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“Oh! My God! I had that in mind too”, they both repeatedly said when it was time to get dressed for the club. After appreciating each other in the mirror, they packed their bags to leave.
“If anyone asks us, we we’re twins”, she said.
The clone didn't look too pleased with the idea but still had to go along with it. “Yes, I will be Kehinde. As much as I love to go, this name ish will make me want to run back home in no time because I can’t bear trying to hide who I am to people”.
Fisayo could feel her anger rearing its head, but she calmed the beast. “It won’t be trouble”.
Fisayo picked up her bag and walked out. Upon getting out of the house, the cold breeze covered her face like a crowd of happy fans receiving their world cup victorious team. The car she ordered arrived, and the driver’s call came in. After assuring him that they were ready, she turned to the clone. Let’s move.
“I don’t know what is happening. I can’t leave here”, the clone replied.
“Move now!”
“I don’t know! I can’t move!”
“What do you mean you move? My friend, may we go.”
“I’m serious”.
“You’re serious when Uber driver is here already”, Fisayo squealed.
The clone bared her teeth. “Did I suddenly wake up and, out of the blue, decide that whenever I get to the door, I’m not moving”.
“If you’re not going, just tell me”, Fisayo strutted away.
The driver’s smile should have softened the annoyance climbing up her throat. If that didn’t do it, his calm, collected words drenched in the beautiful silky voice should have done it. But she just wasn’t prepared. “This idiot, where is she? Oga, please hold on”.
“Who are we waiting for?” The man said. She could sense some bit of fear in his voice, but she wasn’t concerned.
After several seconds, she snatched her bag. “I’ll just be right back”.
“Time is running against you”, the driver called after her.

The moment she heard that, she turned back to look at the smug on his face and wished she could wipe it away with her jarring words. When I’m back, she thinks.
“Why are you standing like an idiot and….” Fisayo barked when she got back into the compound until she saw the tears on the clone’s face. “You’re crying instead of moving from this place to join me”.
“I can’t….” She cried. “I can’t move out of the house. For some odd reason, I can’t move. This is not good!”
“What’ve all these?” Fisayo screamed. “The foolish driver has started counting down time”.
She went over to her and grabbed her hand. “Let’s… go.”
“I’m not moving”, the clone cried.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Fisayo yelled. “Why so heavy?”

“I don’t know. I can’t move away from the house! Why can’t I move away from the house? Why am I so unfortunate?”
“Girl, stop crying….” Fisayo barked at her.
“Stop invalidating my experience”, the clone cried louder.
“Oh! Stop all the nuisance. You’re just a cry baby for no reason! What has been having been! I must go to the club.”
“That’s rich coming from you”, the clone said. “I’m here inside and can’t go out, and all you could think of is yourself”.
“Angela”, Fisayo called. “What’s happening?”
“Sorry, any information you want about the clone Fisayo will be gotten only around the reflection room”, Angela’s replied.
Fisayo looked at Angela and shrugged, lightly rubbing the clone’s face. “Babe, I’ll be back in a jiffy”.
“What does that mean?” the clone asked.
Fisayo hissed briefly. It was just infuriating hearing that complaint in her voice. It made her aware the clone was just too toxic for her. The Uber driver complained as expected but had to keep shut when she gave him an earful of the frustration from knowing that she was leaving the clone to herself.
“Please, drive…”.

The driver turned to her. “I thought we were waiting for another person”.
“And I said you should drive. How is that your problem? Pokey!”
The driver drove off.
“Men like that didn’t know when to keep their care and thought to themselves as if every lady they met was a project”, she muttered under her breath.. She didn’t even see a reason to give him three stars. She gave him a star for his patience, and for his excellent driving skill, she gave him one more star. He had lost two stars she always reserved for the well-mannered driver. Of course, he didn’t meet the requirement for the fifth star- he didn’t look handsome enough.
The club was fun, with light sparking memories here and there. Tunmininu was also here. She had texted her that she would always be there whenever she was ready to get off her high horses, she would meet her at the club.
“It’s good to see you?” Tunmininu shouted over the blast of the “dorime” song and the hypes for the person who bought Hennessy. After several pleasantaries, Tuniminu wished she could come visit again.

“Monday night will be fine!” Fisayo said.
When they were done, another Uber was waiting for her. Drivers like that were always the unlucky bunch because she had the knack for giving them low rating and angry remarks about their ineptitude, foul smell, weird look, lust in their eyes, or overbearing attitude. If anything was available that was lower than one star, her long fixed nails would have ensured the driver got it.
Sleeping and waking after being sober sent her scurrying to her well-stocked fridge to anything to quell her hunger. However, her stomach lurched in pain because of the emptiness of the fridge. There was no way the food could be finished in no time. That was surprising. A few days before she encountered the clone, she had stocked up the fridge.
The clone entered the kitchen the same time, with a grim look. Fisayo suspected a foul play somewhere. The clone burst into a crazy song that almost burst Fisayo’s brain with anger.

“I do this too”, Fisayo yelled and turned towards the food cabinet. “I’d just get the foolish golden morn.” The food cabinet was emptied out. “Where’s all the food in the house and the fridge?”
The clone burst into a more aggravating song. Fisayo just knew that it would be a long night.
“Guy, where’s all the food in the house?” She yelled.
“I’ve eaten it all”, the clone replied.
“In the space of….” Fisayo stopped at her. “Bring out all the food. I’m hungry, my friend. I am so hungry that I can eat you”. The clone was bewildered. “Yes. I will eat you and eat you. Get me the damn food!”
“No one is eating in this house after you did what you did?” The clone said.
“What do you mean by when I did what I did?” Fisayo could feel the anger in all her pores. To avoid ruining anything, she walked around the house to find somewhere this newbie clone could think of as the right spot for the food in the house. She couldn’t possibly be so daft to flush all the food in the house.

