₦airaland Forum

Creeza:
1. As much as he wanted to return to the station and grab Peter in the neck.

2. They knew Maria was a girl who gave women hope; they had watched her tennis match in the televison. *this one is a bit like saying they entered the tv set but since we see movies most times on a screen even at a cinema its a bit off)

My little observation though, and i welcome a good criticism everytime, on that note i say all the best sir.

Thanks.

The first should be by, not in or on.

You're right with the second.

Thanks again. I'm usually too lazy to reread what I've written.

Creeza:
Damn. Basky ends up raising an alpha's offspring. WOMEN AND the SISTERHOOD!!!

Basket would have stayed a while longer but what did he do?
He allowed his anger get to him and NOPED the f out of there.

Larry sir, a quick one: you used 'in' twice instead of 'on' as prepositions. maybe a little bit of mistake but I felt urged to tell you like here '...they watched her play tennis in on the TELEVISION'
(English is crazy if you ask me :/ but we learn everyday dont we?)

EDIT: thats btw though and tbh you are a wonderful storyteller

Can you kindly cite out the part? Thanks.

kalajina:
so emotional but I wish their plan don't work out. yinka and bros could appear in the scene, they should take the baby. peter would escape as usually . Pls oga Larry put them in the pics . thank youu

Who is 'bros'?

dejavuh0007:
Larry, your pronouns in relation to Rhoda's child is a tad confusing. Towards the end, Rhoda referred to her child as a "she", while John's mom referred to the same child as a "he". Pls, clarify if Rhoda's child is a boy or a girl.

Ohhhhhh! I'm so sorry about that. It's a he. They're both boys.

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Check out my podcast, The Time Traveller, on Anchor: https://anchor.fm/larry-sun

If you have read one of my flash fiction works titled The Time Traveller, here is the audio version. Kindly listen to it and let me know your thoughts. Thank you.

Cheers,

LSD �

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Flash 19: Spiral (Part 1)

I believe in time-travel. I have always believed that it can be achieved right from the moment I understood its concept. I have watched a lot of movies about this concept, and, of course, read many books on it.

Time travel is simple, really. Let's start from the basic concept. Anything that can travel faster than the speed of light has beaten time, relatively speaking. Consider the scenario of a speeding car, or a swinging pendulum. If a pendulum swings fast enough, it would not be seen. It would appear like it has disappeared, but it is there - still swinging, we're not just seeing it - because it is swinging too fast for our eyes to catch its movements. The same can be said of a speeding car. All these are basic indications of the possibility of teleportation - an object is here one moment, and in the blink of an eye, it has appeared a mile away.

Only Steve share in my belief. He is the only one who didn't laugh at me whenever I explained this phenomenon in class. He understood me perfectly. Steve and I soon became best friends. Although we were only teenagers, we strongly believed that we would make time travel possible. We would win the Nobel Prize for our incredible invention.

We read up on more books about time travel. We studied astro-physics, metaphysics, mind-control, pyrokinesis, teleportation, psychokinesis, artificial intelligence, nanotechnology, precognition, cold fusion, dark matter, biotechnology, suspend animation, retrocognition, cybernetics, transcendence, transmogrification, telepathy, hypnosis, reanimation, ESP, transhumanism, neuroscience, mutation, clairaudience, protoscience, hive mind, astral projection, parallel universes, cryonics, invisibility, transgenics, cryptozoology, psychic surgery, quantum entanglement, bilocation, Philosopher's Stone, psychogenesis, psychometry, graviton, viral therapy, time paradox, synaptic transfer - anything we could get our hands on; anything that would aid our research, and more.

We were young, of course, but we were determined. We plowed through books and videos. We were devoted to our cause. We didn't know how long it would take us to achieve our goal but we were dedicated to creating this invention, no matter how long it would take us, no matter the sacrifice. It wasn't going to be easy, but we were prepared. We were arming ourselves with the necessary tools - information.

When we completed our high school education, we already had the perfect idea of the course to study in the higher institutions. We already had our careers cut out for us.

That afternoon in our graduation gown, Steve and I stood in front of our school gate. We couldn't stop talking about the possibility of time travel. We were excited about it.

