lust. I expected her to scream. Or to begin yelling loudly while frantically attempting to conceal her unclothedness from her sibling. I could tell by her eyes that she was shocked, perhaps a bit scared. But neither of us did anything. She was frozen as I was, watching me stare at her body. My eyes did not dart up and down, but rather I seemed to stare at her entirely in one single unflinching gaze.
God, she was beautiful. Her hips were cocked up on one side just a bit, giving her that wonderful feminine pose that drove men crazy. I noticed how tight and firm her body was, though I already knew she was very active. When I dared take special notice of her breasts, I remember observing how they were not especially large, certainly not like the women on my computer. But I had never been more inclined to reach out and suck on them, groping them in my hands and feeling their softness. They were lovely, most assuredly the best pair I’d ever seen.
Finally, she dared to move. I felt defensive suddenly, ready to defend my actions and run like hell before she said anything. But my body would not move until I heard her speak at least one word. I couldn’t help but notice, however, that she had not yet attempted to conceal herself. Perhaps she was trying to maintain some kind of dignity, otherwise the embarrassment would grow even more between us.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted.
She chanced a glance down at my shorts. It was much too late to try to hide my erection from her. She had seen plenty of it by now. Maybe I could show my own dignity as she was doing. Calm, quiet, unmoving. No movement at all. If I dared adjust my composure, I would surely lose my dignity and run far away to hide.
“Oh, no… I didn’t…” she stuttered.
She began to wrap the towel around herself. She tried to keep it around her chest, but it was too small to wrap around her upper body. It was no use at this point to pretend she needed to cover what I had already seen. So she lowered the towel and did her best to fasten it around her waist. Of course the towel was still too small to do this properly, so it hung lower above her hip and her right thigh was still in my plain sight.
“I didn’t know you were home,” she said, her breasts bare and open for my viewing.
I tried not to stare, but she wouldn’t have noticed anyway. Her eyes were fixed on my crotch. I turned my body slightly, but the angle only showed her more detail.
“It’s okay,” she said calmly. “Too late anyway. The only way I could possibly see more was if you took your shorts off.”
Was that her way of breaking the ice? I laughed nervously, trying to play it off I guess. I really didn’t know what to do at this point. My sister was still mostly naked before me, the towel around her waist almost enhancing her sensuality like a mini skirt with a slit up the entire right side.
Before I could make a move, we both heard the front door. The faint sounds of voices told us our parents were home. To my surprise, my sister ran towards me and grabbed my shirt with one hand and the doorknob with the other. Pulling me sharply into the bathroom, she quickly shut the door.
To be honest, I was surprised she didn’t just slam it closed with me still on the other side of it.
Why had she wanted me in here with her?
A voice called from downstairs, our parents alerting us that they were home. But the chatter of conversation trailed off as they went into another room, not bothering to wait for a response.
“What are you doing?” I asked, as if protesting her actions. My past infatuated self would have kicked me.
“You want them to see you staring at your naked sister?” she asked, giving me an amused look.
“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I can tell what you were thinking with.”
My hands went to my crotch, confirming the tent that remained there.
She smiled. “You better not let them catch you leaving the bathroom with me still in here,” she warned, but I sensed that she was playing with me.
“Well what am I supposed to do?” She shrugged, causing me to once again take notice of her breasts.