After what felt like forever, she returned. “Where is the food? Are you mad or something?”
“You left me. All alone in the house.”
“And so what? It just shows how selfish you are. If not, you would want my joy!” Fisayo barked. She could do see why anyone could be so inconsiderate to know that she would miss a once-in-lifetime fun because of her.
“What of my joy! What of mine?”
Fisayo’s tolerance had gotten to its limit. “Alaye, give me food o. Give me food!”
The clone walked away. When she couldn’t stand just watching the soulless thing leave her without food, Fisayo scurried after her. “Where is the food in the house? I’m hungry”.
“Fast. And learn your freaking lesson!” The clone yelled as she slammed the door behind herself.
Fisayo hopped faster just to catch up with her and smack her behind the neck to reset her brain.
Just as she got to the door, she heard a click. And another. Vehemently pulling at the door, she could find all the spurt of anger steaming out of her nose like dragon fire.

“Angela, opened this freaky door”, Fisayo screamed after pulling severally.
“The door has been reset to manual over the night by Clone Fisayo”, Angela replied calmly.
Why will Angela be calm at this point? She was feeling so weak from yesterday’s party. Fisayo pulled at the door severally and eventually sat there.
For hours, the door remained closed, and she just knew this was the worst treatment anyone could give others.
“At least, give me my purse. I’m so hungry”, Fisayo said through the lines of the door. “Let me find something to eat”.
Why didn’t she think that the food would be in her room? Now, she is stuck with this machine that is having the same tantrum as a teenager.
“No… Until you prove you’re wrong”.
“Then, we will both remain here”, Fisayo cried.
Tears welled her eyes just as the pang of hunger was battling with her stomach, and the worm wouldn’t give her a moment’s rest with their tiny bites and grumble.

“I’ve got all the food here”, the clone repeated.
“Of course…”
Fisayo remained there for hours until she concluded that it was time to go by another rule.
“I’m sorry. Really sorry for leaving you behind. Sorry to be an unkind wicked person….”
“That’s more like it”, the clone said and opened the door slightly.
Fisayo was excited happy but too weak to run for the door.
“Here, have this to strengthen yourself before you tell me how sorry you are again. I need to hear it from a place of anger”, the clone said as he threw a packet of golden morn at her.

Fisayo clenched both her feet and teeth till she saw every vein in her arm. Then, they repeated the steps every hour with the clone throwing bits of food out the door. After what felt like forever, the clone opened the door. At the end of the day, everything seemed to have become bygones. The two of them were soon laughing like kids, and we were doing things in sync.
“You should have a replica too….” Fisayo said three days later.
“Can we do that?” The clone asked.
“We never know. Let’s ask Angela….”
As usual, Angela required that they must be around the room of reflection.

“Let’s multiply”, Fisayo said. The two of them walked hand-in-hand to the door. Fisayo stepped back when they got to the door. “You should try to open the door”.
“That’s cool”. She placed her finger, but nothing happened.
“Angela, why can’t she open the door?”
“Her DNA is not registered”, Angela replied.
“Can we do that?” The clone asked.
“That will be impossible because my creator requires only the DNA of her family members”, Angela explained.
“Emotional damage”, murmured Fisayo. “Can you do the same thing you did for me to her?”
“It has a 10% chance of not being successful”, Angela replied.
“Well, it’s better than not trying at all?” Fisayo said and gestured for the clone to move aside. She sighed as she door opened after her touch and scanning her eyes.

“I’m so excited we’re getting a sister”, Angela said.
“Please, remember that any new person like clone Fisayo must spend six months within the compound”.
“After you”, Fisayo said and pushed the door for the clone to enter. The clone strutted into the room and went straight to the door.
“Angela!!! Lock the Door!” Fisayo yelled.
The clone heard this and spun, stunned.
“Are you sure?” Angela asked.
“Yes! Yes!”
Fisayo waved at the clone as the door closed up. The clone turned and tried to catch the door, but it closed but not before Fisayo heard Angela say, “Clone Fisayo, you are not replicable”.

Fortunately, the clone couldn’t get out before the door closed. So, she began to bang the door, crying her heart out.
“Can she break the door?” Fisayo asked.
“She has your weak frame and as such can’t propel the required energy for breaking down the door”.
Idiot. Weak frame. Me, Fisayo thought.
“Good! Because no one should leave someone like that forever! Devil! Evil! God, I was walking on eggshells around her”.
The clone’s voice faded off as she returned to her room and picked up her phone to call her friends. “Can you guys just come around for a week or two?”
The room was now the skeleton in her cupboard- never visited or discussed.

“Open this door”, Fisayo heard her voice crying from the room. The torturous agony in her voice could convince anyone to do her bidding. But that wasn’t her. That was some stupid clone that she gave a chance in life and had almost made her murderous. The door disguising the room’s panel appeared, she sighed and wondered how she would hard it would be to learn to avoid the demon she had unleashed within that room.
That huge house inherited by Fisayo Adewusi from her grandfather was enormous, lovely, and lonely as if it was competing for the scariest place in the world, despite the loud music.