"Let's make a pact," Steve said in his excitement.

"A pact?" I asked in confusion.

"What is today's date?"

"April 4, 1996," I answered.

"And what's the time?"

I glanced at my digital wristwatch. My father had given me as a graduation gift. I had requested for it because it was the same gift Steve's parents got him.

"It's 4:45 PM," I said.

"If we eventually invent time travel, we will come back to this exact moment. I want us to see our teenage selves."

I agreed with him. That would be very exciting. I was already picturing the moment in my head. We would return to this moment with a video camera and record the event. Nobody would ever doubt us.

As we shook hands to our new pact, something strange occurred. An older man appeared from nowhere. He had an ugly scar on his face. I recognised him immediately as the older me.

The figure emerged within the split of a second and raised the gun in his right hand. He shot Steve in the face and disappeared. I stared in horror as Steve fell down dead. As Steve fell, the time changed to 4:46 PM.

The future me had just killed my best friend.

To be continued…

©Larry Sun, August 2020.

Flash 18: The 98th Victim

Specially dedicated to Ekop Sparo Ayara - a wonderful follower.

The remains of Joshua Abbey Alabi, a 29-year-old banker, was recovered from the bodies of water at the Ikorodu river. The bullet wound on his chest and the missing left ear is a suggestive of the MO of Sheik - the Ikorodu serial killer who has reportedly killed ninety-seven victims, both male and female alike. Joshua Alabi is the ninety-eighth victim, and his identity was established by the national identity card in his pocket.

The authorities are stumped by the identity of this killer. He has continued to kill and nobody has any idea about who he is. The Sheik is reputed to be one of the smartest criminals in the country. He has successfully killed members and associates of his victims in the same manner, and each victim has been killed on different occasions.

Investigations by the local police reveal that, instead of Sheik to find his victims, it's usually the other way round. The victims always find Sheik.

The body of Joshua Alabi has been deposited in a nearest morgue. If you know the victim, kindly call this number - 050448631295.

***
Joshua Alabi dropped the newspaper as if scalded by it.

"Is this some sick joke?"

He couldn't believe what he just read. The newspaper contained the report of his own death. He had been shot in the chest, his left ear severed and had been dumped in the river. How was that possible? Here he was, hale and hearty. It could have been a different person entirely - that was the only explanation.

But the victim was him. Apart from the fact that the name of the victim was his, Joshua's picture was also boldly printed in the page. Everything matched his profile. His middle name was Abbey. He was twenty-nine years old and also a banker.

This must be some sick twisted situation. The victim was carrying his national ID card. Everything felt unreal. It was impossible for something like this to happen, yet it did happen.

For the rest of the day, Joshua's mind had not been at rest. Soon, people who knew him would begin to call his number just to confirm. He would tell them all he was alive - the information about his death could only be a gigantic mistake. Then he remembered that his phone had been stolen the day before, and he had not retrieved his line. If anyone called him now, his line would not be available.

Joshua decided that he must get to the bottom of this. He would visit the morgue and check the corpse. Something was definitely wrong somewhere.

The following morning, Joshua borrowed his neighbour's phone and dialled the number in the newspaper.

"Hello, my name is Joshua Alabi," he said. "I think there's a confusion in your newspaper report. I'm not dead. I'm alive. You must have got the wrong information."

"Are you playing some kinds of prank?" the recipient asked.

"No, I'm serious. I'm Joshua Alabi. I'm alive."

There was a brief silence at the other end. "Okay, please come over with your national ID card. I'll text you the address. Call me when you get there."

"Um, my phone was stolen yesterday. I'm using a neighbour's phone. I won't be able to call you."

"No problem. Just get to the address by 3 PM. I will be waiting for you. I am Dr Kishe."

The address entered the phone a few minutes after the call. Joshua wrote it down and deleted the SMS before handing the phone back to his owner. He dressed up and left the house.

By 3 PM, he was at the location. Joshua was surprised to see that he was standing in front of a house located close to a railway track. The building didn't look anything like a morgue. There was an old truck a few metres away. He walked slowly to the door and knocked.

The door was opened and a tall man wearing a horn-rimmed pair of glasses appeared. He was smiling at Joshua.

