₦airaland Forum

Psalmwise:


Tnx for the mention...maka sharpery go and read



ahnahn...Op this ur update is to long nah try and b droping it smalsmal nah .................(HIGHEST POINT OF LAZINESS)



MODIFIED


Sweet..weldone sir

Lol! This is a Crime-Adventure story. It will get to a stage where you won't mind the long posts.

LogoDWhiz:
Wow!

This is Captivating.

Psalmwise, buoye1, toykathy, d9ty7

Thank you, sir, for inviting such dignitaries to my hamlet. They won't be disappointed.

CrazyScientist:
Chimmooooo!

Your signature, sir, is hilarious.

The following amazing books are available for download on Okadabooks.

1. The Brand of Cain

The story centres on the adventures of different characters brought together by a sheer twist of fate. Some were born to sweet delights while others were born in beds of thorns.

Richard Philip was born poor on the wrong side of the blanket. He found employment as a driver of a rich business tycoon, and the shocking secrets he learnt about his new boss and the gorgeous wife culminated into a well-planned, cold-blooded murder.

The second half of the story introduced Detective Georges Lot and his sidekick, Daniel Famous, a twenty-four year old amateur police officer, who, much to the chagrin of the detective, never believed for an instance that the crime could be solved. The 25-chapter story progressed into a shattering climax and an astonishing denouement.

It was already half past five in the morning when a body with a bullet hole in its forehead was discovered by a fourteen-year-old teenager. The unexpected presence of the famous Detective Lot at the crime scene made the affair one of the most baffling ones in the history of the nation.

Shortly after his arrival, Detective Lot realized that he was virtually the only person interested in knowing who actually killed the deceased. The suspicious death was a surprise to the household and the thread with which Detective Lot must darn this mystery was thin indeed, because only the detective would believe the mystery could be solved. A couple of hours before the death, he had been anonymously paid a large sum of money to investigate the case.

With these available clues, the famous detective must bring this criminal to book:

The murder weapon, which was nowhere to be found.

Two different notes written in different handwritings.

A text message sent through a strange number.

Download here:
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2. The Paradox of Abel

By popular demands, here comes the crazy sequel to the sensational novel - 'The Brand of Cain'...a pure detective story never ever read before. Twists and turns beyond any reader's imagination. After Jamal raped Cain's wife, he set in motion terrible consequences that destroy two families. Now over twenty years later, Jamal invites all his children to a Christmas feast. Everything goes wrong leading to the brutal murder of the callous old Jamal Malik, and the shocking mystery behind the disappearance of the brilliant genius named ABEL!

Download here: https://okadabooks.com/book/about/the_paradox_of_abel/17418

3. Kanu: The Journal of a Rogue

Kanu is a simple nerd whose major ambition is to graduate from the University of Lagos as a Chemical Engineer. But everything changes when cultists tried to kill him for falling in love. Now Kanu becomes the nightmare of every member of the notorious cult group named Scarecrow. As he fights through the terrible world of brutality, blades and bullets, Kanu discovers another deadly cult group named Southpaw. After learning about the legendary rivalry between these brutal cult groups, he must have to kill his way through the multitude of Crows and Paws to get to his mortal enemy: Pain. But nothing is ever as it seems.

(They tried to kill him. Now they are going to pay!)

Download here:
https://okadabooks.com/book/about/kanu_the_journal_of_a_rogue_/12283

mollusco:
Thanks! I'll try my best!

The truth is: my phone is not now being discovered by my lappy, otherwise, I'd have updated. Android!

The moment I collect my Nokia from the engineer (Ponle, you ought to know him), then, I won't have any excuse.

Android!

I 'warred' with it for almost two hours.

I will update later today or tomorrow (at the worst).

Yes, I know the guy; he has once unscrewed my Tecno.

You've still got a better edge. Until I collect my laptop from that buffalo, I have resolved to typing my manuscripts with my phone.

Okay, I shall be waiting for that rock to spring forth water, for my grammatical throat is getting parched.

mollusco:
Of course, I do. I will look for it now.

I will come for it as soon as you find it. Which book should I bring along?

mollusco:
Have you read 'Poland'? If you haven't, read it.

It will make you a believer.

I have five Micheners' books.

Do you have it? Can we make an exchange? Of course, I would return it after reading. I just finished reading Grisham's A Time to Kill. About to read Archer's Honour Among Thieves.

Like Larry Sun's Facebook page at https://m.facebook.com/Larrysunwrites

My book is finally out. Kindly support me.