She regretted sending her friends away too soon but couldn’t put up with those self-absorbed people, staying in her home, not ready to accept her for who she was. Every one of them felt she ought to be this and that, but none of them could bear walking in her shoe while still stomaching their bile behaviours.

Now, being alone was it at all. She needed something else to do, but nothing seemed viable since she was tired of all the spaces, VRs meetings, the tweets, and the movies on her phone. Human physical connection was missing.
Her tour of the house expanded her fantasy. The doors’ texture made her wonder if they were created anywhere other than the earth. The trim and curves were too intricate and conspicuous that she always got the same sense of wonder and mystification each time she was in front of a new door. Some other times, she straightened her hair since being alone didn’t mean she couldn’t look good. When she thought she was done with the rooms, she turned but not before her eyes caught a tiny light reflection on the wood. She traced her fingers on it.
Immediately, the wood suddenly cracked in the middle and glided into the wall.
“Exciting”, she mumbled.

In front of her now stood a silver door with a big screen that had semblance with computer games, with so many alien details around the screen, becoming scarier by the seconds like some horror movies with all alarms blaring in the people’s heads. This is the time for her to do the same- run, get out of that passage, and never return to the door. Not ever again. But trying to forget about the door felt trying to forget that she locked the door behind a rat that entered her wardrobe.
Although the panel didn’t indicate such, she placed her fingers on it. Immediately, a robotic hum filled the hall.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Fisayo jumped out of the way as if she had to get away from a venom of death.
“Welcome, Miss Fisayo Adewusi. I am Angela. I see this is the first time in your lineage’s building. And as such have now gained access to the clone controlling this home. I see you are about to enter the room of reflection. Will you like to know what is within it before you enter?” Angela asked.

“Ahn! Ahn! AI in this home. How did you come to be in this home?” Fisayo managed to say despite being choked by the heat of the wild beats of her heart.
“I was built here by your great grandmother, Elfie. She was a German scientist who returned to Nigeria to finish some of her life’s work”.
“Any reason she must have done that?” Fisayo said and looked about in that something might just appear.
“She was trying some seemingly unethical experiments on quantum physics that didn’t get the same scrutiny here in Nigeria as she could have gotten in the European countries”. Angela's robotic voice sounded like someone Fisayo knew, but her brain had lost grip on its sanity, and all she could feel was a heightened fear and hearing.

“Is there like any other item in this home that can like to harm me?” Fisayo asked.
“Elfie never loved me to save arms in the house, but she made the house security malleable such that it fits the wishes of the next person that takes over. And you are the first in her line to ever try it after her”.
“Okay. This room. What is it about? Tell me…”
“The room of reflection is….”
Fisayo raised her hands. “No. Stop. Angela, stop! Stop! Don’t tell me. I need to explore it myself. It’s very good to explore things. I hope it’s not dangerous”.

“The concept of danger is relative”, Angela explained.
“Wo, I don’t like what I hate. Tell me, is there any harmful thing there?” Fisayo shouted as she eyed the door.
“I can’t tell you. But from my different exploration of danger, I will go with the physical explanation and tell you that there is nothing at the moment that can physically endanger your life. The only danger will be what you do to the room and how you use it”.
Fisayo shrugged. “Good then, open this, mother… Let’s see what’s in it”.
“I will need to capture your face and create a retina scan for you. I am only availed of your fingerprint and DNA, which I have gathered since you arrived in the house”.
“Let’s do this!” Fisayo grunted.

The process didn’t take time, but it was becoming just as she saw it in the movies. The only difference was the absence of those robotic unique sounds and cranks that came with using such items. She might not love it, but it gave the expectation that something huge was coming in.
With a thud, the door popped. She scoffed at the idea that she had to use her strength to push through the door when the computer here could do anything.
“Uhm…” Fisayo murmured as the door closed behind her with a click.
Aside from the covered object at the other end and the beautiful fluorescent fixed into the ceiling, the large blue room was empty and bare that even her empty room in Agege would feel like it mattered and was superior.

“Angela, what’s this?”
“It’s the room of reflection….”
“So, what’s it all about?”
“I tried explaining the rules to you. I can’t help you whenever I am here. I am not allowed to explain any information to you. Everything you need to know must have been done outside the door”.
“That’s fresh! Alaye, override whatever program you have.”
“I am sorry I can’t do that”, Angela replied.
“Then, I’ll go outside to listen.”

“My ethical failsafe is restricted in this room. I have been programmed to make sure you don’t leave the room until you fulfil the essence of being in this room”.
“When it’s not like you’re drunk, open the door”, she shouted.
“You are not to leave the room until you’re done”, Angela repeated.
The tone remained the same but felt like a threat. Nothing felt right at that moment than to escape the debacle of a room. Fisayo rushed to the door and pulled what seemed like the handle, but nothing budged.
I am dreaming, she thought.

“Get me out of here!” Fisayo screamed. “I'll ruin your life, Angela. I will remove everything they used to create you and destroy you”.
“You are not to leave until you’re done”, Angela repeated.
But the door won’t budge. From a second, the time edged slowly to minutes, draining her of all hope of escape. Her perfectly crafted fingernails were ruined from her incessant forceful pull at the handle. When everything failed, she sat on the ground, railed, and cursed Angela
“I am so going to spoil every power you have. You this bodiless useless thing of a computer. Animal lasanlasan the twin of a dog. Creativity bereft. Open this door”.