"Hello Mr Joshua. I'm Dr Kishe."

The two men shook hands and Joshua was invited inside.

"I thought I was coming to a morgue," Joshua said as the doctor sat in a chair before him and lit a cigarette.

"Well, technically, you can call this a morgue," the doctor replied jovially.

"So where is the body?" Joshua asked, looking around.

"Oh, you're the body," replied Kishe.

Joshua frowned. "What are you talking about?"

The doctor laughed and said. "You still haven't got it, have you? Look around you. You've been lured here. The report you read about was what is going to happen to you. It hasn't happened, but it's going to happen. You see, I wrote the report and sent it to the newspaper company. In my profession, I deal a lot in Psychology. You, Joshua Alabi, are going to be my ninety-eight victim. I was the person who stole your phone yesterday. It's part of the plan. Everything is going to happen as the report established, as it has always been."

"Who are you?" Joshua asked, confused.

"My name is Tishe," the doctor answered, smiling. "Now unscramble that."

Joshua thought about that and it occurred to him. "You're the Sheik."

The doctor spread his hands proudly, "The one and only Sheik of Ikorodu. You shouldn't have made that call. Now all your family members and associates will make the same call, but your neighbour will die first. With this method, I will never be caught."

A train moved past in the street and a gun suddenly appeared in killer's hand. He shot Joshua in the chest. The gunshot was drowned out by the sound of the train.

By nightfall, Joshua's body would be missing an ear. With the truck outside, Sheik would transport the corpse.

In a few days, the corpse would be fished out of Ikorodu river, his national ID card would be discovered in his pocket.

©Larry Sun, August 2020

EkopSparoAyara:
http://writertainpublishers.com/?p=2301

Guys, click on the link to vote for LarrySun as the best writer in this year's Nairaland writer's award..
Let's show him love and support,we can do this..

#TeamLarrysun

You have always been a wonderful follower. I really appreciate this. Thank you so much!

And to every other person who kindly voted for me, I say THANK YOU! You all inspire me to not give up.

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This is awesome, bro. Good job.

dejavuh0007:
Yinka was just shot dead, I guess. It's on this escape that Maria will go into labour and give birth to her child in an uncompleted building, and Peter Black will place a call to someone thereafter, informing the person that Maria just gave birth.

Maria got pregnant in 1995 and gave birth in 2015?

WILLuKPquiet:
Bro.

I like the way you responded and challenged my correction. I guess I was wrongly corrected. I did my findings just now and most sites say you are the one right. Sorry for my wrong observation.

I may have to retract my comment.

That means I was right in the first place before being misled.

So sorry.

Thank you, bro. I appreciate the fact that you wanted me to be a better writer. God bless you, bro. We all learn every day.

WILLuKPquiet:
Lovely!

You are a good story teller and I have fallen in love with your style already.

There is a mistake I have noticed you made twice. It is "zoomed pass" not zoomed past. The same is applicable with walk past. It is walk or walked pass.
Pass and not past.
I have made the same mistake in my writings for years, until I came across the correction online.

Then, when you write do not shorten your words except you are quoting someone.

For example;

I told him I don't like going there. I wouldn't do it for a million naira.

It is better written like,

I told him I do not like going there, I would not do it for a million naira. Or he told him he does not like going there. That, he would not do it for a million naira.

I read this in an article several years back that
It makes your writing more matured and professional.

But you can write it like you've done when quoting someone like,
He looked at him sternly and shouted, "I don't like going there! I wouldn't do it for a million naira,"

Can you kindly show me the online correction? I'd appreciate it if you shared the links. Thanks.

Flash 17: A Little Wish

A villain was out in the streets robbing defenseless people. He would stop his car, use his gun to threaten shop owner, cart off their money and goods, return to his car and drive off. My mother was his latest victim. The only piece of information my mother could give about this thief was that he was very dark skinned, plaited his hair and the licence plate of his car read UVW-642-XYZ.

The police did a little investigation and stopped. Apparently, they weren't impressed enough to pursue the matter judiciously. I decided to investigate the case myself, out of sheer boredom. If I caught the thief, I would not only make sure he returned everything he stole from my mother, he would also spend a long time in jail. People like him should be taken off the streets. He was a scum.