Kanu: The Journal of a Rogue

Description:
~~~~~~~~
Kanu is a simple nerd whose major ambition is to graduate from the University of Lagos as a Chemical Engineer. But everything changes when cultists tried to kill him for falling in love.

Now Kanu becomes the nightmare of every member of the notorious cult group named Scarecrow. As he fights through the terrible world of brutality, blades and bullets, Kanu discovers another deadly cult group named Southpaw.

After learning about the legendary rivalry between these brutal cult groups, he must have to kill his way through the multitude of Crows and Paws to get to his mortal enemy: Pain. But nothing is ever as it seems.

(They tried to kill him. Now they are going to pay!)

Have you bought your copy?

It's available for download on the link below:

http://okadabooks.com/book/about/kanu_the_journal_of_a_rogue_/12283

PROLOGUE

Fugitives

2015

Indeed, there was a bounty on their heads; and because of that, they were always on the run. But this would be over soon, they knew. After today, everything would be in the past. But the day seemed oblivious of dusk, so they would run for the last time today. They were in the country’s most wanted lists’ and half a million naira was ready for anyone who was able to nab any one of them, a million if the two were caught. Their pictures filled the columns of every national newspaper, their names were mentioned in every news on the televisions and in the radios. They had become the most exciting topic since the Ebola outbreak that ravaged the country a year earlier. Even cartoonists had made jokes about their escapes and the enthusiasms of the citizens in the determination to apprehend them and receive the reward. Many gamblers of the streets had even speculated on the possibility of their apprehension. They were the talks of the town; you could see most people at the newspaper stands arguing heatedly about the truth behind their escape. Some other people had even claimed that they were intentionally freed.

But amidst this national excitement, some of the masses had set up a fan club in honour of the escapees. They called themselves TBF—The Black Followers. These ‘Followers’, however, had campaigned for the escapees’ full liberation, but the law didn’t always listen to the voice of the people when she was in the hunt for hardened criminals. Law-keepers would do everything in their capacity to make sure that these criminals return behind bars. And the public tried to assist in the hunt only because there was money involved.

Although it had been almost a year since their escape, the rave and passion over their apprehension had not waned. People still imagined themselves catching the fugitives and collecting the reward. But how and where to catch them, none of the seekers knew; there was no plan, no deduction whatsoever, even after knowing how clever their prey was.

It was all about the money of course, Junior knew. He knew that if money had not been involved the people would not have enjoined the lawmen in the hunt for them. Someone among the crowd had recognized one of them and had immediated shouted out the name that had always remained on the tip of everyone’s tongue; and about half a dozen men and women had come running after the trio. Junior knew what would happen if they were caught again. So he, his father, and his pregnant wife, had made an instant bolt.

Thankfully, they ran into a quiet street. Junior knew that he and his father would have disappeared from the scene of pursuit on the instant if his heavily pregnant woman had not been with them. Taking her along with them had been a bad decision in the first place; but his stubborn wife had insisted on going with them. Now she was slowing them down. If they were caught now, they would have no one to blame but themselves. But even with her pregnancy, the lady still carried herself remarkably.

They were still on the run when Junior’s wife suddenly stopped.

“Lola, what happened?” Junior asked his wife.

Instead of answering, Lola began to groan. Her face was turning pale and her eyes were tightly shut.

“What is it? Are you tired?” Junior asked with deep concern.

With effort, Lola replied, “The baby is on its way.”

“What!” Junior lamented, “Here? Why would it come now? It shouldn’t be here.” He was beginning to panic, "Does the baby want us to get caught?”

Junior’s father put his hand on his son’s shoulder and said, "Calm down, son. Everything will be all right, trust me.” He turned to Lola and said, “But it’s not due in two weeks, isn’t that what you told us?”

‘It’s early.” Lola replied. Then she said loudly, “For Christ’s sake! The baby is coming! Do you think I’m joking about my own childbirth?”

Junior was already sweating, “We’ll have to get her to a hospital.” He said.

“Hospital is a bad idea. We’d easily be caught there. I won’t make the same mistake twice.” He paused and said, "We’ll have to find a safe place for her. Junior, support your wife, and follow me.”

The husband put his wife’s right arm across his shoulder, then he put his own left hand behind her waist and they both wobbled after the older man. Junior trusted his father with his life; the man was his hero. He knew there was no better father in the world. This man walking before them had taught him everything he knew about life. He had never, in any day, remembered seeing his father panic in any situation. His father was the calmest person he had ever known. He used his brain more than he used his body. Junior knew he could never match his father’s calm personality.

Junior tried to keep his voice calm as he asked his wife, “The waters have broken?”

"It broke when that man screamed at us at the junction.”

“Oh, my goodness!” he broke his calmness, "Did you feel pains then?”