“Sit down and wait.” For some strange reason I complied. Maybe I was thinking with my dick.
My sister did not seem bothered by my presence, and began combing her hair. I sat on the edge of the bathtub in silence, pretending to wait but really admiring her. I could see her naked front quite easily in the mirror. She knew I was staring, but pretended not to notice. She blow-dried her hair, brushed her teeth, and spread lotion on her skin all while I watched in secret arousal.
Why was she letting me do this? Had she always known my fantasies about her? Perhaps I had been careless, too obvious with my stares, or maybe she knew about the times I used to look through her underwear drawer.
“Um,” she started, pausing as if contemplating something. “I have to shave now.”
It seemed to me that she would have shaved her legs in the shower, but either way why would she tell me like that?
“Okay…” I said uncertain.
“You can watch if you want.” With that she undid the towel around her waist and set it on top of the toilet lid. I caught sight of the treasure between her legs, and immediately knew what she was referring to. Her patch of dark blond pubic hair was suddenly very evident to me, as I had not taken much notice of it before. There was an obvious design that had been carefully trimmed just above her vagina, which I could not see especially well this far away. But I saw small hairs beginning to surface all around the small strip of denser hair that was like a jagged flame seated just above her clit. I was surprised to learn that she kept herself so neatly groomed. I thought that was only something porn stars did. She grabbed the shaving cream from under the sink and sprayed a glob onto her palm. With a slightly devilish smile, she glanced at me before reaching downward to perform what would be the most erotic act I had ever seen up to this point.
Carefully, slowly, she began spreading the shaving cream between her thighs, all around her pubic area. Lightly, she dabbed her foamy fingers around her vagina, much more open to me now as she spread her legs to give herself access. When she was done, she took her razor from the edge of the sink and began to use it on herself. I was so turned on watching her, my hard on was aching with lust. She carefully slid it across her skin, removing all of the hair except for just above her clit. She had obviously done this many times before.
It hadn’t been but a minute of two, but I felt like I had been watching for hours. When she was finished, she used the towel she was sitting on to wipe herself clean, and I saw that her pussy was now fresh and smooth once again.
“Wow…” I whispered to myself, but she heard and giggled.
I wondered what was next in my sister’s routine, but she seemed to hesitate. Surely there wasn’t much more she could do before dressing and leaving.
“I know you’ve wanted to see me for a long time,” she said.
My heart stopped, and my face turned pale. “It was pretty obvious,” she continued, looking at me through the mirror. “You used to be infatuated with me. I miss that.”
What was happening here? Was this for real?
All of my secret desires were now out in the open, and combined with the peep show I had just received, I felt ready to faint.
“Please say something,” she said.
“I…I don’t know what to say. How did you know?” I immediately regretted answering her like that, confirming what she had said rather than denying it. Her back had been facing me up to then, but she turned and face me, still fully nude and not hiding anything.
“I always saw you looking, and I used to really like it. But after I learned how boys are, always ogling girls for their bodies, I thought maybe it wasn’t me you were looking at. Just my body.”
I felt a bit saddened by that. Maybe because it was partly true, but certainly right now it wasn’t about that at all.
“But one night,” she continued, “I heard you in your room, playing with yourself while you looked at dirty pictures on your computer.”
Aah!! She knew?!
“And I heard you say my name, right as you moaned real loud.” She was smiling a bit now. “You came thinking about me.”