“You are not to leave until you’re done”, Angela repeated like a broken record.
Her eyes and curiousity rested on the only thing in the room was shrouded in mysteries. Yet, she found it appalling and foolish to uncovering that unknown. If Angela can be that toxic and controlling, she couldn’t predict that the thing under the hood would be safe. She wouldn’t want a repeat of the control she was losing to this uncontrollable innate thing that should be like what elves are to witch families- created to obey.
“What do I have to do? What? What?” She asked.
“You are not to leave until you’re done”, Angela repeated.
“I guess you weren’t created with a brain”, Fisayo muttered as she climbed out.

She could guess that getting out of the room would be determined by whatever was nestled under the hideous hood at the other end of the room. The Nigerian in her wanted to avoid all these by all means, especially with Angela’s ominous behaviour.
Accepting her fate took her another minute. Inhaling loudly, she slowly pulled the cloth, which slid down like it was created to create the same effect as the theatre curtains, hoping to be able avoid any consequence.
Right in front of her was the drabbest mirror she had ever seen, framed with aluminium bereft of the sophistication of the door.
“You have successfully cloned yourself. All information about you are currently being gathered to determine the best result you get henceforth”, Angela’s voice reverberated in her room.
For a few seconds, Fisayo was too stunned to reply because Angela’s words didn’t only feel like gibberish but felt like something entirely impossible.

“I’m right about you all along”, Fisayo muttered as she dusted her pink shorts in the mirror, tightened the rope, and brushed her waist-length braid. “You are dunce and should be buried under the earth. Astronauts should have carried your body, ensure they do everything to defy gravity just to make sure you never exist anymore”.
“Your cloned body will appear after you have made your selection!” Angela said. Fisayo was too bemused to give a decent response. “You are to select between an exact replica of you or an opposite replica of you”.
“Does that that even make any sense to you?” Fisayo said in a tired voice. Her curiosity was now visible in how cocked her head was.
“We can only proceed after your selection”, Angela replied.
“Quick one!” Fisayo said. “What will I do with the thing?”

“You are to live with the replica. All other information can be gotten outside the room”, Angela replied.
“What are my options again?” Fisayo growled after thinking hard and long.
“As I said before, you are to select between an exact replica of you or an opposite replica of you”.
“I can hear an undertone of mockery in your voice”, she murmured. “As I said before….”
Fisayo thought hard and long as she wondered what her choice should be. If she chose her opposite, her life would be frustrated. She might eventually want to kill whatever came out because nobody can be as perfect as she. Nobody can be finicky, immaculate, and orderly as she was. Her brain calculated things faster than anyone she had ever met. She just preferred to go towards the art because she hated the rigidity of learning taught in the science departments. She wanted freedom, exploration, and excitement. Not some mere repeated lifestyle.
“I will pick my replica”, she said.

“Is that your final selection?” Angela asked.
“Yes. Yes! And yes”, Fisayo replied. Her patience was only visible by the tail now. She would lose it and break this glass or other things in the room until she was released.
“You will see her soon”.
“Then, let’s get to it”, Fisayo whispered. Angela didn’t reply, making her look from one part of the room to the other. “My life. Temi bami. Angela, madwoman. Your mirror is not doing anything”.
No sound came in response, and that pricked her fear. It can’t be, she thought.
“Be prepared for the presentation1 in 10, 9,….” Angela made her countdown, and if she wasn’t an AI, Fisayo could swear she heard gloating in her voice.

At the count of zero, the mirror slid into the ground, revealing a hole. From it rolled a lifelike clone. Soon enough, Fisayo was faced with a naked body she had seen regularly in front of her mirror- the same type of body she had adored all life, which she had called the perfection of God, not only because she accepted her look, but because every aspect created the faces of everyone she adored. Her small eyes were enough to make her the focus of any attention she needed in the world. Her nose and lips were perfectly crafted enough to suit her oblong her face.
“This is…” She muttered but couldn’t bring herself to say what came to her mind since the door opened simultaneously. To turn at that moment would be like giving up a tempting moment to clapback at her most vicious troll on Twitter. The clone opened her eyes, expressionless.
“Hi”, Fisayo said coyly.
“Hi”, the clone replied.

The android gave her a curt look, just the way she would have done. This should have infuriated her, but she was too mesmerised to make any sound. The voice texture, slur, and enunciation were perfectly hers. It was strange.
“You need cloth”, Fisayo said and turned towards the door.
“Yes. Who am I?”
“Yes. About that… Angela? What’s her name?” Fisayo asked. On a normal day, the disdain in the clone’s eyes would have gotten a coarse response. Fisayo glanced up. “Stupid AI, what’s her crazy name?”
“I’m Fisayo and where am I? Why am I naked?” The clone pouted. “Oh! The last thing I remember is you… Oh! Oh! I’m a clone. Regardless, I can pass as human! So, treat me as one”.
Fisayo watched the clone walk away. Happiness that welled in her heart at the sight of the clone’s gait, reminding her that she a goddess- the whole encapsulation of everything called perfect. Now, she understood why men stared at her ravenously.
“All your answers will come to you outside the room”, Angela said.
Fisayo suspected a foul play. She looked about, hoping that she could return there to create someone else. With this close, she was sure that their friendship will be quick. Sighing to calm her nerves, Fisayo walked over out of the door, which closed up after her. She turned in angst that something was off just as she met the confused clone by the door.
“Now, what’s the instruction?” Fisayo asked.