“The pains came as soon as the waters broke.” Lola clenched her teeth as she felt another stab of pain all within her. “Oh, my God! This pain is getting unbearable.”

"Everything will be all right, Lola, I promise you.” Her husband’s father said, smiling.

To keep conversation going, Junior asked, "You mean you still kept running even with the pains?”

“I couldn’t stand there to allow them catch us. I stopped when the pains suddenly became worse. I couldn’t hide it anymore.”

"How are you feeling now?”

“I’m not feeling any better, sweetheart.”

She was looking weaker and Junior was becoming more alarmed. He couldn’t bear to lose his wife. He couldn’t bear to lose Lola; she was his life, his saviour, the lintel of his soul. He would have probably remained locked up now if not for Lola. He owed her his life, even his father owed her. He knew his father knew that. He also knew his father would do everything he could to make sure Lola remained with them. Thunder must definitely not strike twice!

They found a quiet bungalow. And within seconds, Junior’s father had opened the door of the house. They all went inside, shut the door firmly behind them and laid Lola on the floor, resting her head on the pillow taken from the cushion. Junior fervently prayed that they would be through before the occupant of the house returned. They could be caught here if they were not careful. Then his wife said something that scared him.

“I’m too tired to give birth to this child. I cannot do it. I feel sleepy, please let me sleep.”

“Oh, no! you can’t sleep, my love. You can’t sleep. Please don’t sleep.”

Then just that moment, a sound came from the entrance; someone was at the door. Junior’s father placed a finger on his lips, signaling the couple to keep quiet. He went to the window beside the door and pulled the curtain. There, he saw a young girl of about sixteen years old. The girl was turning the knob and wondering why the door was not opening. Junior’s father quickly went to the door and unlocked it.

“Hello, Miss—” he said, smiling at the girl.

The young lady looked at him with a puzzled expression, "Who are you?”

“Er—uh—I’m a guest. We’re here to see your parents.” He gave another charming smile.

The girl walked in and found two other strangers; the pregnant one was evidently in labour.

“Who are you people?” the puzzled girl asked, “What do you want in my house?”

Before anyone could reply her. Her eyes lit up with surprise as she said, “You’re the ones those people I encountered on the way were looking for, right?”

"That’s true,” Junior’s father answered, “We escaped from them. Those people are ritualists. They kidnapped us with the intention of selling our body parts to potential customers. We’re lucky to have escaped.”

“My God!” the girl had swallowed the lie whole, “That’s horrible.”

“If we hadn’t escaped, maybe they’d have advertised our skulls on OLX by now.”

She pointed at Lola, “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s having a baby.”

“You should take her to a hospital.”

“The hospital is too far away. We have to bring the child to the world by ourselves.”

She looked from father to son and asked, "Does either one of you know how to bring a baby?”

Junior shook his head but his father said, “We’ll try.”

“I’ll help you to do that.” The girl said grimly.

“Have you done it before?”

She shook her head, “No, but I’ve seen people do it a couple of times. I’ve watched the births of several children. This is a woman’s job.”

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Amanda.”

“Can you do it, Amanda?"

“Yes, I can. I’m a practising nurse.” She knew what she had to do. She must first make the woman in labour feel comfortable. After that, she’d find out how close the baby was; then make necessary preparations.

She approached the woman on the floor and asked, “How are you feeling, madam?”

“I feel cold.” Lola answered weakly.

Amanda felt Lola’s forehead; the pregnant woman was sweating and running high temperature. She knew the symptom; the pregnant woman was working up fever, a condition not good for the baby. Lola knelt close to her and loosened all the buttons of her dress. As she did so she asked the men to wind up the curtains of all the windows.

She felt the outline of Lola’s belly. She felt the shape of the unborn child as she pressed deeper. She found one end of the body, just beneath Lola’s navel; but she could not locate the other end of the body on the belly.

“It’s on its way out,” Amanda said excitedly. “I can feel its bottom now. Kindly push!”

Lola’s face tightened with strain as she began to bear down, pushing the infant out of her womb. Junior could notice that the effort was costing her a whole lot, using up her last reserves of energy; and he wished desperately that he could bear down for her. Besides, he was the one who put the baby there in the first place, there should be something he could do to assist her. He wished to take the strain on himself, to give her some relief. At last the pain seemed to ease, and Junior breathed again.

“Push!”

Lola raised herself on her elbows and spread her legs. Kneeling between her legs, Amanda could see that the birth opening was beginning to dilate.

"Push!” she urged her again.

Lola tensed again and fresh beads of sweat rested on her contorted face. Amanda watched the opening widen again, and this time she could see the damp black hair of the baby’s head pushing through. Lola began to breathe in gasps as she tried to push once more. The opening stretched wider—incredibly wide—and then a large portion of the head began to come through, face-down. Soon Amanda saw the ears flat against the side of the baby’s head, then the folded skin of the neck appeared.