I really wanted to know exactly when that had happened, but truth be told it used to happen a lot when I had not fully controlled my desires.
“I always thought you were pretty,” I said, softly in my nervousness. “Beautiful.”
“I wanted you to look. I loved the attention.” That much was obvious, as she told me while still baring her naked body to me.
“I’m looking now…” I replied.
“I see that,” she smiled, giving attention to my dick pointing up at her.
“So what’s next?” I asked, trying to act casual.
She playfully rolled her eyes around the room, as if pondering what to do. “Well, there is something that I do sometimes, but I don’t know if you should be allowed to watch that.”
I swallowed. “What’s that?”
She looked very shy suddenly, like a little girl. “I play with my kitty…”
I lost my balance on the edge of the tub and fell backwards in shock, much to my sister’s amusement.
“Are you alright?” she asked through her laughs.
“Yeah, I’m fine…” I picked myself up and dried my wet hands and arms on my shirt.
My butt had also gotten wet from the little bit of draining water left from the shower.
“Aw, now your clothes are wet.” She clasped her hands together in a bit of playful happiness. “Take them off!”
“I…don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Because I might see your boner?”
“Ya, and if you start playing with your ‘kitty’ then I might have another wet mess to clean up.” Her playfulness seemed to halt, as a more aroused state overtook her.
“Ooh, really…”
We both fell into a kind of awkward silence just then, realizing the blunt sexuality of our situation. Perhaps wiser individuals would have gone their separate ways at this point, but our young and stupid lust was the dominating force controlling us now.
“I won’t tell if you won’t…”I couldn’t believe the words had escaped her mouth. When she licked her lips, I felt all apprehension leave me.
“Are you being serious?” I asked, giving her one more chance to back out. She knew, as well as I did, that this was wrong. But the thing about sex is that doing something wrong can feel really, really good. We desire to partake of what is forbidden, it’s part of our nature. I was trembling with excitement, at the possibility that I would get to sexually interact with this goddess before me.
“Totally,” she said straight-faced.
I stood and pulled my shorts off, not bothering to tease her. I was naked in seconds, eager for her to see my lust for her. When my dick came into view, she bit her lip and stared at it. Touching her stomach lightly, she motioned for me to come closer. I complied instantly.
“Stand there,” she said, stopping me right in front of her. She leaned back against the sink and spread her legs a bit, planting herself firmly in preparation. “I want you to watch me while I do it, okay?” I nodded, unable to speak.
She let her hand glide down to her crotch, and very slowly and carefully began to touch herself. My dick twitched and jumped, which only spurred her on. I knew nothing about her sexual experience, if she had ever seen a penis before or if she was a virgin. But there was no doubt in my mind that she had masturbated quite frequently. She went right to work on her pussy, not testing what felt good or discovering new sensations. She knew how to get what she wanted from her body. Her fingers slid up and down her lips, separating them to expose her clit. She was wet already, I could tell. She kept sliding up and down, obviously loving just that small amount of stimulation.
Her middle finger suddenly darted into her vagina, sinking effortlessly into the hot wetness. She moaned, still applying pressure and friction to her mound. Soon she withdrew the finger and concentrated solely on her clit. Her free hand reached up to rub her breast, squeezing it and pawing at it just as I desired to do.
This was torture, watching her arouse me beyond my limits. I reached down and took hold of myself, wrapping my hand firmly around the shaft. She saw me do this and her hips thrust sharply forward, seemingly very aroused at my action.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Come over here!”

