₦airaland Forum

Divepen1:
God is my witness, my heart was pounding till I finished the story. If that stupid Rachael comes around, na die. She always has a plan.

lol

Divepen1:
Gsteve001
Larrysun
Bibijay123 ( I love your cupid madness... Come and do it here)
Iolite
Eze2000
everywriter

lol. I can imagine this. in fact, I've been laughing since I read it. crazy stuffs. let me try.

Most people around here call me Davis, just Davis. Those who knew more were either top government officials who were looking for the right man to pull them out of a puddle or some random kid who wondered too far to dig about my past, and most of them don’t end up as my friends. When not busy in my library during the day, I am usually lost behind my piano, unconsciously playing sad notes.

My nights were usually filled with nightmares; bottled memories trying to burst out within me. Being a private detective was the only thing that relieved me, because I got into it to honour someone’s wish, probably to appease a soul.
When the news about Barrister Johnson’s death broke out, I knew they were going to come looking for me. The police always were in need of my help.

joanee20:
where have you been Gsteve001

I have been around jare. I just took a break from literature to explore other sections here, and I wasn't disappointed. even you, I haven't seen much of you here recently o.

Divepen1:
Lol...

For the characters, you can't be confused. You said stories na...

And I take all my characters seriously.

As for that guy, funny enough he was a lose end. I don't know him also. But I'm trying to make him John in the part two. I hope I'm not spoiling John's reputation.

alright.

i personally know you take your characters seriously now.

abeg introduce somebody.

when reading the story, the foolish part of me initially guessed that the man in the dark garden was john o. i just had to think of the possibility.

Divepen1:
I mean how many characters can one introduce.

as many as you want, as far its not going to confuse someone.

there's this guy I would have loved to meet from another fenced heart. that guy in the dark with the baby. so bad we never got to see his face.

)

Divepen1:
Abeg.. How many Characters?

lol. remember, this is not my writing. Alice was barely introducing herself to you. your judgment of her person would definitely be accepted. I saw what you saw

lol. someone's made a new friend.

Can you introduce any character from your latest story?
I stumbled upon this on one of my facebook groups and it was really great. Introduce any of your character to see how real they sound. If after introducing him/her/it, you feel like it’s a mannequin being introduced, well…
Okay. Here is mine, a character from ‘A body in the dark’.
***
Hi, I am Alice from Steve’s new book; the second narrator so to say. I got into this town just two months ago and I am still amazed by how fast I had settled in, partly due to frank, my partner’s help. He was this intelligent guy from Akwa ibom. Except for his crazy love for coke, everything about him is good. He even almost made me forget the reason I left my formal station for a more peaceful area that won’t put me on the map.

We had just returned to the police station after our routine street patrol yesterday morning.( We had no cause to use the siren; they were rarely needed in this area of the city. We only dealt with a few petty thieves and thugs who seemed more afraid to raise their cutlasses than shout. So you see why I worked my transfer to this area?) So, the D.P.O called me into his office yesterday for some ‘important instructions’. If I wasn't a little tall, I would have shrunk into the chair I sat on before him. For all the gratitude I could offer, he took his eyes off my chest and passed me the brown envelope. Its content did not only put me back on the map I dreaded, it also uncovered my family secrets and changed all I ever knew to nought.

The Depth of Death

How deep can it go? I don’t know. I mean, what you feel when you plummet from the protection life’s cave offered to holding unto a dry root of frustration off the cliffs of sorrow. How deep can the ocean of death beneath go? Like I said, I do not know for sure. But, I intend to find out soon.

Even as I picked the last file and tucked it gently into the drawer, all I could was release heavy sighs, the type that may refer you to the blood bank at the end of the day. The table was empty, safe for my monitor, keyboard, and the land phone. Don’t get it wrong, I am not the type of man that exalted affinity for orderliness, I just don’t want my files stained by the time I’m through with whatever I thought I would do with my life. All I was left to do is sign off the computer and set to work, but my gaze lingered a little while on the new mail notification.

“Divorce confirmation...” That was the title her lawyer used. I laughed. Death confirmation would have been better. When I opened the mail, I didn’t bother to read through its content. All I wanted to do is send her a more fitting reply; that the company has finally succumbed to bankruptcy, that the ship bringing my last supply was hijacked, and that all she would get of my properties might be shirts and pants –that’s even if that greedy man they had for manager at the city bank did not choose to confiscate it as a part of the collateral. I was too tired. I smiled at the bottle of whiskey in my hand and took a gulp.

“Excuse me, sir. May I come in?” Gracy’s voice followed a gentle rap on my door. I could feel it, she was tired, too. Poor woman, she did most of the work while I licked my wounds in the dark; such a shame that I have only been able to pay such diligence back with salary indebtedness, seven months exactly. I hope she would be this strong when she hits the street again with her twenty year old degree certificate.
“Yes, what do you want from me?” I asked as she stepped into my office in the familiar stripped shirt on black pants. The difference has always been the colour: blue on Tuesday, pink on Thursday and sometimes she went for the joseph’s garment on Fridays. If you ever found her closet, you might expect to meet rainbow’s cousin.