“The head and the neck are out.” She could not help saying.

Lola heard her and gave a brief smile, then she began to strain again.

Amanda leaned forward between her thighs and supported the tiny head of the baby with her left hand as the shoulders came out, first one then the other. And the rest of the body came out in a rush, and Amanda supported the baby’s hips with her hand as the tiny legs slipped into the cold world.

Lola’s opening immediately started to contract around the cord that came from the baby’s navel. Amanda lifted the child and scrutinized it curiously and anxiously. There was a lot of blood, and at first she feared something was terribly wrong; but on closer examination she could see no injury. She looked between its tiny thighs. It was a boy.

The baby opened its mouth and cried.

As Junior stared at the bundle of joy placed in his arms, he wondered what was going to become of the child when he grew up. Was the baby going to become a great man like his grandfather? Maybe he was, but in another way. A part of him questioned whether they had done the right thing by bringing this child to this world. Although still small and apparently bald, save for a few fringe of hair on its scalp, the baby was looking considerably healthy. Junior was sure the child would grow into a very goodlooking young man, for he was goodlooking himself, and even the baby’s grandfather was not looking bad. In a week’s time, this infant would be different; but for Junior and his father, a week was a long time for a baby to develop; but after the week, the baby would be bigger, and his eyes would open wider. Then the child would no longer be oblivious of the world around him as it is now; a loud noise would make him jump and a lullaby would soothe him to sleep. Junior understood babies even more than most mothers.

He looked at the baby’s mother, Lola was smiling at him. She was very tired, he knew, but she was going to be fine. Their eyes met, communicating devotion and affection for each other, and they both smiled. What an extraordinary woman, Junior thought, I’m the luckiest man on this earth.

“The child needs to be fed,” Amanda said as she collected the baby from its father and gave its mother.

Junior sat in a chair beside his father, smiling at the old man. They had done it. The worst was over and the baby was good. He felt proud.

Lola moved the baby close to her bre*st. His tiny mouth found her swollen n*pple and he stopped crying and began to suck. Soon, the baby fell asleep and Amanda placed him in one of the cushions.

Then suddenly, Lola’s muscles contracted, her pupils were dilated and she gave a brief scream as the placenta slid out of her. She fell asleep afterwards.

A few minutes later, Junior’s father stood up, looked his son in the eyes and said, “It’s time.”

Junior nodded in understanding, Amanda had gone out to wash herself in the backyard. He dipped his hand into his pocket, brought out a mobile phone, inserted a new SIM card and dialled a number he’d memorised. He looked at his father as the call rang.

When the call was picked at the other end, he said to the receiver, “Someone wants to speak with you.”

Having said that, Junior gave the phone to his father. He knew how important the call was to the older man, and also to the person at the other end of the line. It was something that needed to be done—especially now.

He knew his father to always smile in this kind of situation. His father was a man capable of being convulsed with laughter even with a gun pointed to his head. He wasn’t sure what the older man’s capacity for weird humour said about him, for his father was also one of the most mysterious people alive.

But his father wasn’t smiling when he said to the person at the other end of the line:

“You have a grandson.”

Foreword: To the very kind readers who have come across few of my scribbles and have associated my identity with big words, supposedly; I assure you that this particular piece is written in the plainest expressions I could make. Welcome to the world where the common people struggle in the uncommon ways.


Author’s Note: In Frank Anozie’s novel The Religion, published in Nairaland in 2013, a young lady escaping from her pursuers ran into a stranger’s car. In Black Maria, another young lady makes such escape; in a different way, the description the result of my own research which had been thought through since 2010.

However, I acknowledge that in this matter, Mr Anozie’s footprints were there first. And so were Mr Wodehouse’s in 1919 when he scribbled A Damsel in Distress.

L.S.

09061754872

larrysundynasty@gmail.com

Big bro, I urge you to continue.

That scene about one child teaching another the song of Small Doctor cracked me up. I can actually picture it in my head. #Ali goes to school, he wears Jesus' sandals to school...#

Keep up the vivid originality, sir.

sigmundfreud:
I can give you 20 of his books for free...
Soft copies though
Sup LarrySun...hope I'm not spoiling market for you.

Siggy!!! Where have you been?

Lol! I would give him free in soft copies, too, if I had. But, you know, the paperbacks cost me some cash.

freeDR:
Do you sell books? If you do, is there any possibility of getting more of his books? Please, I like to know.

I don't sell books; I'm only a collector. I could have more of Micheners if I wanted, but I don't really care to read him.

mollusco:
Please, go on, sir.

Whitemosquito is a lady, a shrewd one at that.

I have about five hundred novels but have only two books by James A. Michener ('The Novel' and 'Chesapeake'). I can sell each for #1,500.00.

You can reach me for other authors, with variance in prices, of course.

I'm in Lagos.

Fatalveli, TiffanyJ, Thronekid, Stuff46...you guys have been awesome. Impressive chapters.

