₦airaland Forum

So is it okay if i leave it at this,i.e go to the next scene? I'm preparing the next installment.

That was the general idea. You'd kinda feel sorry for Musty,but yet at the same time feel disgusted at what he did and feel that he deserves it. There'd be conflicting emotions. Also,i'm wondering whether to go into details(abt d violence) or not. I want my readers to feel the brutality,yet i dont want it to be over-stated. Should i leave the last few lines as they r or shld i expantiate further?

I'm thinking he shld have arthritis or some other joint disease which wld make the knee-capping even more brutal.

It's aight.

Why thank-you dearie. B.t.w,arent you a girl?

Thank you skip. @blue,the continuation is in the section for writers to post their stuff.

Cont'd-"as he felt that familiar tightening in his gut,anger flowing in his veins. Mustapha didnt reply,so he hit him again,and again,and again,until Mustapha's face was a bloody mess. "Who am i?",he asked,minutes later,his voice low and deadly. "I. . . .dont. . . .know",replied Mustapha,his left eye swollen shut,blood running from a gash on his lower lip. "Wrong answer,old man. Wrong answer. My name is Chidoziem Noyelu. I am the boy whose life you ruined 20 years ago,and i am your nemesis. Now do you remember?". After a long pause,Mustapha said:"I knew you would find me. I. . . I'm sorry. Wa-Allah,Ta-Allah,i'm so sorry for what i did". Dozie laughed out loud. "You're sorry? You're sorry?",he repeated in incredulement. "I know it isnt much,but i'm sorry. I need your forgiveness". "No. You need my bullets,and i'll be more than happy to oblige you. Let me tell you what i'm going to do to you. First of all,i'll give you a thorough beating,then a pistol whipping. Then i'll shoot you in the knees,and break every bone i possibly can,and then,then i'll kill you",he said,matter of factly.'

'He opened the door and entered the room. The old man lay sleeping peacefully on a big brass bed in the center of the room. He drew his gun and walked soundlessly to Mustapha's side. He put the gun to Mustapha's head and whispered softly:"wake up". Mustapha shifted a little,but remained fast asleep."I said wake up!",he yelled. Slowly mustapha's eyes fluttered open and widened as he saw the man standing above him with a gun to his head. "Unsurni ya Allah!",he said. "Allah cant help you now. No one can. Get up. Sit there!",he ordered,pointing to a wooden chair in the shadows. "If you have come to rob me,i have some valuables. They are worth a small fortune",said Mustapha pleadingly. He chuckled,lowly at first,and then descended into full-blown laughter. Mustapha looked at him warily,deciding that his dark brown eyes were lit up a little too manically for his comfort. "Well if that don't beat it all. You're offering me your worthless baubles",he said,the laugh still in his voice. "Move,old man",he said,the tone of his voice changing dangerously,and continued;"i don't want to hurt you . . . . yet". He took a few steps back as Mustapha swung his legs off the bed and got up. He moved in a slow,shuffling gait. About a minute later,he got to the chair. "Sit",he said,motioning with the hand that held his gun. "What do you want?",asked Mustapga. "Revenge",he replied,grabbed a chair and dragged it to where Mustapha sat,positioning it opposite Mustapha. "Who am i?",he asked. "There murt be a mistake,young man. How can you want to take revenge on me? I have done you no wrong!". "Who am i?",he repeated,already seated. "I dont know whn you are",replied Mustapha. "Think harder,old man. Who am i?". "Stop all this nonsense,young man. I said i dont know who you are!",said Mustapha,unknowingly releasing the floodgates of his fury. He sprang up from his chair at the speed of lightnin and hit Mustapha with the butt of his gun so hard,Mustapha's face spun with the force of the attck. "Who am i?",he repeated,his voice louder,as he felt

Sorry,it was a typo. I was gonna write his family,but i accidentaly wrote him. Sorry abt that.

Please analyse this:
"It was a cold,dark January night. He trudged drearily on,oblivious to the rain that had started to fall. After a few more twists and turns,he reached his destination. He paused at the door,the memories of a bygone time flashing uncontrollably through his mind. Him,as a boy,& the two men who had ruined his life. They had brokdn into his home 20 years ago,on a night just like this one. They were hausa,he and his family were igbo. They were stark opposites of each other;one was lanky & dark,the other was short,putrid and fair. The only thing they had in common was their hatred,burning bright in their otherwise expressionless eyes,a hatred which consumed them,and a hatred which wld eventually consume him. They killed his parents,raped his 14 year old sister and then killed her,right in front of him. In a matter of minutes,they shattered his childhood. He'd escaped,but not before his neighbors called the police,and not before he heard the hausa policeman whisper "well done" into their diseased ears. It had been 20 years since,and he still heard the screams of that night. The screams of his mother as her husband was killed,the screams of his sister as she was violated,and his screams,loud racking sobs,animal-like in their intensity,as he watched his family brutally murdered. He heard the screams again tonight. "No,no! Gotta. . .gotta stop the screams",he muttered,his finger on his head as he rubbed his throbbing temple. It had taken him 20 years,but he'd finally found them,and as he stood in front of the house,his hatred began to flow,from his head to his toes,spreading throughout him like the venom of a poisonous snake. All the rage and anger in him bubbled and overflowed,freeing the monster within. He picked the lock easily,and before he entered the house,he put his hand to his side and felt the reassuring coldness of the hard metal that was his gun. He entered the house and silently made his way to the room he knew belonged to Mustapha,one of the men who had murdered him,anticipation building.

"A peculiar proposition. Of no use to one,yet absolute bliss to two. The small boy gets it for nothing,the young man has to lie for it and the old man has to buy it. The baby's right,the lover's privilege,and the hypocrites mask. To a young girl,faith;to a married woman,hope;and to an old maid,charity."- V.P.I Skipper. It's kinda like a riddle. Can you figure it out?
P.s-its not love.