Click here for more:
www.myaceworld.net

I undid my tie and left it hanging from my collar. For
the umpteenth time, I tugged at the air con button,
hoping that by some miracle it comes on. Because it
was usual for Sango to greet me with a seemingly
endless queue of static cars in an unapologetic traffic
jam, and only the comfort of the AC succored me. I sighed, unwind the windscreens and tried to relax,
when I heard a scream of panic just beside me. “You
better watch it!” hollered a concerned onlooker to a
pedestrian, who in meandering through the cars,
collided with a commercial cyclist, who sped off,
notwithstanding. “Fool, your life will never be good!” cursed the
infuriated pedestrian. This would be my first exposure to the coals under the
tongue of an average Ibadan resident. For it was with
screens completely wound up and my soul deeply
immersed in my favorite music that I plied the Mokola
Roundabout en-route Dugbe, for six whole months. I had no contact whatsoever with the beggars who
lived under the Ajimobi overhead bridge. Even though
I have overheard my colleagues talk about the smell
of deformity, diffusing from the belly of Sabo to
Mokola and how Sango tells stories of disabled
parents, deploying their children to beg, I often drove passed, too blinded by gloom to see any of those. Today as I stared out through the window, my eyes
fed my mind with such thoughts that melted my heart.
Haggard beggars perched on skate-like boards, hands
tucked into a pair of slippers as they wheeled
themselves. Each had his malleable limbs crossed and
tucked away in the opposite elbow yet they seemed happy. I wondered how they managed a smile. “Uncle” I heard a voice call out to me. I turned.
And there stood by my car, a boy, one palm sitting
beggarly atop the other, yet grasping a bowl firmly.
He didn’t have to say much. His eyes were as
flickering flames pleading with the winds not to put
out its light. On the boy’s shoulder rested a blind man’s left hand, whose shoulder blades shot out
through his flimsy jalamia. He was muttering some
words- mumbling what seemed like a prayer in
Arabic. I saw the semblance in the two; only that my mind
would not let me call the child, the man’s son for he
was but eyes to his blind father. Another look at the
two, and I remembered one of Jesus’ miracles (John
9:6) and made my inference: this boy’s conception
and birth was the mud and spittle that nature rubbed on the blind man’s eyes! And then “kiikikikprakprakpa”, my mind replayed
the familiar sound of that silent night when dad trailed
me to a theatre, ripped my costumes apart and
delivered my remains to his chambers. From that
night and throughout my varsity days and months
spent in law school, my dreams wandered in the wilderness of wishes, until it got trapped by fate.
Every single day, I fear that in becoming a man, I
might live till old age, yet die without living one day of
my own life! “Uncle” the boy called again, with a voice that
dripped with an irresistible innocence.
Slowly, I turned, looked at his face, littered with
eczema, and his head- a congress of ring-worms,
emboldened by whitish circular patches. Unable to
bear another second of the stench exuding from his tattered clothes, coupled with the disgusting sight of
greenish mucus hanging from his nostrils, I dropped a
note in his bowl. Some kids are like a fine tune trapped in the throat of
an unfortunate flute (the one that finds itself in a
place), there is neither a willing mouth nor skillful
fingers to play it.

By Ogwiji Ehi-kowochio.
For more click here:
www.eboquills.tk

War is what happens
When peace is stretched
To its elastic limit.

Allow me to weep
For our sons and daughters,
'cos tomorrow, one of us
with unharvested bullets
in the folds of a wrinkling face
Will tell them with quivering lips:

A is for Agatu, the color of confusion
In the eyes of a lad whose father's lifeless
Body is a pillow of worms.

B is for Benue, the cloud where the rainbow
of grief hangs with bright hues

C is for Chibok, the sound death makes
When he advances towards his prey

D is for Dapchi, the same cracking voice of Leah's mother in the temple last Sunday,
Only that this time, Eli does not think
She is drunk!

E is for Edumoga, a place where peace is
Slashed to make silage for cows.

We'll hear the voice of school children
Pick every letter we dipped in blood
Before their birth in a history class
Until they arrive at Zed:

Z is for Zamfara, a proverb to grease the
Path which our remorse will travel
When we see that the fire we refused
to put out on a neighbour's farm
Has burnt our own barns!

by Ogwiji Ehi-kowochio.
More at: www.eboquills.tk

First let me come out and say this. I find that most Heroes suck. Yes, superman included. They are all goodie goodie two shoes and perfect like they were born that way, they have little or no flaws, and probably shit rainbows. Wow, that was remedic (If this a real word? Well it should be).

Now how do you create a Heroic protagonist that Pamela will not hate?

First, who is a hero? According to Merriam Webster a hero is a mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability, or an illustrious warrior, or a person admired for achievements and noble qualities, one who shows great courage. But According to me, a hero is a person who overcomes challenges in a way that does not kill innocent people. So you can be the king of assholes as long as you don’t kill or rape or steal from good people. We are good. Now let's get down to business:

1. Wash away the mentality that the hero is a saint and for him to be acceptable as a hero he must be as pure as Jesus (Again Superman makers are you hearing me?) Your story is being told to humans and when last I checked most humans are sinners. Even the good ones have flaws, they are liars, or self-righteous, or indecisive, or pick pockets, or annoying preachers. So wipe out that flawless, saintly, victim heroic mentality from you head and you are on the right part to creating the world’s most awesome hero. From here on you can skip some of the below tips. If you want your readers to empatise or Identify with your hero give them flaws that humans have, like naivety, anger, pride, and let their flaws pose as an obstacle to them.

