[quote author=just2day post=68382757]Short sweet and rich. The storm became vivid. Nice work[/quote

Thanks so much mystery being

Harchoredey:
Horlabolu
do you remember me your faithful follower. My phone got spoiled so I could not access the internet but I am back

Of course I do brother.... It's been a while since I hit this platform myself

The silent flaps of the slight creature filled his ears, long before he saw its dainty colorful wings, with the certainty of sight for the briefest of moment, as it fluttered past.

Cleft-lips witnessed this through the latticework of the net he was snared in, weighing the chances of the sight of the fluttering butterfly, with that of a huge figure standing with a smirk from across him in his head, as to identify what was indeed reality.

As he was caught in the web of his retiary opposition, so was his mind, which was mired from the near-death beating he had been a recipient of, for no less than fifteen minutes. He had started out well enough in the fight, or so, he agreed in himself, as thinking was evenly hard as breathing at the moment.

Had he just seen a butterfly fluttered by? Or was it a paranoiac manifestation? Could it even be his ill-looking opponent smirking down at him? Or could it be his double blade lying down few paces away? The thoughts carried on in his head, like the turbulent roll of sea waves.

He wagged his head in a crank, till it hurts to the core of the thousand neurones in him, trying to get his mind out the mush it was caught in, which he had the mind the ogre-looking man must have a hand in.

He must be a sorcerer! an evil one at it, he argued silently, while still wondering if all this might be an effect of an excessive thrashing.

Sir Ogunmola removed his gaze from the scene down at the arena, paying less regard to the crowds cheering the last quarterfinal repugn of the day, whose jostling was nothing short of the scend of an agitating ocean. Rather than center his attention on the fight, which was thrilling to all, including him, he had his gaze casted upon the western sky, now tinged orange from the dreary paint of the setting sun, bathing beneath the roving cloud bank afar.

There's no denying the factual truth that the fight was done. And with that agreed upon, there came a budding thought in his head; one he had no mind to fret on, untill it came popping at him.

As the setting of the once orient sun must bring the quarter of night around, so will the end of the fight lead straight to the semis, that was undeniable, but there's something more to it, something which prod at him from the inside, a question he hadn't an answer to yet.

Who was he going to be seeded against in the semis amongst the other four champions, all of whom had reached the summit with no little effort?

He sprang to his feet, and edged his way out of the stands, with the unanswered question registered on his mind.


The stout paladin ignored the scorching palm of the white-hot sun against his nape, likewise the pain in his splayed knee, dealt him earlier by his opposition, to struck his opponent each mightily blows, after the nudge from his little mind, that wouldn't be peace, even while he had pulled himself far over the edge.

He pressed even harder, waltzing around the sandy ground to land more blows, each heavier and stronger than the former thrown.

I can do it! If I had scored a hit on him before, Surely I can. His insatiate mind has had him filled up with the thought. And with that has a drive, he was bent on a win against his mightful formidable opponent.

Sure enough, Sir Ogunmola met each blow of the fellow's gladius with precise circular motions of his blade, backpedaling whilst he lunged at him, as to allow him the space needed to deflect his offenses and throw his own counter. Deep in the rock bottom part of his heart, he knew what he's doing, and was only waiting for the right timing to strike as a viper.

And this, the other man was also ware of and did even justice to, as he came at him more intensely, stepping up the power behind every swipes and clips. He was of mind and heightened consciousness that the knight was out preying on his weakness, which he had also resolved to mask to save his face. In addition to the obvious fact that he was, extending the fight to please the crowds and give them something to shout on. All this he had singled out through the course of their fight, and was willing to put to ruin, even at the cost of his own life.

It was the last contest of the Semis, and the crowds like ever, were full of vim as they screamed their lungs out, to accend the burning zeal of both men to intense build.

The fight went on suently until, Sir Ogunmola reeled a few paces back, after the heavy stamp of his adversary registered squarely upon his chest. Which of course brought with it a jarring pain, and the unshakeable thought➖Time to end this once and for all. The time was more than ripe for him to up his game.

And so he did, throwing on the switches and controls to an all-out attack in his mind. In a wink, he was on the fellow, swirling around him like leaves swayed by autumn wind, rapping at him with his arming blade hard and strong.