“Welcome to the reflection room. The androids have been created to pass as human. They have a bit of your memory. This is easy because the room can read your brain waves. Then, but it will have the same character, intelligence, and attitude available in your genes. Anyone who enters the reflection room will need to come out with either a replica of them or an opposite of them.
The moment any occupant enters the house and invariably the reflection room, their details and life history will be gotten from the internet and devices, which will be used to create as much information as possible. These details will be transmitted into the android created”.
“Ah! That’s still fair!” Fisayo coughed. “Where did you get the details on the internet?”
“I first go through your Gmail accounts to all your social media. Then, we create information from this. I look at your video contents on every social media and also….”
“That can’t capture all my life”, Fisayo replied.

“Of course, she is not the perfection of you. But that information is only all the parts you reveal to different people. I look at your conversations of different people and help in building her”.
“What’s her name?” Fisayo said.
“My name is Fisayo”, the clone said and walked away. “Where’s the room? Even if it's underwear, I must wear.”
“But we need to call you something to differentiate both of us”, Fisayo called after her. When the clone didn’t stop, Fisayo turned towards the door. “Can you tell me more information on what is needed as I catch up with her”?
“The room information is limited to just the area of the room”.
“Very rich!” Fisayo said. “I will be back.”
She hurried after the clone. She shouldn’t have been worried about her, seeing that she had given her the cold shoulders the other time, but she had no other option than to ensure that what she was the room gave her the right deal. The clone was already fishing through her clothes.
“You got these great clothes yourself?” The clone asked her. Fisayo nodded. “Great style”.
Fisayo’s smile made all her anger about her dissolve that same moment. And there, their friendship began. They started by trying several things out together. Their kitchen arrangements were all the same. Fisayo couldn’t have been more proud of herself than she was seeing now. It worked, Fisayo thought as she watched them working synchronously.

Things looked rosy until Fisayo felt it was time they went to the nearest club. She picked her key three days after her introduction to the clone, who had refused to be called anything other than Fisayo, even after she explained the need for the difference.

I will be forced to lock you out of the board. You have been called out on another thread and instead of showing up with response, you opened another thread to claim she is bad.


You had to the right to stand your ground and not accept 1 naira per word. But you did otherwise, collected the money, and sent a plagiarized work. That's devilish and the ways of scammers. We're trying to rid this place of scam outsourcers and you're painting freelancer in a bad light.

hayatulimisticor:
That OP is a lunatic. I’ve been on Nairaland for years and I’ve not seen someone as uncultured and uncivilised as her. I’ve said enough and I really don’t have anything to say. If you believe to hold on to one end of the story that’s fine. I really don’t care no more.

I said I'll like to hear your side; instead, you decided to ignore that and type all this with the same time and energy you could have used for rebuttal.

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Hello, you have been accused and the screenshots say a lot. I will like to hear from you with 72 hours, after which other measures will be carried out.

internetpo:
I totally feel what you are saying bro. Its not easy as a creative. Especially if you don't have other income sources. I am just lucky I have other income sources and thus mentally I am Ok. I just keep churning out the stories, praying and planning for the future.

The belief that one day you will blow and then people will discover that you have a long list of body of works and come consume them like ravaging fans also pushes one on.

Was enjoying your Writertain blog turned forum sometime ago. What happened to it?

I couldn't retain the domain.... But it's now Writertain Publishers.com and wiki.writertainpublishers.com

itsyoms:
This piece really touched me, I'm a spoken word poet. I will like to turn your piece into a spoken word poetry. Do I have your permission?

Oh. Yes boss.

Godmother:
Why would you want to claim ownership yo the articles or books? It's a business service you'd be providing.

The idea is to offer your services and in turn, get paid (well) for it.

I know guys making 200k monthly from their writing and they think nothing of the ownership.

However, if you want the ownership that badly, you might want to look into publishing books on Amazon KDP.

This way you retain the rights to your books and still earn passively from their sales.

Oh... I think you're missing my point. I don't mean I want to claim ownership of ghostwritten books.
I'm saying once the book is gone, you don't have anything to do with it.

So, the big joy is to write for yourself and get the fame or whatever satisfaction worth deriving.
That's why I didn't talk about the money because I agree there are people making cool cash from freelancing.

peacefuldude:
Don't you write articles for clients,I know some NL guys cashing out big in article writing.even on upwork.

Writing for clients is like serving as a surrogate mother. You can't claim the ownership of the child.
Getting the money for articles can never beat getting money for your novels.

When I first came here, I met many great writers, many of whom I've made friends with. So, you will understand how I always wanted their success because I'm gingered too.
Many of those guys are no longer writing or tired of writing or not as freaked about it as before.
Many posted free books here because they wanted acceptance. And Nairaland gave that.

But soon they realise that the views, comments, and likes don't convert to money. The confidence just keeps crashing down.

Many of these guys give up. Even the new crop of writers did.

I decided to build Writertain Publishers because of this. But it's not easy. Finances and all. Writing is hard especially when you need money and fame to survive.
But we mustn't give up. I know friends that haven't touched a story to write in a long time because of the trouble at ever turn.

So, I'm asking you.


How are you, mentally?
Let's talk before this desire eats you up.