2. Now give your hero an ideal, a philosophy, that sets them apart from every other character, give their ideals a back story. E.g. if your hero believes that with great power comes great responsibility, and this ideal drives him to be heroic, make me as a reader empathize with his ideal by showing me it’s origin or hinting it, like Stanley did with spider man. Spidey is also a goodie goodie two shoes but I empathize more with his reason for goodness than with a certain flying man in cape, whose goodness is as a result of his parent’s strict morals and who convinced himself to become The America’s savior, (apparently America is the world).

3. Give your hero a determined Spirit: Every Otaku knows this, this character, the never say die character, the character that never gives up until the last breath, the character that his hair grows longer just before he beats you up for kicking him to his almost limit, the character that you beat to near death then they preach to you about their believes after beating you to your own limit up and then you kill yourself. Do I need to mention the name of the anime characters. Give you hero this determination, make it part of their personality from the start of the story, this way we understand why their ideals never change, and why they do not give up on fighting the bad guy.

4. Decide what type of character your hero is, the hero who tries to change the world or the hero who just wants to save it in this particular time for his personal reason.

5. Give your hero a sense of seeking salvation, don’t make them salvation personified. No matter how bad the Antagonist is the hero should not resort to evil deeds to destroy the antagonist, if they do so then they will become Anti heroes. While they should not seek to take justice into their hands and kill the Antagonist, they should also not stupidly let him go scot-free and unpunished, or drop him in a cell that they know he will escape from, OR SAVE him/her from being killed by a trap they set or by nature. or stupidly give him 70x7 chances to become good, Like a certain somebody does. (Of course this tip is optional).

6. Make your hero weaker than your villain: This will intensify the conflict and not make me wander why the hero did not just kill the villain when the villain announced his plan to destroy the hero’s world. Let the hero go through a journey that strengthens him for his/he final confrontation with the villain. The villain does not need to be physically strong, he/she may be a manipulative tricksters skilled in the art of deception.

7. Avoid the use of Deux ex machine: Do not let their victory be determined by fate or an act of luck this can make your reader loose interest in your story. rather, let fate work against them to give them more challenges.

And lastly:

8. Remember that you can always create an antihero (a hero who does bad/nutty things, or has bad characters), an idiotic hero (one who is an hero by mistake), a misguided hero (A hero whose intention is good but is on a fast/slow course for hell), a tragic hero (a hero who fails at the end). There is no law that states that your hero must he the heroic type.

Hope this was helpful, oh yes this was also an Anti Superman rant. I'm just one of those fans that Supes can never please.

For more, click on here:
thefablingjourney..com

funstufz:
Nice...

Yeah! Thanks...

“Nwe! Nwe! Nwe!” the cries of the child could be heard echoing through the empty night. A cry that would make any concerned human, venture into the forest, were the sound came from, in search of a baby who had been abandoned by it’s mother to die. Unfortunately, this was the story of Egbere but on the day it was abandoned to die, no concerned human came searching for it.

Egbere’s mother, she was a poor woman who could not afford to feed herself, talk less, a child who ate any and everything. And to make matters worse, it was deformed, with a hunch back and the face of a gnome. She wept over its birth, its father denied it, she could not bear the thought of the disgusting creature suckling on her breast any longer and it’s cries annoyed her to no avail. That night, she wrapped it in a mat, and crept into the forest, holding a lantern. She stopped in front of a tree, place the child on the mat and the lantern beside it. “You are ugly.” she said “You eat too much and you cry a lot, you are nothing but bad luck” she continued. It looked into her eyes and began to cry again, if she needed any more conviction that she was doing the right thing, that was it. She stood up and hurried off, leaving the baby, the lantern and the mat behind.

Seven days latter she was found dead, her face had been clawed to the back of her head by a wild cat, and her body dragged to the edge of the forest.