In my quest to find the thief, I came across a little girl. Her name was Lara. She was about eight years old. Her mother had begged me to watch her while she bought some goods at the supermarket opposite us. I wondered why she would leave her child with a total stranger. What if I was a kidnapper? I had no doubt in my mind that the woman was a careless mother.

I sat with the girl. She was eating from her flask. I noticed that she was looking sad as she ate.

"What's wrong, Lara?" I asked her.

"It's my uncle," she said dejectedly.

"What happened to your uncle?"

"He's a bad man. He does bad things to me," she said. Lara remained silent for a while, then she said, "I wish he disappeared."

I was shocked. The little girl was a victim of sexual abuse by an elderly family member. I felt rage within me. The world has been polluted by evil people. First it was a thief robbing people, now it was an uncle molesting his niece. All these scumbags should not mix with people in the society.

"Why don't you tell your mother?"

"I told her but she didn't believe me."

"Where does this uncle live?"

"He lives with us. He's my mom's older brother."

"What's his name?"

"Uncle Ken Ramon."

I did a quick Google search, linked the name to a particular Facebook account and found him. It turned out Uncle Ken was a pharmacist, and his office was close-by. I suspected that they were paying the man a visit. I wish I could help the girl right now but I had my own kettle of fish to think about.

The little girl scooped up a spoonful of beans and offered it to me. I shook my head. "No, I'm fine."

But she didn't want to hear of it. The hand was still outstretched towards me, waiting for me to accept the meal.

"I don't like beans," I confessed. "It messes up my stomach."

When it was clear that the girl would not take no for an answer, I accepted the morsel. Her mother came, thanked me and took her away.

I continued my journey down the street, trying my best to focus on my own task. But the thought of the girl would not leaving.

Then I suddenly heard a rumble in my stomach. Oh no! This was not good at all. I knew it was the beans. I shouldn't have accepted the offer - but I couldn't say no to a little girl. I urgently needed a toilet; the beans was already upsetting the food I already had. My stomach felt squeezed like a lime.

There was a waste management worker clearing the gutter at the side of road. He was working with his shovel. The stench from the gutter was overwhelming.

Then came the familiar sound POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFFF!

A stream of gas let itself out of my body, giving me temporary relief. As soon as the fart came out, I knew it was going to smell terribly, but there was nothing I could do about the situation at this point.

I walked paste the worker as if nothing had happened.

"What kind of smell is this?" I heard him yell behind me, "Did you swallow a rotten corpse?" Even with the gutter stink, my fart stood out. I had no reply to give the man. I couldn't deny it either for I could smell the fart myself - with that kind of fart, I wouldn't be allowed to go near sick people.

The man dropped his shovel on the side of the road and covered his nose with his hand. He was gasping for air, and I prayed my terribly release of gas would not suffocate him.

"Oh my -" a boy on bicycle was taken by surprise. I couldn't tell if it was by the sudden appearance of the shovel or my the stink of my fart. His bicycle tripped over the shovel and he lost his balance, falling on a pile of traffic cones, and in the process sent one flying into the busy traffic. The cone hit the windshield of a speeding car.

The driver lost control of the car and swerved off the road to knock down a man who had just come out of a pharmacy at the other side of the road. The man had been trying to cross the road to meet some people. The car crushed his head in.

The victim of the 'accident' turned out to be paedophiliac Uncle Ken Ramon. But that was not the peak of my shock. The car had the licence UVW-642-XYZ. The driver was the thief I had been searching for.

While everyone around rushed to the scene of the incident, little Lara kept staring at me. She carried a knowing expression on her face.

©Larry Sun, July 2020

Flash 16: The Diner

I was in the right place at the right time. I had just taken a lunch break from the office to eat at the restaurant just opposite my place of employment. It was in this same restaurant I had always had my lunch for the past six months, and the waitress - a pretty petite young lady named Hana - knew me well, for I always left her a generous tip whenever I ate.

I sat at my usual corner and Hana came to attend to me. She was clutching a wet towel she had been using to clean the tables. I made my usual order and waited for my lunch.