Chapter 4: Meetings and Goodbyes
Bidemi stared at his friend's ID card and realized that he must have dropped it in the library but couldn’t place it. Even then, he must enter the library to get it.
At that point, he had only one option, and that he did. He walked briskly into the library and flashed the library card but didn’t stop even as a clutching, sinking sensation held his chest, but he maintained a straight face. The porter nodded, making him sigh.
Without a second thought, he raced to the top floor, racking his brain for where he must have lost his library card. He was holding it before he helped a beautiful goddess-like lady pick her books. Maybe, his head became fuzzy after he saw the fleece of sheep she had in her mouth. Or he stopped living in the real world when a sensation of desire shot through his spine as she touched him.
He gave her a library card. Yes, he gave her. It must have been his’. God! He was so concerned with knowing her department and name from her books that he didn’t look at what he was doing. God was his witness; if he saw her again, nothing in this world would stop him from knowing her name.
‘Wait,’ someone said the moment he got to the ground floor after he had gotten his phone’s battery again. He looked up from the phone and saw the radiant and sparkling lady facing the porter.
Despite feeling like the jubilant Billy goat, who visited the exotic mountain of the wolf and never returned, he didn’t mind. He looked around to ensure no one saw the great light of the happiness that warmed his heart.
Her beauty was so natural, even better than those of Grace’s. He shook his head to ward off the thought of Grace, who always had to make up to boost her image. Like in their secondary school days, she was beautiful and obsessed with him as she was now. Yet, her obsession lasted for a year. Even then, she was kind, gentle and only became a tyrant when she saw other ladies with him. For God’s sake, he shouldn’t think of Grace.
‘Is that your ID card?' the porter said, staring at the I.D Card. She turned it and stared at the card for some seconds.
‘Oh!’ She exclaimed and proceeded to search her purse.
The porter’s smile engulfed his face as if he was daydreaming, making Bidemi wonder how he would react if he saw Grace. Bidemi smacked his head again as he caught himself comparing that Aphrodite to Grace. They were different in all ways. Grace was as fair as the morning sun.
‘Oh! God!’ Bidemi sighed and bit away from the distaste in his mouth. Grace was fair and fair. Nothing more.
It was unfair to compare her to the lady in front of him, who had doves as eyes. Her hair looked like goats descending Olumo rock. Here was his prized- person. She would be a significant honorarium to have. Even Grace would cringe at the sight of her beauty.
After collecting her card, the lady frowned as she scrutinized the first ID card, flipping it in her finger. Then, she smiled as she looked at the library card.
Bidemi’s remained on her as he wondered what wrong it would be to ask her out there, not scared, not tongue-tied. Here was his opportunity, and he wouldn’t miss it. All he needed was her phone number, and everything was done. Quickly, he looked at his phone.
'Hey,' she called with delight reflecting in her voice.
Bidemi looked, pretending as if that was their first encounter.
‘Are you...’ she stared, asking as she looked at his ID, ' Adeoti A.B?’
‘Yes...?' He wasn’t sure he knew how the reply came as a question. But he was now more concerned about how she knew his initials.
She came towards him. 'This is your library ID card.'
'What!’ He said, surprised, 'how did it get to you?’
She shrugged. 'I don't know, but the only explanation I can come with at the moment is that it must have fallen while you were helping me to pick my books the other time.'
'Oh!’ He replied after confirming it was his card.
‘And thanks again for the other time,' she said as she headed for the bag storeroom.
'You are welcome', he said, feeling an invisible hand of fear clutching his throat, leaving him speechless as he watched her stroll off into the storeroom.
Normally, other ladies would have tried to get his attention, but this lady seemed not to care, as if the other ladies had always been lying. Since her stance was challenging, he felt the need to get her attention. He rubbed his hands together and blew air into them to keep the cold away. At this point, he cared less about the person waiting with his bag outside because he needed to get her phone number or her name or both of them.
He gritted as he looked about for the sofa they kept in a corner for people waiting for something. Luckily, the chair was placed to see every part of the library’s ground floor. So, staring at the toilet side wouldn’t look creepy.
In his wonder, she walked by him to the toilet. Staring at her as she whipped her hair, he became tongue-tied as if he was in the presence of his biggest crush, Emma Stones or Genevieve. Before he could get over the beauty, she was hurrying down the stairs that led to the toilet.
She would be back, he assured himself.
Words and punchlines jostled for use in his head until he became too confused to select one. As he sat there, hopeful and hurrying, he wished she would return on time.
Five minutes later, she wasn’t back.
Maybe she went for major, he wondered and tried to erase any thought of her smiling in such a situation.
However, his interest piqued twenty minutes later when they were no view of her. But he had to take off any ominous idea brewing in his mind, seeing that restrooms have always served as thinking rooms.
Thirty minutes. He looked at the giant clock rocking the forward, jumping from one second to the next.
' Guy... How far now?' Grumbled the guy waiting for him as he entered the library. A big scowl on his face said more than Bidemi needed to know. 'Have you forgotten I was waiting for you?'
He dumped Bidemi's heavy bag on his laps. Bidemi winced.
'I'm sorry.
'Be sorry for yourself. He hissed as he turned. Then, he turned again. ‘Reduce the load you bring to school. You will kill yourself one of these days.
Bidemi nodded and watched him leave since he was sure nothing would take him out of that seat until he met with her.
Forty minutes.
Now, questions flooded his mind. What had happened to her? Why was she not coming out? Was there another way out of the toilet?
He rose and went in search of her, hoping he would run into her. So he can use the line of ‘Oh! We meet again for the third time, which might lead to getting her name because he would tell her he doesn’t believe in coincidence.
He got to the front of the toilet and stared at the tag placed in front of it, ' Female'.
Should I enter? He wondered.