Kola had been having one of those extremely bad days, he worked for a garbage disposal company. His day was usually spent going from door to door collecting people’s garbage. The horror he lived through; sometimes maggots would jump on him, but that was the least of his woes, his nose mask could not keep the putrid smell of rotten food and used sanitary pad away and he always felt like bacteria were biting through his rubber gloves and boots, he could never take enough baths to wash himself clean, he could not afford the water, he was lucky to have a roof over his shoulder, even if it was in a 6 storey building with over a hundred rooms and twenty rooms sharing one bathroom and toilet, to make matters worse, his rent had just expired, he could not afford to renew it and his Ijebu Land lord announced a rent increase. Then his girl friend of Two years, Bukky, had recently dumped him for an Igbo trader. He proposed to her, he could not believe she ever agreed to date him, he was a lucky man, until she rejected him, she told him, she could not see him advancing in life.

With a lot on his mind he thought of ending it with rat poison, but decide to take a walk first, he did not care where he was heading, he just kept walking, as he closed in on the forest he began to hear a child crying. At first he ignored it, but the cry got louder. He ran into the forest in search of the baby, and he found it. A child not over two years of ages, with a hunched back, long pointed ears and the face of an old woman. He noticed the mat and the lantern and at once he remembered the Legend of Egbere, The Bush Baby. He ran towards it, with the the first attack. This was his chance, he sent a couple more punches into Egbere’s face, drawing blood, then he lifted the creature and threw it as far as he could, picked the mat and ran back home as fast he could.

Egbere was not shocked that the stranger attacked it and stole it’s mat, the legend said that they had to fight him to get the mat, but unknown to them, even without the fight, it would let them have the mat, the greedy humans. They always returned the mat within six days, after they lose their minds.then it kills them, yet they never learn.

Not too long ago, a hunter who shot the little creature and stole the mat had returned it after five days, he cried and begged it to take it’s mat back. Egbere’s claws sprouted out and it attacked. It shred his skin to pieces, pulled his face to the back of his head and fed on his organs.

Kola locked his doors then windows. His room was stuffy and dark, he rushed to his bed, holding on to the mat and sat down at the corner. He knew bush baby could not enter his room uninvited. He was safe.

“Nwe! Nwe! Nwe!” the crying began outside his window, he was on the third floor. He tried to sleep but the cries got louder every time he closed his eyes; and when he finally fell asleep, Egbere appeared in his dreams crying for it’s mat.

In the morning he called his office and quit, he could not let people see his mat, they might steal it. And he remembered his father telling him that if he ever let the mat out of his site, even if it was in his house, Egbere would return for it then kill him. He had a nylon of garri, two sachets of coffee and four bags of sachet water, this would be enough, he thought.

He spent the day trying to sleep but it kept on appearing in his dreams, and even though it stopped crying in the day time, he could still hear the echoes of the the creature’s cry.

Night came, and day broke and he had survived day 1. ‘6 days and 5 nights more’ he thought.

The day went by slowly, this time, and the night seemed longer, the cry seemed to have become louder. He had converted his buckets into his toilets, had had not had his bath since his self imposed lock down. And he was more determined to survive his seven day trial than ever before.

By some stroke of luck and shear determination, he made it pass day six. By now, the smell of a rotten corps was oozing out of his room, he was down to his last bag of water, his garri had finished, he buckets were full, he was exhausted, mentally and physically, he was ready to turn mad; but between the cries from Egbere, his inner voice kept saying to him ‘You crossed the line of madness when you stole Egbere’s mat, if you stop now you will die for nothing.’ He turned to the last edible thing in his room and poured the two sachets of coffee in his mouth, he had been saving it for the last day.

“Kola are you there?” A knock came from outside his door. It was his landlord, but at this point, he could not recognize the voice of anybody.