If surprised by the sudden twist in the contest, the king did well to hid it under the guise of his give-nothing-away countenance. Instead, he sat composed, rapping gently at the arm of his chair in sync with the timer ticking off in his head. For indeed, the fight was dragging out unusually to him. And the noiance of it was as well building in him.

Soon, the over-the-top fight ended, like a mandolin whose strings has been twanged beyond extreme, as the knight came victorious in grand style, after long brushing his opponent with the wrath of his blade.

The king watched on in unrepressed amusement as his hands thrust the air in triumph. Never was he tired of that sight. Though, it brushed up the memories of when he had first seen him clinched victory on this ground, before this people, who all must have grown sick of his run of victory.

It takes a while for him to release a sigh, he hadn't a hunch he has been holding that long. Then, he reached a finger over to the golden circlet topping his head, stroking it gingerly, with his gaze shied as far as to a figure seated amidst the crowds. That man alone stands in the way of the crown and his champion. Albeit, a look at his husky build sent a wave of dread down his spine, his clingy faith on the knight did a fine job to stub it all out.

All will sure end well, he tried to assure himself as he stood upon his feet, awaiting to be ushered away from the arena by his guardsmen.

I'm one with the white. What of you?

[Let it rain we say, For we must play!]

Even as Palm trees swayed to the blast of the wind's euphonic tune, and the Papayas tilted to the same sound in 'the anti-gravity lean'➖the iconic style of the 'King of Pop'. Micheal Jackson. The inbound rain ran fleetingly, so did my cadre and I into open air.

The world flew by us as we bolted past, like some track star on the racetrack. While the flurry of activities➖the nylons, papers and umbrellas hovering midair, with the scurry of humans; old and young, in the world about us never went by unnoticed.

While everyone else fled from the reach of the downpour. To the contrary, we raced into its embrace, with gladden hearts, for the time was more than ripe for us to pitch our tent right under the tearing sky, and play.

And this we did, as it was rite to, in our ritual robe➖a conflicting array of panties (pata), bustling excitingly through the dirt road, that was our street.

Sticks at the ready, hands and feet coiled for action, we reeled our various tyres along the path, while some other faction kicked the only ball they shared, all sploshing across mud water on bare foot, enveloped in the gleeful moment.

The street was now a conflux of spiritful children, all in factions, doing what they enjoyed, swaying their hips to the silent 'drip drip' of the rainwater as it landed upon their heads and tossing their hands in the air, discreetly toasting to living the only future which was now.

Although silent, our hearts led a chorus to high heaven for its bounty, while our stentorian voices accompanied in oneness.

This is us living the moment in the thoughtless conduct of a child, unafraid of what to-morrow holds, never scared to play in the mighty rain when others dare not.

This is me reliving the memories of good old days.

And now that I am a grown up, there's never been a moment in my span as this. Never was a time blissful to live, and relive, as to how we live the moment when the sky shed its haily tears.

It's well over a week since the triumph of the white, and I've long been wanting to post this in honour of their glorious victory...
I figured we could use some reliving

Saturday the twenty-sixth of May, two thousand and eighteen;
A dingy night to forget for Merseyside red and their Barca cohorts in Kyiv
Whereas, mirthful for the all-white Blancos, as they clinch their thirteen,
In what was a glorious UEFA moment, for them to relive.


From all acres of the world came men to the new Mecca,
Where the big stage for the beautiful game was due,
For it was the clash of the Titans at Olympic NSC
A fight for honor, betwixt the English giant and Spain's Madrid:

The Deutsch Klopp, and the far-famed French; Zizou,
'Twin fools at tactics' lock horns in a contest to be crowned 'Europe's finest'
With the support of the Game's best; Mo Salah and Chris the Maestro,
And all others, poised to give their all and be the best.

It was a flying start for the reds from kick-off,
Nay, all was looking bright with their life-wire➖Mo Salah,
Until the midway point, when he grappled with the bullfighter ➖S. Ramos,
Alack the day for the reds! As the Egyptian king exited the pitch in tears.

Of a sudden, reds' resistance melted to the whites' charm,
And so cometh the hour for them to rule,
With a finesse, yet unseen, till, they were also damn!
As Dani Carvajal went down as well, and pule

At the halftime whistle, all was square on both sides,
Nil-Nil, the score line reads, before both teams filed into the tunnel,
Up to the moment, 'Santa Karius' bestow Benz with a gift,
Which he unerringly tuck away, to make the score line read ONE.