Kinwayne, I'm very sorry for the errors of the past. I wish I had read the chapter you pulled off. I can't wait to read what you shall be posting later. I've heard news about you even before this collaboration. A brilliant writer just recommended your story for me to read. She said you were a wizard in the world of humorous writings.

I can't wait to be amazed!

seyitanhep1:
there is one thing I know with the first writer, I know his writing techniques like I know nairaland.com. And this is it, don't expect to get the details to his story plot before he says "THE END".
So, Bro, an advise from me to you, sit back, and enjoy the ride, let them drive.
It's the old man again. DAMEX333 is back again.

I've missed you, my brother.

Tags: Seun, Ishilove, Semid4lyfe, Obinoscopy, not moving this work to the front page would be a mortal sin.

May God bless you as you keep away from such sin.

Phew! In all my life, I've never read so brilliant a work of literature by a Nigerian as this. This is the 'rawest' talent there is.

Damn me to hell if I don't call on those who know literature to view this amazing piece!

Ishilove, Texanomaly, PrettySpicey, OMA4U, Whitemosquito, Royver, Ruffhandu, Simonhabby, Nuges11 and Princesa...please meet the great Mollusco! He's my big brother, we live together...I learn a lot from him. I'm glad he's finally decided to reveal himself here in Nairaland.

To hell with Soyinka, I aim to achieve Mollusco's literary skill. Watch out, sir, you've got a literary adversary in me . You know I've been cautiously tracing your steps since the past four years.

May the Good Lord preserve you for me; we'll stay true to our vows and dazzle the world together.

Dickens must have felt wants of men when he forced Oliver to ask for more! Bro, since you've been keeping your manuscripts well away from my reach, I'm eagerly asking for more here.

I don't think it's wrong to create a blog and make money from it. I'm a writer, too; I know what it takes to write a story, seriously, it's not easy. Every writer wants to make money from his skill.

The guy did nothing wrong.

Brilliant, Ruffhandu, abso-freaking-lutely brilliant! You kept the tempo high. Your choice of words is beautiful, your sense of description amazing. You've given the succeeding writers enough angles to work on. Well done.

Christ! What harsh fate!

I marvel at your sense of description. This is so beautifully-written. Every reader would nearly feel that kiss deep inside them. You know how to use those words to pull at our emotions. You never use a wrong word; no unnecessary embellishments...everything was smooth.

But the tragedy! You seem to have found your niche in that genre.

Well done, sir. God bless you for writing this.

Feed us more of your delicious literary craft.

The Present
Location: Lagos Island, Lagos State
Date: January 27, 2015
Time: 1200Hrs. GMT

Irele walked out of the supermarket with a basket bearing her purchase. She stole a fast glance at her wristwatch and discovered that it was exactly noon already; she was amazed, she could almost not believe that she had spent almost an hour in the store buying just few goods. She chastised herself for this; next time, she would have to get her priorities right. Time was too precious to waste on the purchase of body spray and some other apothecary of toiletries. She had a lot of tasks to achieve before today ended; although shopping was one of her plans for the day, she didn't think it would take so much of her time.

Then, as she was approaching her vehicle, she suddenly heard the sound of a gunshot close-by. Irele was momentarily scared and ran to her car. She was not the only person running now; there were people screaming and bounding for safety. Hawkers threw off their trays and made a run for their precious lives, traders ignored their goods and took to their heels; gifted cartoonists would draw comical pictures from this tumultous setting.

Irele, like the bolting crowd, did not wait to confirm the shooter or who was being shot. The sound of the gunshot alone was enough to tell her not to linger around; she had heard more than enough stories of victims of stray bullets. She quickly unlocked the door of her car and got behind the wheel. She set the key into the ignition and started the car. Just as she was about to pull into the road and speed off, a bloody but dangerous-looking man suddenly appeared by the door; his neck was gushing out blood and he managed to speak in a guttural voice:

"Please, help me!" His eyes were pleading.

Irele screamed at beholding the bloody man. The man's shirt was soaked with blood.

"Please, help me!" The man said again, he was pulling desperately at the door.

Irele wanted to drive away but remained frozen with inaction. She was scared beyond any action. She didn't know what to do. Here was a man begging to be saved, but Irele didn't know how she would be the stranger's saviour. The man continued to desperately pull at the door and Irele resumed her screams. Then series of gunshots came again. The man had been hit in the back; his eyes opened wide as blood escaped from within his mouth and rushed to his chin and chest. But before he fell down dead, he dropped something he was holding into the car.

Irele was not seeing what the stranger had dropped; what she was seeing were five armed men approaching her vehicle. She quickly pressed on the accelerator and sped down the deserted road.

The five killers reached the dead man and searched his body. The document was not found. They didn't have to be told that the man had dropped the document into that car speeding down the road. The vehicle was now too far away to catch its plate number.

"The Red Paper is in that car!" One of the men lamented.

"We are doomed!" Another man exclaimed.

