₦airaland Forum

Hey, Larry. Hope everything is alright with you?

God! You're good. Thank you so much for this. Feed me more.

I've read some of your works, dear writer. I like hiding myself behind the pages of your stories, and finding myself in each ink you bled. You've taken me on some roller-coaster ride to some fantasy island. And sometimes, I don't wish to be found.

You write so well, sometimes I want to bottle your stories, and drink. Thank you so much for entertaining me. I read with ravenous scrutiny. Feed me more.

Thank you very much for this.

How can I get the story?

Thank you.

Thank you, Larry.

Thumbs up bro... The story left a taste that would last. Freedom!!!
What a story!!

Thank you Repogirl for entertaining me this day... I look forward to reading more of you. You're a good writer.

Keep it coming bro..
Come on, when holding our story?

Mhizade:
Yh, u can

Thanks ma'am

MhizQween:
I'm an avid reader. And have accumulated a lot of ebooks over the years. I have books by Nora Roberts, John Grisham, Shirley Sheldon amongst many others and am willing to share. I also have Novel series, James Hardley Chase Books. U can make a request here for any of your choice or add me on Whatsapp, 08029371620.

Pls do send here: chukwuebukaezeudekaf@gmail.com

MhizQween:
WhatsApp 08029371620, I ll send it to u

Can I whatsapp you too. I really need it

SECOND CHANCE TO LIFE
-A short story


Izuchukwu had no foggiest idea where he was. All he knew was that he had been here in the deep dark night. And he had no knowledge of the way to his salvation. He had been running deep into the thick forest from the dangers that looms in the corners of the forest. He had no way of escape, and he had fallen severally and risen in his struggle for his salvation.


His heart lurched as he ran blindly in the dark. He wondered what future the bleak night held for him, surely nothing good. The night spells doom for him. He felt a stinging sensation as the edges of the thick elephant grass he ran into latched at his soft skin, just below his left eye, eliciting groans of pain. The harsh realization that he was in the middle of nowhere hit hard on him. Blanket of goose pimples from black heaven fell on him. Dangers looms here, yet he couldn’t lay his hands on what is pursuing him, but he needed to run far from the unknown dangers that hovered around the forest.


His knee creaked. He was tired of running, yet he ran till he fell hard between thorns, hit his head on the bark of a tree. On the tree, he heard a owl hoot, the sign of bad luck. He wasn't sure what the long night held for him, but he knew it wouldn't be pleasing. He prayed for the first time in a while that the day break, and dawn to come and take away his sorrows. He felt trickles of blood trail its path down his skin. He was bruised.
The grass rustled, and he cowered in fear at the sight before him, a tiny shiny eye that stared at him. He wanted to run but his legs couldn't carry his heavy frame. It failed him when he needed it most. He fell again, this time heavily on the thorns, and winced in pain as it tore deep into his skin and blood gushed. His body and his muscles ache, and pains seared through him as he fell again on the thick muddy ground. He was tired, and his feeble legs could not carry him any longer. He resigned to fate.


He felt something move below his palm, and felt the gooey skin of a snake that glitters in the night, and it he heard it hiss. The tiny shiny eyes advanced towards him, and when it was few meters from him, it roared. It's a lion. He was helpless and weak that he couldn't move a finger, couldn't he his heavy legs anymore. He resigned to fate as it seem the inevitable was bound to happen. He saw death staring at him in the eye.


"Is this how it will all end? Is this how I will die?" He asked himself. And the lion before him roared again and dove at him. And in a fleeting moment between life and death when the shimmering tug hovered at the edge of his consciousness, out of the blues, he felt the shimmers of light flood his eyes. He shielded his eyes from the bright rays of the light. "Is this the salvation I clamor?" He asked himself as he felt the ice-cold clench of fear and excitement sear through him.


And as his eyes were adjusting to the bright light, the images of the lion and snake disappeared, and the forest faded. Thick beads of sweat covered his whole frame as he stirred and stretched on the bed on which he lay. "It was all a dream", he said and let out a deep sigh of relief. And he thanked God for another chance to life.


THE END


©2017 Chukwuebuka Ezeudeka

So I dey alive flow return?

Chaiii... flow nwanne, okwa gi mere m bata nairaland... Your stories dey tori die... Person go laugh hin rib com dey pain am...

Daaluoooooo

THE MAGIC OF CHILDHOOD.


