₦airaland Forum

To start with, I noticed that your story is scattered here on literature section. can you try telling the whole story on one thread? you'll love it. your readers may not be too interested in digging episodes around here.
then again, its " i'm ", not " am ".
Regards.

quite interesting. this made 2go a success then. I hope the ranking process would be reviewed from time to time. then again, I think the ranking should be released monthly or bi- monthly, so that writers and readers alike can look forward to it and it would even make it more organized.

in short, in my opinion, collect the names over a period of time and publish on a particular day once or twice a month. or weekly sef.

cc divepen1

Seunvense:
Simply brillant

Thank you, Sir.

joanee20:
when you are busy exploring how will you know?

lol. you got me there I hope you've been well?

Lawlahdey:
Awwn awwn...This is touching.
Uncle, goan free ahmed oh.

. lol, seems like I don't have a choice here

please do try to finish your story in one post. or, modify the uncompleted one when ready, so that the stories don't end up disjointed.

@chumzypinky you better go and remove the pregNANCY

I used to be James Adetiloye some years ago, a young businessman with a thriving bank account and a father-figure personal assistant who haven’t given me enough space to miss my father’s demise. I was going to propose to my fiancée the same day she was killed. I had waited long for her in the restaurant before I witnessed her death, right through the window. My P.A claimed that I was in shock for days and spent almost two weeks in the hospital.

Even after I had changed my name and career years later, I couldn’t change my heart or wipe away my memories. The scar was permanent and for many years I haven’t found anyone worthy of taking her place in my heart. I was getting more comfortable living alone with her memories until I found her at a friend’s party, alive. She was now engaged and seemed happy than I could ever be. Worst still, her denial of our past relationship was blatant and that was the last I could take. The scars were open again, much deeper.

Now, she needed my help. I was reluctant, but I still had to do something. I needed to find out what happened back then. I have many questions to ask.

Never, ever write again.

It was the last Sunday in April. I had just returned with that special ecstasy from the church. It was another day for me to dust off my bible and flip helplessly while the pastor read from a tablet. By the time I was done arranging and re-arranging, I returned back to the little boy chewing a loaf of bread slowly on the rug. He was a helpless boy I found on my way home, and I had picked him up in line with our pastor’s message that morning –the Good Samaritan. I played one too, and, the feeling was great, knowing that you can be of help too. I passed him a bottle of water and sat opposite him on my bed.

“So, you are lost, right?” I didn’t know if he heard me, but he continued with the loaf of bread. I shrugged and said, “Kid, you didn’t tell me your name on our way home and you want to continue that here? I can’t risk being called a kidnapper. Tell me something about you.” Even though I spoke in care-filled tones, his head was still bowed on the bread. That, my friend, was annoying and I was getting irritated quickly. The pastor didn’t teach us how to handle an annoying Samaritan. The one in the bible would have spoken to a donkey just to get help, but this one was mute.

“See, I can’t continue with this…”

“Mister, why did you stop writing?” his little voice interrupted me as he raised his head, his glazy and intelligent eyes bored into mine and I could barely hold back a chuckle. He spoke, though he asked a strange question.

“Why is that important to you?” I asked.

“If you give me an answer, I’ll tell you all about me.”

Well, that wasn’t too bad. I had bottled up the reason I stopped writing for too long. I knew people would tag me crazy if I told them why, but this boy wanted to know, and I should tell him.

“Come here.” I patted a space on the bed and beckoned on him to join me. He did joyfully and fixed his gaze on me, with a raised brow that signalled ‘start talking’, and I did.

“It started in the year 2017, with divepen1 to be specific. I know you won’t believe this but he had an encounter with one of his fictitious characters. When he posted it online, we all thought he was crazy and never believed him until it started happening to others too. I can’t tell you much about this story, it’s scary, boy. It’s damn scary!

“Just imagine this. A lady you murdered in one of the stories you wrote came back in reality for revenge. Sounds Crazy, right? It actually happened to a writer from Ghana. It was so scary that many writers including me had to stop. We feared that it might happen to us too.

“I have spoken too much already. Boy, now tell me about you.” I looked away from the books I stacked on my table back to the boy who listened to the story with rapt attention. He stood up without a word and approached the door slowly. I walked after him and held his shoulder.

“Kid, who are you? And why are you going away even without telling me a bit about you?” I crouched before him and asked.

“Mister, when the little boy, Ahmed, got locked inside the secret library, someone was supposed to find him after four hours. Isn’t it?” he asked silently. Was he hurt?

“Who is Ahmed? And what have we to do with him?” I asked and stood up. The boy was strange.

“Ahmed got trapped in chapter four. Mary was supposed to find him in chapter five. You stopped that story in chapter four. Mary never arrived, and you can’t imagine how horrible it felt for me to be alone. Please, help me and write chapter five. I need to get out of that library.” He cried and tugged at my leg. His grip was so strong that I had to hold unto the door-leaf.

“Who the hell are you, boy?” I managed to ask.

“I am Ahmed. The boy you created with your imagination while writing.” He declared.

Yes, I wrote The Secret Library. Yes, there was an Ahmed in the story, with a matching description. And yes… I fainted.