There's a sudden turn a while later,
When Mane took to spotlight to renew reds' hope
And record a goal from a Lovren's header,
To pull his fragmented side back on track, to cope.

Before long, their luck was short-lived,
As the whites' 'man of the night' made a cameo from the bench,
And Gareth, 'the hero with no cape'
Stole the show with an incrediBale Golazooo.

"Your misery is yet over" says He
While he sent a rocket straight through Karius's gluey glove,
To eke the woes of the man, and let the undoable Be,
And thus, ended Madrid's 2017/2018 campaign in a BOFF.

Lemme call in the cadre that boss it here to check this out: Just2day, Larrysun, souloho, centino, divepen.

Likely sire... Update will resume soon

I'm sorry good people, I've been having issues lately with the Antispam bot

Action thriller

[The chase]
Location: Somewhere in West Africa.
Time: 17:00

Even as they zipped past, meandering through the thick forest, like 'Usain Bolt' on the track. Both depraved criminals knew it was over for them. It was no more news, that they had both been declared wanted, with a bounty placed on their heads after their heinous crime couple months ago. Never was it a fable that the 'Erinyes'➖a 'world joint task force' of the finest breed of war machines has been dogging them in the last few days. And that they were closing in on them right at the moment, to seal their doom yet.

As they scurried along a tiny path, every closing seconds weighed on them the feeling of dread, as to what we become of them if nabbed by friends on their tail.

If? There's no if. For they knew deep down in their heart they were done for. But still, they had agreed to never go down without a fight.

It would take a supernatural manifestation for them to squirm free out of the claws of their unwanted friends, who must now be bristling through every inch of the forest.

From above the forest's roof came a manifest proof to their ruin, as a chopper burst into view, filling the forest with the orchestra of its whirring blades. It hovered in the air, spying on the activity going on in the woods below.

"This is Eagle eye one. I have visuals on both targets. They're both headed twenty degree south clicks of the woods." The lone pilot aboard radioed to his team mates➖Alpha and Tango teams.

"Tango team copy. Alpha team copy." Their response came back at him with a crackle, just as he spun the 'birdie' round in ninety degree, to have a perfect view of the targets from the aerial.

As ever, both men stomped through the woods, so as to shake off the men on their nose. But sadly, they ran out of luck, as they were cornered by no less than thirty 'Erinyes' squadron, all dressed in full combat gears, in the perfect semblance of a 'SWAT team'.

Having no where to run anymore, they gave in to their sad fate, came to a stop pantingly, threw their hands in the air, and went helplessly on their knees at the points of the stern-faced soldiers' assault rifles.

The sturdy team leader approached them from behind his men, stopping short inches from them. "Mr Monkey and Honorable Snake; you're both under arrest for plundering Nigeria's funds within the cycle of a month. You're both advised to remain silent, for anything you say here will be used against you in the court of law." He finished and turned away from them. "Seize them!" He ordered his team, before speaking into his comm. "This is X-ray, do you read Bravo one?" He waits on a response from the base, before adding. "Both targets nailed. We're en route to the base. ETA: Two hours."

And that was how the 'Erinyes' gave the tale a happy ending, to give Nigerians no reason to be scared no more, for they had both criminals in their net now, and hopefully they will retrieve the public funds missing in the months of March and April from the duo.

Let's all keep hoping they nab all others�

My attempt at dry humor

Specially dedicated to DemoCraZy!

[This is Nigeria]

The portly man sat stiffly erect in a chaise within the cavity of his tiny room, like some 'gangsters' brought on from some 'Mario Puzo's' novels, holding a newspaper inches away from his face. Though mighty in appearance like the 'mob lords', the difference with him was; rather than sitting in the company of his associates in a grand room, he was locked up in a cell, nothing short in semblance to London's Newgate.

His charcoal-black pair of eyes skimmed the headlines, with his heart racing and reaching for more momentum, as he fast-glanced on each words in red ink, written in block.