While I waited, a stout, middle-aged man came into the restaurant and sat not very far away from me. He was making some calls and I couldn't help overhearing what he was saying.

"What about their child? I should kill her too, right? Of course I have no problem with that. Just wire the payment into my account and the job will be done by tomorrow."

I couldn't believe what I had just heard. This man was obviously an assassin. He was going to wipe out an entire family. I knew that was not supposed to concern me, but I couldn't just look away knowing that an innocent child would be killed too. The parents might deserve to be killed but that child was innocent.

I stared at the man from my corner. He terminated the call and made his order. When my food was brought along, I only stabbed it with my fork - I had lost my appetite. This was a man who had been tasked with taking out an entire family. He must be stopped.

But how would I stop him? Would I simply approach him and force him to confess? How in the world was I going to do that? But I knew I had to do something. Fate had brought me there for a reason. Even though I didn't know the targets, I must save them from this monster.

I am not a man of violence. I know nothing about physical combats either. If I confronted the man, he would simply snap me in two without breaking a sweat. Yet, I knew I had to stop this man.

I couldn't go to the police because it would be too late. Besides, I had nothing tangible to present the police anyway; it would only be my words against his - and I would be putting myself in trouble. The man might end up capping me before taking out the family. In this situation, I had to use the only weapon I had - my wits.

There are very strange moments in a man's life when he would be blessed with a sense of sheer ingenuity. It is usually like a divine inspiration. The perfect solution to a problem will be staring at you in the face, and it is only you who can see this solution. It is never preconceived or remotely planned - it just happens. That was the situation in my case.

I had considered every angle, and I knew the only solution for stopping this killer was my intuition, which invariably boiled down to my action in the next two minutes. I looked around the restaurant and took note of every diner. I looked at the waitress, she was still clutching the towel. The diner close to the exit - a fair and robust woman - was almost done with her meal.

I nodded my head. Everything was perfect. The time to act was now.

I called the waitress over and paid for my meal - without giving her a tip. I intentionally did that, it was part of the plan. Having studied Psychology in school, I know a little bit about how the human mind works.

The waitress's face was clouded with anger for my refusal to tip her. She walked away from me hissing. "Stingy man," she muttered under her breath but I could hear her clearly.

She returned to her job of cleaning the tables. In her angry state, she left the wet towel on the table of the fat woman. I remained in my seat and watched everything unfold.

The towel fell to the floor as the diner rose up to leave. Nobody took notice of the fallen piece of cloth except me. A moment later, the killer paid for his meal, left a generous tip for the waitress and walked towards the exit. I watched his every step.

The man, not noticing the towel on the floor, stepped on it and slipped. He fell and hit his head hard against an iron stand.

Everyone rushed to his aid but there was no use - he was dead.

I walked out of the restaurant back to my office, whistling a merry tune.

©Larry Sun, July 2020

Flash 15: After

Sandra's journey through life was the sweetest. While others experienced sadness, heartbreak, pain and rejection, Sandra had a fulfilled life. She met the love of her life at twenty-one. Max was her classmate in the university.

The journey started in class. She had been sleeping when a hand tapped her. When she woke up, the class was empty except for her and Max.

There was Max kneeling before her. There was a ring in his hand. Sandra was speechless. Someone was watching from the window.

"Oh Max!" she gasped.

"Will you marry me, Sandra?" he asked sincerely.

"Yes, Max! Yes!" she was so happy that she had tears in her eyes.

Max wore the ring on her finger and kissed her. They graduated six months later and got married. The marriage was blissful. Max and Sandra had three children. They were married for seventy years. They had grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Their family was a big and happy one.

Six months after Max passed away, Sandra lay in her deathbed surrounded by all her family members.

"I can't wait to see Max again," she told them. "I know he's waiting for me."

And with those words, she died pleasantly.

***
Angela felt a hand tap her and she came awake. She was in a classroom. The class was empty except for her and Max. She stood up in excitement.

"Max! I saw it! I saw everything! We grew old together and had a large family. We were very happy."

Max remained quiet.

"Why aren't you saying anything, Max?"

Max said calmly, "I'm breaking up with you. Can I have my ring back? I want to give Sandra - she's the love of my life."