“erm… you look…sober…sir? Is everything alright?” she paused and dropped the files on my table after seeing my unwelcoming face. “I highlighted a few companies that might still take in our goods, at a discount of course. But that is still enough to safe our head before the month runs out…” she ranted and traced each line with her pen while I nodded like a lizard. To be honest, all I was seeing were names dancing on papers.

“There’s no need for this, the goods will no longer be delivered.” I had almost said. But I nodded instead and appreciated her gestures. Gracy; my all-knowing secretary. She left in confusion and turned back to look at me so much that she almost tripped on a stool. I withdrew the bottle of whiskey I kept under the table and continued gulping it. Even if I had no accomplishments in business or marriage, I should have in finishing a bottle of whiskey. So that people would say: they found Mr fischer lying gently with a gun lying gently beside an empty bottle of whiskey lying gently in his own pool of blood. Don’t worry, I’m not drunk yet.

Pistols weren’t my thing. In fact, I feared a gun since the day that masked guy shot my father, and almost ripped off my tiny arm. I stroked the one in my hands gently like a new born and set it beside the whiskey bottle, almost same in length. I packed the few files Gracy brought and grudgingly shoved it into the drawer. It returned most of it and I had to throw some down the window.

The plan had been earlier imagined, seen in too many movies. Close up the pistol in your mouth, and pull the trigger. Simple. I did the first step, okay, and frowned in irritation as my tongue touched the tip, after I remembered where the thug had kept the gun earlier.
Grrr! Grrr! The intercom bussed and disrupted my business. I removed the gun from my mouth and picked up.

“Gracy?” I asked instead of shouting. I had done that at many things in the past weeks, and the outcomes were pretty disastrous.

“Yes. Sir, someone is here to see you.” She spoke as gently as ever.

“I see,” I said, relaxed a bit and said with a bit of distaste, “who”? she delayed in answering my question and I knew immediately that all is not well; it hasn’t been in the past weeks.

“Mr mike, the bank manager.” She whispered.

“Oh thanks I’ll join him in 5 minutes.” I groaned.

“Join him?” I dropped the call angrily and pulled out anything I could from the intercom. I picked the pistol again, glared at it in horror and dropped it back on the table. Suddenly, I lost appetite for lead pellets, thanks to Gracy. Maybe it’s all good; a death from a gunshot might have been too sudden. More like been shoved into a room without knowing what the entrance look like. But a slower death may be better; like sand been blown away gently by the wind. It would give me the privileged to meet death, share it awful glee, and perhaps meet sorrow, and mock him for he’s inability to follow me into death. What would death look like there, a dark tunnel of timelessness, or a still, unwavering air of peace?

‘Ah! Don’t doubt its potency!’ the man who sold the poison had boasted when I bought it some months back. I shook the bottle in my hand and watched its content dance around its confines. I closed my eyes and placed the bottle in my mouth, pushed it up a little and withdrew it almost immediately. My heart skipped a bit, knowing the implications of my action. I lifted the bottle into my mouth the second time and gulped its bitter content. By the time i was through with myself, I was in tears, expecting the inevitable.

To Jane, I am sorry for letting you down. I know I made too many mistakes, too many to be forgotten. I am sorry. To Gracy, my secretary, I hope you find a better boss, in yourself. I placed my head on the table as I felt the first impact of the drug; a tight knot around my intestine, and the rest happened in series. I shifted myself in the chair to accommodate the pains until two figures busted into my office with Gracy shivering behind them.

“Mr Fischer! Matt! You’ve killed me!” Mr Mike and Jane’s voice filled the room. I was happy they were too late. The saliva hadn’t drooled unto the table yet, and my eyes still blinked occasionally. I let go and closed my eyes.

“What has he done to himself for God sake?” Jane’s cry pieced through my ears.

“Not to worry madam. He only drank a bottle of cough syrup. I made sure of that.” Gracy’s voice was so convincing that I jumped out of my supposed unconsciousness with much energy and stared at the intruders in horror and shock.

“You..you.. changed my...” I was stuttering until Jane’s slap cut me off.

‘That was for mistrusting me’ ‘for switching off your phones’ ‘for trying to leave me behind’… she accompanied each sentence with precise slaps until she had to stop and sob. I smiled, knowing that I finally got her priceless forgiveness. Something I never imagined.


https://pendribbles./2017/01/03/the-depth-of-death/

all I could do was smile when i read this...really, really nice.

who read 'The secret of the last Nazi'?