A while later, his gaze settled on a title that reads: 'Mr AGBAJE CLINCH VICTORY AGAINST ALL ODDS IN THE STATE GUBERNATORIAL ELECTION'. On sighting those precious words, that means so much more to him at the present than sapphires and rubies, he beamed inwardly, setting the paper down beside him.

It's indeed true after all, he thought with a smile, as he reached for the coffee cup on the arm of the chair, and took a sip from it.

He had earlier heard of the news of his triumph in yesterday's election, from the hearsay drifted through and through in the prison, but has paid no mind to such unworthy talks, spilled from the mouths of ordinary inmates.

Not until I found it myself in today's paper will I believe such news, he had resolved obstinately to himself.

And now that he had it confirmed with his own eyes, from the day's times, brought in for him by one of the jailer at a disclosed price, he couldn't be anything at the time than happy.

His victory was in no way a surprise to him, anymore than he had managed to get a coffee down to his cell, even against the severe hostility of the prison and its workers. Being at the side of the wide-open country he lives in, all it would take was just simple tactics like: Having the right men on the outside world, placing the right calls, and sealing the right deals in secret. Like hell, you can be well assured of a victory, without stumping through towns, while shut in here, doing a time in prison.

The heavy stomps of approaching men knifed through his absorption. And he quickly levelled his gaze, to meet that of the men standing outside his cell.

He watched as one of the men made to break the news, and on instant decided to floor them, in order to show them it was no more news to him. "We won, didn't we? I heard the news long before you all do." He said to his associates, who stood in stunned silence watching him through the meshing gate of his cell. "Those morons, they know not what it means to have power at your command. Do they?" He finished with a hearty chuckle.

And that good people is the country we live in: A BIG TOP of a big circus show, where we 'masses' are the audience, while our 'leaders' are the clowns; clowning around and toying with us all.

⚠ Don't take this too serious. It's nothing but a joke, like our dear COUNTRY; Nigeria; Good people, great nation indeed!�

The king watched the contest with an undivided attention from betwixt his wife and brother, ensconcedly seated to his side. His attent gaze pinned on his champion as he glided around every lunges of his adversary in a motion too smooth to be real. Like ever, he was assaulted by a familiar trigger, which came oft from when he had first seen the knight fought years since past, and he was still awed by his unparalleled swordsmanship ability.

Nothing had really changed since that age, but time, which of course has brought with it, a desirable change in the scrawny young teen, who had defeated the finest knights of the land in that famed tournament of old. Muscles had replaced excess bones, tensile nerve fibers had fallen in places where lies tender flesh, the scattering of freckles upon his face were now away, as a man was born of the whilom, younger boy.

But instead of waning in strength in the process of growing, he waxed like the moon, ever reaching more for his peak. And in this alone, the king pride himself, knowing what promise it holds.

With as little strain, Sir Ogunmola dealt with his opposition blows as they come, twisting, sidestepping around them flawlessly, to the cheers of the frenzied onlookers.

Then, he shook the arena to its core, with a feint, which did well to gull his adversary into opening a crack in his defense, to ushered in a blistering counter in their contest. The crack as little as it seem, was all needful, to land huge blows that sent the other man grabbling on the sandy ground.

That simply, he had him lying helpless at the point of his blade, to the background jeers of the crowd of spectators.

Having done the king's proud name some good, and the crowds, he watched yet again as the arena shook with the chant of his name, juked his head in deference, and tossed his hands midair in what plainly was a pushover victory.

Jackossky:

I only watched the movie.
ND books that I have watched their movie don't get me excited.
Like when I was trying to read American gods, shadow hunter, i just got bored off half way even though there are little discrepancies in both.

When I read 50 shades of grey, watching the movie didn't make me have that 'wow' feeling.
So, prefer reading something I haven't watched atall and watching something I haven't read atall.

I can see you do exotic romance novels also, try and get your hands on the Crossfire series... Or better still hitch up with me on my work here on this platform

Jackossky:

Hunger games 'Mocking Jay'
If its that one, watched the two part.
Please share me another one

Hope you know the book is a trilogy series

tunjilomo:
Haha here is the awaited update when is the part two coming up.

The hour is nigh brother!

Jackossky:

Thumbs up.
You can recommend anything other book you fell in love with to me.