©Larry Sun, July 2020

Khriztarl:
I don't understand the end of the story o..
Larrysun, what's "father flourished the cigarates, he spent most of the time with mother.' Which mother? The dead one?
thanks for this piece sha. Thankie.

LOL! He spent most his time at her grave.

Flash 14: Vanished

Twenty years ago, I was only fifteen years old. I was living with my parents. I was their only child. I was not really close to my dad; as a matter of fact, I wasn't fond of him. He drank excessively and smoked like a chimney. There was never a time I didn't see smoke coming out of his nostrils and mouth. My mates in school always mocked because of this. They would call my father a dragon.

Mother was worried that his drinking and smoking would one day be his end. However, my father was not a violent man. He never struck me or my mother in a drunken stupor. Even when my mother and I nagged about his habits, he would only ignore us. Sometimes, he would simply leave the house and stay outside to have his time. When he was done, he would return to the house and go to bed. Life for him was simple, but he was killing himself with his dipsomania, especially the smoking. His pockets always contained packs of cigarettes and empty little bottles of booze.

He drank more than he ate. I always suspected that something must have pushed him to become such a heavy drinker. I once asked my mother and she told me that she had always known him to be a drinker. He started smoking shortly after my birth, and she had no answer for the reason.

One weekend, my father put on his Lacoste T-shirt and stepped out of the house. I was in the sitting room solving my school assignments.

"Where are you going?" My mom asked him suspiciously, of course she knew where he was going.

"I'm going to the next street to get a pack of cigarette," he replied honestly. "I've exhausted the one I had." He always told the truth, no matter what. He did not care whether his words would hurt your feelings. He would simply say things as they were. My father was one of the most honest people in the world. I had never caught him in a lie. He always bared out his mind, mostly during his inebriated state.

"That cigarette is going to kill you," she replied as he stepped outside. She always said this everytime he went out to get cigarettes.

"That gin will be your end," she would say if he was going out for alcohol.

Ordinarily, my father would return to the house in about thirty minutes to enjoy his smokes; but on that particular day, that was the last we heard of my father. Well, until after twenty years.

"Has your father returned?" my mother asked me after an hour.

I shook my head.

"But he doesn't always take this long," she said worriedly. She was the first to suspect that something was wrong.

After another hour, my mother told me to go and look for him at the kiosk of Mallam Yaro, the Hausa man he always patronised. But the man told me he had bought the cigarettes over two hours ago and had left.

But my father never reached home.

Mother became seriously worried. Something had happened to my father. He had gone to the next street to get a pack of cigarettes and had not returned. There was only one explanation - my father had been kidnapped.

But who would kidnap father? We were not a rich family. Father only worked enough to put food on our table, and mother was a petty trader. If he had been kidnapped for money, then the kidnappers had made a grave error.

However, I did not want to allow my mind to dwell on a more terrible possibility - the possibility that he had been abducted for rituals.

The following morning when there was still no trace of father, mother ran crying in the street. By noon, all the men of the street - everyone who knew my father - formed a search party. They searched everywhere for him but found no trace of my father. It was as if he had vanished from the face of earth. After a couple of weeks, they searched mortuaries hoping to find his corpse, but still nothing whatsoever.

The police were involved in the search but nothing yielded anything positive. Eventually, after a few months, the search for my father went cold. He had disappeared without a trace. Everyone continued living their lives but my mother remained sorrowful.

My father was a drunkard and a heavy smoker, but he was her husband. He was the man she fell in love with. When he disappeared, it left a hole in her heart. I tried my best to fill up the void but it was impossible. She was slowly becoming the shadow of herself. She would suddenly become quiet and stare blankly at nothing in particular.

Mother died of loneliness after ten years. She couldn't cope with the thought of never seeing her husband again. I had just gotten married and my wife was pregnant with our first child when mother passed away.

It was a sad loss. I buried her in the backyard. We continued to live in the house. That was where I had my three children.

Ten years after mother passed away, I was reading the newspaper in sitting room when I heard a knock on the door. I rose up and opened the door.

There he was - my father was standing on the threshold. He was still wearing the Lacoste T-shirt he had won twenty years ago, and in his right hand was a pack of cigarettes. And he had not aged a day!