Jaylynn:
You said you almost died. Whoa! What happened?

Oh! I choked on something that almost killed me.


And I'm not done editting. So, the full book isn't out.

Even from the conversation, he said that he saw improvement after his first draft was edited. You can't be a better writer when you don't write or work towards becoming better.

Reading should be recommended for everyone and not just writers alone. However in the case of writers, reading and watching movies to learn should be continually preached. Then, write.
You can be better from writing for competitions because you will fail and get rejected many times. If you're meant to write, you will find yourself crawling back to write.

You will find yourself studying books on how to be better writer. And how do you practice all these: by reading more books?

Nah! You write and make more mistakes. The difference this time will be that you know what to look out for and what you should include because you didn't just read, you studied and carefully walked and worked through the process.

cyber5:
I just stumbled upon this story. Is part 2 out please?

Not out but I'm still writing it.

Rick9:
Divepen1 Boss.

Ogamysamo:
where can i read it in full ?

So sorry for the late response. Exams has been one kind. Here we have it:




Chapter 3
The Fight
Yemi Akinlolu stayed back after the Brain left him for the faculty of Arts. Despite being an open spot, it was a good place to meet without any suspicion now that had eventually infiltrated a cult group suspected of kidnapping some missing guys on campus. Her demeanour cuddled his heart, giving him hope that he might give in to his desire to ask out when they were out of the debacle.
His phone’s vibration, however, brought him back to the present. Putting phones on vibration became a habit after escaping some criminals because he mistakenly put his phone vibration while hiding in his ceiling.
This time, Rose, his wife, was calling.
‘Hello honey', he said
‘Don’t honey me... Don't honey me...'
‘What-'
‘Ose, scum! Once a dog, always a dog’.
‘What are you talking about?'
‘I’ve been informed', Rose shouted.
‘What informa-'
‘Do you think I won't know abi?'
‘Know what?'
‘Stop pretending. That's how all of you pretend'. She was always worked up.
‘Wait...' He shouted and looked about. He should have expected that. ' What are you talking about?'
'Do I need to tell you...?’
‘What’s wrong with you?'
'Well... All those girls are already doing shaku shaku towards you with their two left legs. Didn’t you just finish talking to one again?' she shouted over the phone.
‘But...but...'
‘Don’t but me jare... Is it true or not?'
‘Who is peddling such falsehood?’ His face was burning with anger.
‘Is it not true?’
He looked about in wonder about who could’ve informed her.
‘Yes... Who is there? Come in', Rose said, making him sense that she was talking to someone outside their house.
Yemi was furious and looked about in Gboyega Owolabi garden. Just one chance to catch the homewrecker, he wished. He looked about again but found himself looking at busy people—no one to pin on the allegation. No one cared about him- the short fair bald man- that sat there.
‘Yeh...' Rose shouted, ' leave me alone... Help... Help'
Yemi rose from his seat. Her screams became louder. His intuition made him hold his tongue even as he stared blankly into the space, desperately hoping he got a hint of what was happening. Gradually, her cry drifted from the phone, but he stood his ground, hoping, and wishing for something to help his search.
‘Three men are taking me away ooo... Help ooo', she screamed again, and her voice faded off.
And there it was- all he needed. With no care in the world, he ran through the mazy paths that led out of the flower-filled garden as he waved down the nearest cab.

I've been following your advert about this book before its publication. I never knew it was another Lekki Club thing na.

I'd definitely buy this too.