"No, we are not," said the third killer, "I know the lady behind the wheel."

The End of Chapter One

The Past
Location: Abuja, Nigeria (Ten Kilometres away from Aso Rock)
Date: October 1, 1990
Time: 2200Hrs GMT

The assemblage occurred in a remote area of precisely ten kilometres from the Rock. From the highest floor of this magnificent cabin built only with wood, some of the builders had insisted on catching the view of the distant rock's peak. Now this gathering was a secret meeting, but it was not that kind of meeting where ridiculous rituals like a dozen men screwing away a lady were performed, or where members would place their vows as they drink from old calabashes the blood of goats, sometimes it could be human blood. Yet this particularly club was not one any of its members would publicly boast of belonging in.

Members of this fraternity (a group in which they had come together to name themselves The Common Men; and below their individual armpits, just above the ribcages of each one of them, was the gothic tattoo of the inscription TCM; no one knew about the existence of this gathering except, of course, the members) numbered exactly twenty. Each member came from each state of the federation, and they usually had this meeting quarterly. In the meetings, they usually sat to discuss the fates of the nation and her citizens. This night, however, was not their meeting night. But the appointed leader, TCM-13, the one from the federal capital, had summoned the members to this sudden meeting. Upon hearing the summons, each member had boarded the next available flight, while those who resided in neighbouring states had employed the services of taxi-drivers to drive them to the location; they never allowed their personal drivers to transport them there for no outsider must know about the existence of this sacred place. None of their family members must know, not even their wives were allowed that knowledge. Two years earlier, a member from Imo had made the mistake of confiding in his wife about the meeting. The member had met with a terrible fatal accident and his whole family was thereafter wiped out. Nobody knew about how The Common Men discovered this disloyalty, but the Imo man's entirely lineage paid dearly for his loose tongue. And within two months, another man from the state had replaced him.

Today, all the members had arrived before dusk. Today was a special day; this day was the celebration of the nation's thirty years after Independence. Something spectacular was going to happen tonight, every member knew, except only one who knew what was really going to happen. All the members, the twenty of them, spent the early part of the night popping bottles of champagne, laughing and cracking jokes until it was time for the meeting.

At exactly ten o'clock, the members were seated around a large rectangular table in a similarly large but narrow hall fitted with three burglary-proof windows on either side. The men seated here were in powerful positions, people prided to belong among the high echelons in their respective constituencies. For added security, members were forbidden to call one another by their names, instead, each of them was assigned a code name bearing the number of their states when arranged alphabetically. For instance, the man from Abia bore the code name TCM-01, while one from Lagos was TCM-13, the current leader of the group. Because of the revelation which was soon to be explained, the members never had their meeting in any state of the country, except here.

When all had seated, TCM-13 took his position at the far end of the large table, facing the entrance. The man was apparently the smallest and youngest person among the twenty members, but his position gave him an edge of authority, and no member dare look him in the eyes or disagree with him, for any act of insubordination would warrant instant death. Any member from Lagos was usually the luckiest member. The room became totally silent when the leader took his seat. It was really great to be a leader; but sometimes, leadership could be a dangerous privilege, every member knew that, TCM-13 knew that. Just eleven months ago, his predecessor from Lagos had suffered a Caesarean fate; all the members had connived against the man for disagreeing with them over a mere pecadillo, and in the next meeting, each of the nineteen members had come into the hall with a knife, and they had collectively stabbed the leader to death. They had thereafter cremated the body, ground it to ash and scattered the dust into the air. Then they had later replaced the leader with the current one.

TCM-13 stood up and addressed the men.

"I welcome you all to this august gathering. I will go straight to the reason why this meeting was called. It just reached my notice that there is going to be a shift of the nation's capital from the West to the North and..."

"How sure are you about this news?" TCM-06.

The leader glared at 06 and said, "I will oblige you to allow me finish my words before interrupting me."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"It mustn't happen again," 13 said and continued, "My sources told me that this shift shall be taking effect by next year. I'm sure you all know what that means, don't you? Abuja will be the country's new capital and that means new leaders shall be hence appointed from Abuja here. I have no qualms about that; in short, it would be a welcome development since some more states would be created and new members would automatically be initiated into the group. But before this shift in power and the initiation of new members next year, we have to put various things in place." He reached into the briefcase and extracted a document which he placed on the table. Everyone stared at the document as if they were seeing it for the first time.