But try to read 'The mist'
Fiction, action, myth, magic and I know you will like it. Just that the third part will be out In 2020

I'll sure do that... You can try the hunger games

Jackossky:


Now, I have people that read like me.
Read anything readable.
Did you read all the parts?
Coz I did.
The elf woman

I sure do bruv! It was one wondrous work of fiction

VanTee20:


Sarah J. Maas is an household name in the YA fantasy category. I am humbled by this comparison. Thanks bro.

You're the bomb, napalm

Yeah! You're the man... Oh, wait, I haven't been able to discern your gender... Are you a sort of mystery being?

And here cometh the hour!

The next episode in the chain of events for the day get on the way, along with the frantic shouts of the onlookers, cheering the combatants.

It rained, but not in heavenly showers as stroke after stroke hammered squarely upon the buckler, in the distinct cadence of a throbbing drum, creating a passing flash of sparks as metal clashed against the other. Hunkering beneath the buckler, that was his umbrella against the sudden hail of offenses, with a noose coiled around his right forearm, while the other held firmly the shield, for dear life, the squat, buck-eyed man felt the heavy landing of each blows; a mix of arcing, direct, and diagonal swipes. And could swear each and every thundering lunges inflicted upon him by his opponent, who was nothing short of a berserker in manifest, with his savagery and unusualness sent a thousand network of twinge through him.

For once in his span, he loathe the day he was begotten, cursing under his breath as more blows came pounding on him. For one, being a decorated laqueary (one who's skilled with the noose) as he was could amount to naught against his adversary.

Knowing he had to find a way around the sticky situation, and knowing he ought to as fast as possible, he wriggle free from the tentacles of his fear, and fell him with an arcing slide kick. He went for a follow up with his buckler, but missed by an inch, as the man scrambled away minute from impact. The effect of which raise a cloud of dust, and etched an imprint of his shield upon the sand.

Holding his ground, the beefy, bare-chested man danced around the whips of his opponent noose in smooth ease, waiting expectantly for the right time to launch his riposte, which he did neatly with his morningstar, after deflecting more blows for a while, and led to an open season of blows from the fellow's shield.

Syrupy blood sprayed out his mouth as each blow met solidly with his face, bruising the surface upon which they landed, and raising a cluster of lumps on instant. With his weapon out of his reach, and the blows coming in a ceaseless hail, he was sent reeling backward, at a loss to the twist in fate. Like the thresh of a Prad's tail, his head jerked sidewise as more connected with his face, before his knees gave in under him, and brought him face first against the wet ground.

Without making much out of the turn in events, and with a precise toss of his noose, the low-set man had the slipknot coiled around his adversary's neck, and watched as he gagged with a little pull on the cord.

The man knelt to his mercy, trying with his might to claw at the noose around his neck while also throwing him a pleading look, which speaks unvoiced volume of his accepted defeat, as well as his superiority over him as a victor.

Fully aware that his victory was sealed, he relaxed the noose around his neck with a smile, which spread upon his face, like a dark stain on a white linen. In self-action, his hands flew up in the air in concordance with the laudable shouts of the spectators.

And that was it. All was lost, but not for him, an underdog from the start of the duel. He had won against all odds, against the scale of fate, against his own very fears, to clinch victory.


Sir Ogunmola stood at the midpoint of the arena, his entire attention pored on the spectators, while his hearing faculty put down the minute shouts of his name by his devotee amidst the throng. Every fibre of muscles in his fine drawn body stood taut at attention, coiled like a snake, at the ready to strike. His nimble hands were gently wrapped around the cruciform hilt of his arming sword, eagerly awaiting the feel of action.

He ignored the show boasting of his feathery-haired, quarterstaffed opposition, turning his gaze back at the restless sea of spectators. A look back at those faces, and the clarity of what ought to be done to peace their urging wants hit his conscience with the full-hot surge of a floodhead.

With it came a singsong voice in his head, calling to him to Fight, to please the crowds, and stir up the whole arena, like none of the combatants has ever done.

At the call of the king, along with the mightily roar of the crowds, both men ran atilt at the other, weapons raised and aimed to engage each other in a ferocious fight.

Both combatants twisted and swayed to the ballad of their clashing weapons, each unveiling their swordsman skills to the crowds gathered in the arena, in a show of quick reflexes and exchange of blows.