“Who are you?”
“It is your land lord. Are you okay?”
“Yes I am fine”
“Are you sure? You have not come out for days. Your room smells like your job. Is it because Bukky broke up with you? I heard her boyfriend has dumped her now.”

He wished his land lord would go away and stop disturbing him. And who was this Bukky that his landlord mentioned? Her name sounded familiar, but right now he could see noises, and the voice of his landlord was beginning to sound like it was falling from the sky.

“Open the door Kola!”
“Leave me alone!”
“I cannot live you alone, everybody is worried, they have been knocking on your door and you are not opening it, you friends have been coming and you have been shouting leave me alone! Get lost. If you don’t open. I swear! in the morning I will call police!”

Kola stopped responding, the landlord knocked some more then retired.

The sound of Egbere crying never stopped being annoying, it is one of those sounds that you never get used to.

As soon as the 7th day broke. Kola emptied out his Ghana must go bag which held the few clothes that he had, put his mat in it, opened his door and ran as far as he could away from home, he ran to the safest place he could think of. The garbage dumping site. his eyes were red and sunken, he looked and smelled like a mad man, but the guards recognized him and let him in, after he told them that he was looking for his house key. He walked to the deepest part of the dumping ground. The guards kept their eyes on him, he looked like he was searching for something, but the truth was the garbage seemed to be coming to life. He could see the maggots smiling at him, they looked bigger, he walked faster then slowed down every time he saw a happy maggot. Then he got as far as he could, sat down on clean earth, then he heard his stomach grumble, and all of a sudden he began to notice food all around him, so he dug in, even the maggots tasted like chicken.

The guards who had been watching him, knew at once that he had turned mad, they wasted no time in calling Aro, a mental hospital. They did not need to hold him down, he looked like he had no plan of leaving, and they wandered what had turned the quiet Kola that they knew, mad.

By 7pm Aro workers arrived in their bus to pick him up. He ran,he tried to escape for as long as he could, it took 10 men to catch and tie him up, but the refused to let go of his mat even when he had been tranquilized.

In the morning Kola woke up in a green room, he looked around, he was not alone, there were other people, lying down, chained to their beds. He tried to feel around for his mat and realized that it was gone.

“My Mat! My Mat o!!!!” he screamed, then screamed some more, waking up the other room mates.
A nurse rushed in “You are awake.”
“Where is my mat?”he asked the nurse.
“There is no mat.”
“It was in my bag!”
The nurse ran out and returned in a bit with his bag, opened. “We did not see any mat.”
“Yekpa! I am dead o!!!! I was this close! Egbere will kill me now!!!” he began to cry.

A week later Kola was released from the hospital, his landlord had offered to accommodate him, if he was released, After Kola lied that he must have turned mad from thinking about his financial problems. The newspapers had carried Kola’s story “Financial problem turns man mad. Says he lost Egbere’s mat.” and his landlord did not want to be painted as a villain.

That night as he walked home from Aro, the night felt unnaturally cold, he felt goosebumps all over his skin, and a strange force pulling him towards the forest.

Egbere, stood at the edge of the Forest waiting, his lantern hanging from his right hand and his mat in his left hand. It watched as Kola unwillingly approached it, and stopped when was as close to the forest as it needed him to be. Then it walked towards the frozen human, dropped the mat at his feet and returned to the forest. He had survived the seven days trial, and Egbere had taken the mat from his bag to prevent any other human from making his effort vain. It had become fund of the human.

Seven years later, in a massive estate, with a mansion in its middle,Kola woke up from a peaceful sleep, beside him was a beautiful woman fast asleep and beside his head was a wad of one thousand Naira notes. He picked up his money got up and put it in his safe. He lived the good life until he died at 89 and Egbere returned for its mat.

All rights reserved FABLING PAM.

If you like this mythology follow my blog at:
www.fablingpam..com for more stories and join my Facebook group: Fabling Verse. Thank you!!!
Hope you enjoyed it?