Once upon a time in an old western village, lived an old hunter ꟷ a widower. Many taunted him as the most unfortunate man to ever live in the village, and a few believed he was abandoned by the gods already. His daily routine was mostly predictable; he goes to the forest with his gun, comes back empty handed or with pint-sized birds and repeats the whole procedure over and over again without relenting. He had no friend, save for a friendly dog he had been tempted to kill when faced by the pangs of hunger on many occasions.

One day while perusing the forest as usual, in search of an unfortunate animal that would crown his efforts for the day, he met a man trying to commit suicide and stopped by. Like most of the villagers, the man pretended not to notice his presence and continued with his task. The hunter spoke anyway.

“My son, what are you doing with the rope under the tree?” the old hunter asked, lowered his gun, and hung it on his frail shoulder.

“You unfortunate old hunter, never you call me your son lest the gods strike you dead. The last time I checked, your sons and your wife died years ago. And as you can see, I want to commit suicide. I lost all the crops in my barns to pest and I’m therefore reduced to nothing. I think it’s honourable if I die, unlike you.” The man bellowed and intensified his effort to tie the rope to the tree’s branch.

“Well, I was only going to correct you.” The disappointed hunter shook his head. “If you really want to die quickly, why not tie the rope to a higher branch?” The old man added and walked out on the stunned man.

The hunter continued hunting for hours but the result was predictable. Even his dog stopped wagging its tail at some point and sat down in disappointment. Such was the life he led, unrepentantly, every day. After more hours without a game, he proceeded to the river to quench his thirst, and sooth his hot head with water.

On getting to the river bank, the hunter met another man ꟷ younger than the first but taller in height. He stopped after scooping some water into his mouth to watch the young man.

“Old man, drink that which you came here for and be gone.” The man said from a distance and drew closer to the river.

“What is the purpose of your visit to the river young man? I can see neither canoe nor fishnet with you. And your countenance is like that of a wounded lion. What are you up to, son?” the old man asked haven moved closer.

“I want neither your sympathy nor words of encouragement you wretched man. Everyone knows you in this village to be unlucky. What good is it that can come out of you?” the young man continued when he noticed that the hunter wouldn’t budge from his position.

“Anyway if you must know, I am here to kill myself. My whole family drowned in this particular river, and only I was saved. Why would the river let me live? Life is worthless without them. I have decided to be a man and join them in the world beyond, and you must make no move to stop me. I mean, don’t you dare to stop me.” The young man ranted and took another step closer to the river.

“Very well my son. In fact, you have spoken well. Can I just make a recommendation?” the old hunter asked after filling his gourd with water.

“Speak; I am all ears, as far as you are not going to sweet-talk me into aborting my mission here.”

“Good, since you really want to die, I suggest you move up some miles to the part of the river where you get the strongest currents and jump. If the spirits are merciful enough, you may find one or two crocodiles in the water. That way, the river won’t have the option of sparing you the second time.” Haven said this; the old man picked his gourd and headed back into the forest to continue his hunt.

By dusk, when the old man would return to the shanty he called home, he was surprised to meet the two men he met in the morning awaiting him outside.

“Wow, look who we have here. I was thinking I got lucky today due to your deaths, but it’s obvious you are some foolish spineless cowards.” He jested, and then hung his bag on a tree stump.

“Old man, watch your words! We are not here to be insulted.” The first said.

“I see your arrogance must have contributed much to your irrational behaviour.”

“Watch your words, I say.” The man bellowed again.

“If that’s the case, be gone. Stick to my words and your deaths shall be quick. Goodnight.” The hunter bypassed them and entered his hut with his dog and a rodent he managed to kill.

“Please, how have you been able to live this long with your misfortunes?” the younger man asked, following close behind him.

“Sit.” The hunter’s voice crooked.

He looked closely and was reluctant at first, for the fear of the apparently weak roof carving in on him, then sat.

“To the villagers, I am an unfortunate old hunter. Though I might have lost my wife and sons to death, even if I had all my crops consumed by fire and became reduced from royalty to a hunter, even if i am cursed with little or no games, should I end a sacred life?” asked the hunter.

The young man was astonished that he almost jumped.

“So, you are a -”

“Death is not an easy exit for the coward but rather a door to eternal rest for the brave and the conqueror.” The hunter interrupted.

“What should I do wise one, for I am broken and wounded.”

“Fight…fight and win. You should have something to show your ancestors whenever you join them: A mark, a feat, a purpose achieved. And not just showing up as a cry-baby who was too scared to face life’s challenges.

“I tell you, I’ll die an honourable man and get a befitting burial than that arrogant man that would hang himself. Goodnight.” He dismissed the awed young man.

True to the man’s words, he died fighting a lion. For many years, his story would remain on the lips of taletellers as the only man to ever kill a lion and was even given a befitting burial by the young man he advised a few years prior his death. In fact, he was the first hunter to be buried with a lion skin.

.