"Who are you?" he asked me in confusion.

I was dumbstruck for a moment. I couldn't believe my eyes. I thought I must be dreaming. I remember that my mouth were open in aghastness.

"Young man, who are you and what are you doing in my house?" he asked again.

"Papa - it's-it's me," I said, my lips quivering.

He stared at me. "Ebuka?"

"Yes, Papa."

"What's going on. How did you become suddenly grown-up? Where's your mother?"

"Papa, where have you been?"

"What nonsense are you saying? I said I was going to get this pack of cigarettes."

He flourished the cigarette.

Father stopped drinking or smoking. He spent most of his time in the backyard with mother.

©Larry Sun, July 2020

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Flash 13: The Voice

I must be going crazy. In fact, I am convinced that I am crazy.

My name is Akpan, and for the past five years, I have been hearing a voice in my head. This voice has been controlling my actions. I can't tell anyone about it because the voice is going to know, and it's going to punish me severely for it. The last time I told someone, I suffered terribly for it. Not only did the person I told not believe me, I ended up with a black eye.

I decided to write about it. Maybe the voice can only hear me. Maybe it can't read. But if it can, then I'm done for. Apart from the fact that even you the reader won't believe me, I would also suffer. Maybe I would gain my freedom from this voice only when someone believes this story - but, of course, that's highly unlikely. My story will end up as mere fiction. But I'm going to tell it anyway.

Like I already mentioned, it started five years ago. I woke up one morning and heard the voice.

GOOD MORNING, AKPAN.

The voice was like thunder - like a giant calling on someone far away. I looked around me but there was no one in sight. I lived alone, so I didn't expect anyone anyway.

"Who just spoke now?" I asked aloud.

STOP LOOKING AROUND. IT'S ME.

"Who are you? Where are you?" I began to panic.

I'M IN YOUR HEAD, SILLY.

"In my head? What are you doing there?"

I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND, AKPAN.

"I don't want to be your friend!" I screamed. "Get out of my head right now."

YOU'RE SCREAMING. SOMEONE MIGHT HEAR YOU. THEY WILL THINK YOU ARE CRAZY.

"Get out of my head!"

The voice was silent for a few moments, then it said: MAKE ME.

"Why are you in my head? Where did you come from?"

I TOLD YOU I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND.

"I don't want to be your friend."

YOU HAVE NO CHOICE. THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN GET RID OF ME IS IF YOU CUT OFF THIS HEAD.

I can't possibly do that!

"What do you want from me?"

WE CAN HELP EACH OTHER, AKPAN. I CAN PROVIDE YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT. I AM AT YOUR SERVICE.

This voice must be on something strong. Anything I want?

"I want a million naira. Can you give me that?"

The voice actually laughed. It was like someone was blowing a horn in my head. I couldn't tell if it was laughing at me.

OKAY. YOU WILL HAVE THE MONEY TOMORROW. BUT YOU WILL HAVE TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME IN RETURN.

I thought the voice must be crazy. It couldn't just provide a million naira out of thin air. For the rest of that day, the voice kept talking to me. I couldn't leave my room for fear of being thought crazy. The voice seemed to know my deepest, darkest secrets, and it chose them to haunt me.

WHY DID YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR LANDLORD'S WIFE?

"That's non of your business!" I shot back.

DOES YOUR BOSS KNOW THAT YOU FORGED YOUR CERTIFICATES?

It kept drilling me throughout the day with details I didn't want anyone to know. I kept shouting and screaming in my room until I fell asleep.

The next morning, it was the voice that woke me up.

AKPAN.

AKPAN.

AKPAN.

It kept calling me until I replied.

GO OUTSIDE.

"Why?"

JUST GO.

I rose up from bed groggily. The time was 12:45 PM. I couldn't believe I slept for so long. I opened my door and found two fat envelopes lying just outside the threshold.

PICK THEM UP.

I did. I checked the content of the envelopes. I was shocked to find money in them.

THAT'S YOUR ONE MILLION NAIRA.

I couldn't believe what was happening. Did the voice just provide me with a million naira? How did that happen? How in the world could that be possible? But it was. I was holding a million naira in my hands. Incredible!