"This is the original and only copy of the Red Paper. The future depends on what is printed on this document. But it remains invalid except it contains the names and signatures of the twenty of us seated here tonight." He picked up the document and raised it up for all to see. "As you can all see, it already contains my name and signature. My name is hereby written in the book of history. You all know the significance of the Red Paper, you all know its singular importance." He stopped and stared at the astonished Common Men, he could see the fear in their eyes, the doubt, the terror. He smiled. Everyone knew what was at stake when he agreed to become The Common Man. Now it was time for them to show their mettle.

"So, what do you say?" The leader asked, "Are you all ready to become parts of the future? Show your identities, prove your bravery to the next generation. Come on, we are The Common Men!"

TCM-13 pushed the Red Paper forward and each member, with shaky hands, wrote his name and signed. Soon, the document contained the names and signatures of all the men in the room. The leader collected the document and returned it into the briefcase. Then he stood up, went to the wine bar and extracted a fresh bottle of wine and three glasses, he placed them on the table and sat down. All the nineteen men stared at him, confused, as he uncorked the bottle and poured the wine into the three cups. He did not drink the wine, neither did he offer any of the men. He stood up again and spoke:

"I have a very sad news to tell you all. An outsider knows about this group. I'm sure you all know what that means. One of us has said what he shouldn't have; he has confessed the secret of this group to an outsider. We have a mole in our midst; but the most unfortunate situation is that we don't know who talked among us. We all know how dangerous for this group for a non-member to be aware of its existence. We have no choice but to correct this error, but there is only one way of doing that. Just sit down and relax; there is no cause for alarm, everything is under control."

He sat down, closed his eyes for a few seconds, opened them, sighed audibly and called aloud, "Come in."

Three hefty men, each armed with an AK-47, stepped into the hall. The time was gradually shifting to the hour of eleven.

"Lock the door behind you and bring me the keys." TCM-13 ordered.

The men obeyed as instructed. When the bunch of keys was handed over to the leader, the man flung the keys out into the dark night through the window; they were all locked in the room.

TCM-13 smiled at the nineteen terrified members and said, "Because we are all forbidden to directly take lives, I have therefore requested the help of these three gentlemen to do us the honour. They are going to make us matyrs. I congratulate you all for not only being a part of history but also of the future." He turned to the armed men and said, "Take the Holy Communion."

Without any question, the killers drank the wine.

"I'm ready." TCM-13 said, spreading out his arms. The men instantly riddled his body with series of bullets. Then they turned to the nineteen Common Men and shot them all. The floor soon became a pool of blood and the table littered with bloody pieces of the victims flesh. The corpses of the slaughtered members lay in different grotesque positions. There was no survivor.

Shortly after the massacre, the killers also slumped and died. What they drank had been poisoned. The poison was not in the wine bottle but in the glasses.

**************************************

It was already midnight when the seventeen-year-old boy arrived at the location. As instructed, he had come in through the paths in the bush that surrounded the arena. He would have reached there earlier if not for the twenty-five litres of petrol he had been instructed to bring along.

He set the heavy gallon down and moved to the wooden cabin. He peeped through the window and beheld the corpses within. He was not surprised, the man who had approached had informed him about what he was going to find here. He later searched around the areas of the windows, the man had also told him that he was going to find a bunch of keys. He discovered the keys under a leaf; it was almost entirely covered with the fallen leaf. He would not have found it if he had not come with the battery-powered torch he had also been instructed to bring. He unlocked the door with the keys, tentatively stepped into the room and over the corpses until he reached the briefcase that had fallen on its side. He retrieved the document in it and retired from the room.

Before leaving, the boy doused the corpses, the interior and exterior of the cabin with petrol and set everything on fire. The fire burned fiercely; flesh cooked and burned, the building burned and collapsed, until what remained thereafter were charcoals and charred fragments of the cremated corpses.

The boy did not wait for the inferno to dull; he walked away with the Red Paper, the most important entity, something more important than any single human. The boy had been appointed to be the guardian of the Red Paper. He knew what he had to do; another fraternity would have to be created somewhere else. The legacy must live on.

Chapter One:The Red Paper
Written and Submitted by Larry Sun
(larrysun4real@yahoo.com)

The Present
Location: Lagos Island, Lagos State
Date: January 27, 2015
Time: 1133Hrs, GMT