At Christmas,in my hometown of Okija, when the sky
must have been lit up gloriously in a dazzling
splendour,the moon and stars would assemble in a
powerful unison to gossip about the earth in the
crescent of the night.
The breeze not so powerful but cool enough would
wound up its pedantry.
Grandmother would assemble us-my siblings,cousins
and I to a sensational time of powerful narration.
She would tell us a handful of stories enough to
quench my curiosity for the night__genealogy and
folktales were all she got.
The tortoise and his mischievous escapades takes
the frontline in folktales. She had once told me of the
proverbial traveler to distant places who must not
cultivate enmity on his route too. Recently,she
released that of an orphan fed grudgingly by a cruel
foster mother and often denied the udala fruit. But
the spirits so benign threw down for her in bounty,
the fruits once she sang to the tree of her plight and
misery when she visited the bush. One of my
favorite stories featured Ojadili the legendary
wrestler who had beaten the spirits one after the
other at different locations,and had laughed at them
a mirthless laughter when he was on a quest in the
spirit land.
I liked the good fare,the resultant gayness and
briskness that came from it. I liked most of all, that in
this shared space of Africanness I could sit and enjoy
effortlessly stories incarnated with an assemblage of
impossible excellencies and told with a new
freshness and local flavor of an aged mother.


I had known Ugoo Mkpa all through my life in the
ancient town of Onitsha in those days but they left
when we were in primary four for Enugu.
Ugoo was fairer,taller and stronger quite frankly. We
played detective in games and crime scenes,looked
for troubles and teamed up in fights.
He taught me how to harvest vegetables from
farms,how to weed,how to climb especially paw-paw
trees. These were because he was as well older. We
rolled tyres,wheels,tubes,boyless,played acrobatics
on sands,cooked raw rubbish,went topless and bare-
footed,made catapults and guns from cassava
stem,made flutes with paw-paw stalk.
But we were good children and went on errands.


My childhood was bereft of luxury and affluence,that
we wore our poverty and smallness of our lives like
camwood drawn nicely on our bodies with perfect
curves and linings. We wore it like logo.
But yet,my childhood of poverty,of countless
playtimes and ceaseless stories,of beans and
mangoes that lay balmy in my stomach always,of
seasoned laughter,was not baseless.
It was unique,something close to magic.
I had sometimes considered them as mysteries of
toddlership.
We lived concretely.
More now than ever before,I have seen children with
absolutely no knowledge of folk tales,no genealogy of
their family. Children with their childhood set free
from every primordial hardship at the cost of their
moral worth.
I feared most all whether they’ll have any story to tell
their children.
The 21st century Nigerian Igbo wealthy parents,lock
their children upstairs,dissociates them from their
folks,tell them no stories,then take them to village
once in a decade. Inturn,they take them to summer
holidays in Bahamas,takes them to fanciful places
and eateries.
They become children with no knowledge of whom
they are,lack peers,lack stories,lack experiences.
They lack their identity and heritage and most of all
live in the creasing mess of life their parents had
imagined and created for them,it would never be
funny playing the role.
It would be much better to allow the children an
integral toddlership, while they are grown,they can
make a distinguished choice for their mode of living.
My cap up for my mothers-revels,such distinguished
tutors for my childhood of plays and stories, with a
such glorious flourish.
Help breach the flow of unafricanness in children
when you become a parent.
Such will rob a child of the joys and magic of
childhood.


I love Africa!
#my_Africa_of_folktales!

Gawd... She writes for real. This piece is breathtaking, an embellishment of true literary skills from the mistress...

God... You're good. This piece really kept me glued to my phone.. I pray that your pen will not run dry of ink... Keep it on

Mc6xty:
nice poem,kudos man

Thanks bro

Let’s talk about The simple beauties of the universe the moon, star and night sky The eastern warmth of golden sunrise

Let’s talk about the joy of freedom The little things that matter The birds and the broken flowers

Let’s talk about peace and comfort of Art The secret strength of poetry and music and the magic of fiction

Let’s talk about why we’re ever here if not for another’s cry hear With no complaint bear a brother’s tear

Let’s talk about why we ever shine bright if not to light a sister’s path and paint her soul wall with starlight

Let’s talk about Nigeria and her mass hysteria Wishing for her anxious love

Let’s talk about the dead Biafran refugee mother and child And burn incense with ragged breath

Let’s talk about the world. Us and our buried humanity Let’s do more giving, do more forgiving ______

LarrySun:
The next update shall come up on Thursday 9th of March. Thank you and God bless you all.

This is the late hour of Thursday the 9th, yet no update... Anyway take your time and bring something worth the wait

The story is not complete here and your blog is for invited few. Anyway, guess I came late..

I had been reading and following this story a ghost but I couldn't continue being that for the goodness of the writer.

LarrySun sir, you're good at what you do. Keep the ground level as I read with ravenous scrutiny.

Oh! Ye fairy Angel of love Bestir thy spark And rouse the spark of love.

Oh! Ye rising sun Cast away the darkness And with thy golden rays Bring the shower of hope

Oh! Ye burning candlelight Ignite the flame of thy paradise Cast away the coldness of my heart And bring thy bearing of love

Oh! Ye spirit of Eroes Fairies from Eden Sweep the debris of spite And let the liquid flow of love As the effigies of love