Till New Year: A Statue
A notification sound, a blinking of the light, and a press of the button are all meant to express thoughts until they are all you live by, Keren remembered someone saying as she laid on her bed reminiscing how she got to that point.
Keren’s excitement at the thought of opening her TikTok account couldn’t know any bounds. Her gamer brothers have been battling with understanding Twitch and Discord since that’s where they could socialize with geeks.
Not her. She was social even from secondary school. But here she was, still not having a post on Instagram or Tiktok because her private life meant the world to her. Tiktok, however, caught her attention since all it required was its need for imitation. That, she can do. Perfectly so.
‘One, two, three, four, five,….’ She mouthed as she danced vigorously to the first song.
When she was done, she posted it with the relevant hashtags and ones that screamed ‘I want to be famous’ and waited. No likes. No view.
It’s coming, she thought.
She browsed through other posts, looking at the seemingly simple things everyone got into and how much likes work for one funny or sexy video. But nothing happened still to her video.
Three hours and even 10 hours later, she had no like. The image was perfect. Her glowing ebony skin shining as the sun licked should have pulled in anyone. School was resuming in January, when the time would escape her grasp, causing her to fight for sanity and relaxation. This December had just the suitable ingredient for her to become a famous TikToker or something near it- the harmattan, the time, the food, and the lack of sleep.
With no other choice, she read up on what to do. And the formula was there, all laid up for her. And the steps she followed. Whatsapp status, class groups, IG pages all swarmed with her video. After spamming different parts, red dots popped up, informing her of likes, comments, and followership.
Despite the trickles of followers, she loved it. Patience, they said, is key. That night, she slept like a log.
‘Slow but steady, she told her softly while brushing her teeth, staring at herself in the mirror, after she had checked to see the report from yesterday- eight likes, three comments, and 20 followers.
With the higher number grew her confidence in her body. Slowly, her bare chest peeked in the street of TikTok. Her shoulders too rebelled and soon gave voice to the need of the cleavages. Her clothes became less covering, more revealing, excessively hugging her body. Of course, her parents were blocked on every post she shared to her Whatsapp status. Those aunts and Uncles too, although the uncles barely complained.
By December 15th, her followers had grown, no thanks to the bots, paid followers, and her obsessive posting. So, it was no surprise that someone ran up to her when she was out buying something at Ikeja mall.
‘OMG. It’s you. God! I’m blushing. Pressie, it’s me, your ardent follower. Halarriwo’, the beautiful lady shouted.
‘Wow! Wow! I know you', Keren’s high pitched voice highlighted her excitement.
They talked for a while until Halariwo remembered something. ‘I can link you up with Yazmine, the Blaze’.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I’ve met him. He has a shoot for a skit. He had hinted about you being good once’.
‘Really?’
‘Really’.
Halarriwo hooked her up for the skit. They had created the best Christmas fun skit that blew Keren’s pages in a day or two.
Keren’s excitement hit the roof that she felt compelled to include influencers in her bio. And truly like influenza, her twerk videos and comical ones were hopping from one celebrity page to another. She was that good.
On the 31st of December, she decided to visit Nairaland, and there she was- on the front page. Not her twerk video or her comedy, but facts about her. Some blogger had taken his time to find out information about her.
Her heart thumped as she saw the information- some were fairly true, but many of them were things she never shared with anybody.
‘It will pass, she told herself.
But it was a lie. From everywhere, her life was prodded, poked, and scrutinized by people. As school resumed in January, she was forced to wear shades to avoid people’s looks and flashes of light from their camera. They no longer saw her as human. She was now a statue. Everyone just wanted to stare at her or use her as background props. But she couldn’t stop now; her fame was skyrocketing.

germaphobe:
if only you know how most of us look forward to seeing this small small but great short stories from you

This made my day. Thanks a lot..

David reviled his neighbour’s early morning devotion songs and always wished for mid-December to arrive when they would yell instructions and mild threats till they entered their father’s blue old Sienna and travelled to the village till the second week in the new year. Their songs started with a vigorous jingle of the bell at 5 a.m alongside the call for prayer by the Muslims- it was always timely, even on special days. After the bell, a grumpy call of ‘baba, baba, baba’ would follow from the eldest daughter’s sonorous voice. Then, the other members of the family would join her. Ten minutes later, they would burst into joyous celebrations and sing for joy, with no care in the world.
Oddly enough, when their songs get to the peak, David’s sleep had its way of clouding his eyelids, and he wouldn’t hear them again when he woke later in the day to go to his shop.
That day, he could easily guess that they were travelling because, on such days, their rickety generators would run through the night, spurting dark fumes vigorously till they left home. And they wouldn't stop talking till around 3 a.m or thereabout. Then, the generator would take a vow of silence till their return into the city.
However, David’s attention was pricked at 5 a.m, the next day, when the generator convulsed into a coma, but their father didn’t rush out, and his bell never rang. Their grumbles never followed. Surprised, he remained awake, soaked in the sweat of the heat in his locked room. Their generator’s noise wouldn’t make him open his window whenever their generator was running.
‘Sure’, he said to himself as he rose in wonder if they were still at home. After waiting for a while, he decided to risk it. Getting to their door was easier than breathing despite the dark passage.
His first knock was hesitant, with a muffled desire for him to run back. When no one replied for the fifth time, he was sure something was wrong.
‘Broda David, wetin dey sup?!’ Clem asked as he poked his head.
‘No morning devotion!’ David said the first thing that came to his mind.
Clem was the comedian of the house and the only one that related with everyone, including David, who kept to himself constantly.
‘Ah! No Morning devotion!’ Clem used a torchlight. ‘Abi dem don travel’.
David shook his head. ‘Tomorrow or Sunday!’
‘Ah! Yes! Your head dey there!’
Again, he knocked and had to stop when he heard a faint sound. He put his ear against their door.
‘You hear anything!’ Clem asked.
David listened with rapt attention like one searching for a pin in a haystack. ‘Yes. Cough. Small cough. Someone’s coughing!’
Clem never gave him another chance as he repeatedly knocked with more vigour than David could have seen him. Concerned neighbours poked their heads out. The door from upstairs creaked and broke through the passage, reducing any chance of hearing anything within the house.
‘I go kick am!’ Clem announced.
David’s didn’t hesitate before he moved back just in time for Clem to kick the door. The slight rattle on the hinge gave David the motivation he needed. Together, their legs banged the door, muffling the questions someone was asking.
Then, the door opened.
And there, on the floor, the eldest daughter was, panting faintly, hands outstretched, trying desperately to reach the door. The reason: the room was filled with fumes, choking him, causing his eyes to water.
In no time, voices were screaming instructions on how to help the family. They tried saving everyone, but the lastborn wasn’t responsive to first aid. After two days at the hospital, he woke and probably forgot what happened because he was soon seen dashing around the house, dusty, naked, laughing heartily, holding a stick sweet topped with sand, with no care in the world.
At the end of the day, if the family’s noise once disturbed David, they were now intensified, vigorous, and heartfelt. David, on the other hand, didn’t care. He was just glad that they were alive.