The day had broken clear many hours ago, the immortal sun was bright and hot, but the breeze still managed to wash the air. A few small clouds, much like the little scoops of vanilla ice-cream usually sold by young men on wailing bicycles, endeavoured to drift lazily across the blanketing blue firmament above. Sometimes, the roaming clouds would desultorily travel across the face of the sun, and the world below would enjoy a few respite of coolness before the heat would descend once more to torment everything that slithered, crawled, walked, flew or germinated. It was this kind of heat that usually put dealers in umbrellas and sombreros in business. And it was under this scorching element that the strange young man was running for his life.

He was soaked through and through with sweat as he ran; perspiration trickled into the corner of his left eye, stinging him sharply, blurring his vision. He blotted his slick forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and blinked furiously to wash the salt out of his eye. He was getting tired but he must not stop running now. His life depended on how hastily he could make his retreat. More important than his own life was the laminated document he held in his hand; this document was more important than anything else. What was contained in the document could herald a new era of something spectacular. And it was quite astonishing that circumstances had subjected him to become the guardian of this secrecy. He knew of the terrible things that would happen if the document got in the wrong hands.

He looked behind him and saw his pursuers; five men, five armed men! He increased the speed of his retreats. He knew the men's mission; their intentions lied not only on retrieving the document but also to end the life of its unfortunate bearer, for the runaway man had known too much to be left alive. The runner, however, had sworn to protect the document or die in the act.

His pursuers were running towards him with weapons drawn; only two of the five men held pistols, the others weilded machetes with which they were all too eager to hack him to pieces. There was not going to be any room for negotiation or mercy if they caught him; the men would literally eviscerate him, they would gut out his entrails and split his head into two so as to make sure he remained undeniably dead. The bolting man tried to run faster but his legs were giving way, exhaustion was gradually overwhelming him; he had been running all day but the men after him seemed more determined to slaughter him than he was of protecting the damning document. The men must not get hold of the document, he must not allow it.

He ran into a dirty street, tripped over an aluminium can and picked himself up again. As he rose he thought about hiding the document among the junks, but he shook the thought off his mind. The trash was not safe enough; the document would be too conspicuous there. Even an slowpoke would easily find it, and the killers after him were no imbeciles; they were trained operatives whose main jobs were finding missing things and exterminating any living obstacles in their paths.

The pursued man cut into another street and ran with the little ounce of strength within him. He was desperate now, looking around to hide the treasure with him, but there didn't seem to be any safe place to conceal the document.

He looked behind his left shoulder, the pursuers were no longer running after him, they were now walking with full confidence. They had probably suspected his exhaustion. They walked with full swagger, as if they had all the time in the world. The street seemed deserted; everywhere appeared silent except for the few birds who sang occasionally as they flew hither and yon. Innocent civilians had run for cover on beholding five heavily armed men pursuing a lone runner. The running man was momentarily afraid. He knew the time had come for him to bade the world his farewell. He was very sad; sad not because he was soon going to join his ancestors, of course that was inevitable in the circumstance; he was sad because the men would finally be taking the document from him. And he found himself pitying the unfortunate living people who would witness and experience the horror the content of the document would unleash all across the federation. It would be a global but collosal catastrophe.

As he tried to run into a crowded street a shot rang from behind him and the bullet caught him in the neck.

The following is the list of some of the writers who shall be participating in the Nairaland Writers Pre-collaboration:

Chapter One: Larry Sun (Monday 23 February, 2015)
Chapter Two: Ruffhandu (Wednesday 25 February, 2015)
Chapter Three: Fatalveli (Friday 27 February, 2015)
Chapter Four: TiffanyJ (Sunday 1 March, 2015)
Chapter Five: Kinwayne (Tuesday 3 March, 2015)
Chapter Six: Stuff46 (Thursday 5 March, 2015)
Chapter Seven: Vonn (Saturday 7 March, 2015)
Chapter Eight: Simonhabby (Monday 9 March, 2015)
Chapter Nine: Thronekid (Wednesday 11 March, 2015)
Chapter Ten: PureIvory (Friday 13 March, 2013)
Chapter Eleven: DUOz (Sunday 15 March, 2015)
Chapter Twelve: Tattesco (Tuesday 17 March, 2015)
Chapter Thirteen: Oruchechuks (Thursday 19 March, 2015)
Chapter Fourteen: Nimen (Saturday 21 March, 2015)
Chapter Fifteen: Nellyme (Monday 23 March, 2015)
Chapter Sixteen: Kennikazi (Wednesday 25 March, 2015)
Chapter Seventeen: Theorbiters (Friday 27 March, 2015)

If you have requested to be a part of this collaboration and your name isn't featured above, kindly contact either of the two e-mail addresses below so that the list can be modified.
1. larrysun4real@yahoo.com
2. midyoungstar@gmail.com
Or send a Whatsapp message to
+2347066611666
Thank you, God bless you.

To those of you who would like to join in the Nairaland Writers Pre-Collaboration, kindly show you interest by sending your messages to any (or both) of the two e-mail addresses below:

1. Larrysun4real@yahoo.com
2. midyoungstar@gmail.com

Or send a Whatsapp message to

+2347066611666

Thank you, God bless you.