What's your experience Like with her?

Your opinions are highly valued good people

My venturous hand found her smooth puffy cheek, racing, darting across the acreage in the fluid movement of a ballet dancer. My aching lips found her soft pliant ones in a lust-drive for pleasure. My hands grazed her chin, to the depression within her neck in a frantic race of bubbling feel for that one deadly sin, tracing an invisible map over to her nape. Switched over to autopilot, my hand ventured on, way down to her spine, and in one swift swipe, I had her lacy gown swimming down her body. I stared into her glassy eyes, which beckoned onto me in a serpentine whisper; luring, and calling me, with a promise of a taste of paradise.

I gave in to that silent voice within her brown beady eyes, and tucked both my hands around her neck. And together we shuffled toward the waiting embrace of my bed. Our lips moving in hungry unison, my hands skittering over her body, to bring her to the high cliff of pleasure. While her hands paced relentlessly over my now bared torso, snaking through the tuft of hair on my chest, and over abs and pecs, painstakingly chiseled out of my body.

Long last, we found the comfort of my bed, as we clutched to each other for dear lustful feeling, each a dependent parasite on the other, like a lice on skin. Our breath mingled, as our heart acclived for more. And the beats of our hearts thumped out as one.

In no time, we're both in our birthday suit, both unashamed of the other in the raw, just as it was in the beginning of time, between Adam and his Eve.

Once again my enterprising hands was at the go, as it found the mound rigged upon her chest, and from this; kneading and handling ensued. The ongoing torture pleasure was an seesaw experience, going up and down on an even swing, as she also found the core of the man in me, stroking, and jerking it with pure deftly mastery.

This went on for a long time, before I took up the bridle of leadership, and stroked down her abdomen with my active tongue, until I reached down her place of ethereal bliss➖the very paradise enclosed within her. Labium.

My mouth dipped into a genuflect to worship in that holy altar within her, pleading her with each tender lap of my tongue, and my hand joined in her praise with the slip of my fingers into that membrane of flesh.

She holloaed in ecstatic joy and I joined soon as the first wave of that precious fluid spurted out of my erect statue, ready and waiting to plunge into that well within her.

Sudden and sadly, I found myself lost in a rather world. A world where there's no company with me in the closet of my tiny room. A world where there's no plummy girl to take me on a swing to the summit of unrivaled pleasure, but my pillow, which I must have been riding for long to take me to that far and away world.

But to my dismay, I found my member as hard as a plinth. From this and the obvious fact of, a sticky substance splattered across the fly region of my trouser, I could easily realized I have done it again. I had MASTURBATED over again.

[My encounter with her]

For long now, I've heard many a heart-robbing tale about her. Tales; mainly about how sweet she was to all, and how high on I could get with her.

Not until a fateful Sunday morning did I chance upon her. Fair was she to any; alluring, even to the most hard-hearted. What could be liken to her green, that bring to shame the greens of spring? And what else could be more appealing like the scent of her?

We came in contact, shared a look, that simply, and I was fallen.

Our love though never lasting a lifetime was bliss, if I could only call it that. And brief as it was, it sure has a long lasting effect on me.

I tasted her, not in the accustomed manner of all➖the almighty way of kindling her like an incense. But through the least method of laying her. After which, I journeyed to a far world with her, where I discover that there's but a thin-line that separates sanity and its twin. Throughout our spin in that far world, all was nothing and everything at the same time to me. And I could also swear the world whipped around me, and the cloud bank afar, a haily shower of feathers.

Truth be told, I was off the edge of reality with her, and my pains and throes were a thing miles away, but like every other thing, it last only but a moment, before all else fades away, while reality sets in once more; For I was me again.

And all it has taken for such revelation was, a little taste of her in my concoction rice. The tiniest sprinkle of skunk(weed) in my rice and the world lives me, more than I do her.

And that again is the recount of my encounter with her, which sent me on an autopilot for no less than twenty-four hours.

⚠ :Say no to drugs: Soft or hard, recreational or not.

just2day:


Scene in the church will be introducing a couple important characters and set ups that will decide a lot of the story. I'm still indecisive as to some of the key elements concerning the characters. Apologies, I'll force a decision and drop chapter on Tuesday. Thanks

Then you gat me on the edge till then