"How did you do that?"

It laughed again.

A MAGICIAN DOES NOT REVEAL HIS SECRETS.

But I wasn't really listening anymore. My greed had immediately kicked in. I wished I had requested for more money. At least ten million naira. A million naira would not be enough to solve my financial problems. If I had known that the voice was going to provide the money, I would have requested for a lot more - maybe fifty million naira, or even a hundred million naira.

"Can I ask for more?" I found myself asking.

OF COURSE YOU CAN. BUT YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME FIRST.

"What do I have to do?"

I WILL TELL YOU TOMORROW.

I was overjoyed. Maybe the voice was not so bad after all. If it could always provide whatever I need, I would mind having it around.

But by 4:00 PM that same day. I heard a hard knock on my door. When I opened it, I found policemen standing at the entrance.

"Mr Akpan Akpabio, you are under arrest for stealing a million naira."

I couldn't believe what was happening. I was put in handcuffs and taken away in their car. The voice in my head did not say anything. It just kept laughing.

I was put in a cell where I spent the rest of the day. Apparently, the police had every reason to believe that I had robbed someone of a million naira, and they had found the money in my house. But I never left my room the day. How could I be the robber?

The following day, I was called to the DPO's office. "We're so sorry, Mr Akpabio. It turns out that you're not the thief. The culprit has been caught. He stole the money and dropped at at your door step."

I was released. But I demanded to see the culprit. I had never seen the man before in my life. He kept saying the same thing over and over: "A voice in my head asked me to do it!"

Everyone thought he was crazy. That was when it dawned on me that I'm crazy too - and also at the mercy of the voice.

On my way home, the voice finally spoke.

IT'S YOUR TURN TO HONOUR MY REQUEST

And since that moment, I've been doing some horrible things under its request. I have been seeking help but no one believes me. The voice had made someone beat me to a pulp for telling a psychiatrist that a voice was in my head.

It had threatened to have me killed by someone else if I refuse to carry out its order. I believe him. The police have never caught me for all the crimes I have committed so far.

Yesterday, I killed my brother. I had no choice. The voice made me do it.

Now that I have written about it, I don't know what my punishment would be.

©Larry Sun, July 2020

Today, the true declaration of love means little to women. That is why the words of Peter Black are considered strange to some readers now.

I hope this explanation clears the air.

Thank you.

PrimadonnaO:
Way too wordy... and with generic lines. It wasn't a special profession of love. The same words could be said to hundred more girls.

Don't compare those days with now.

Removed

Flash 12: The Perfect Plan

"I have specially selected the three of you for this mission because of your personalities," the leader of gang spoke.

"Our personalities?" one of the selected three asked in befuddlement.

"Yes. Apart from the fact that you are all unemployed, you also have no social account."

"Social account?"

"Yes, social media accounts. You know, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, you name it."

"How did you find out about that?" another man asked in surprise.

"Well, I did my homework thoroughly. I had been digging into each of you for the past couple of months. While I know each of your names, I would ask that you give yourselves nicknames."

"Why nicknames?"

"To protect your identities. Isn't that obvious already? And I'd advise you to pick a nickname you have never used before. If you would take my advice, I'd say you should bear the month of your birth. I already checked, and I know that you were all birthed in different months."

And so the first recruit was called September, the second February, and the third August.

"What month are you?" August asked.

The leader chuckled and said, "Just call me The Calendar."

"So why have you called us here?" asked September.

"We have a single job to carry out. I chose the three of you because you're capable of carrying it out. None of you is afraid of getting a little dirt under your fingernails, and I admire that." He paused, breathed in and out, then continued, "If this mission is successful, each one of you will walk away with ten million naira. With that kind of money, you can start a little life for yourselves."

"Ten million?" February could almost not believe his ears. He was already picturing how he would spend the money.

"Yes, ten million naira," replied Calendar.

"What's the job?" September asked; he refused to be fazed by the officer. He wanted to know what he was getting himself into before fantasising about the money.

"In a month's time, the wife of the foreign affairs minister will be returning from Germany. You are going to grab her on her way from the airport and take her to a secure location."

"Will there be police involved?"

Calendar shook his head. "The details about her return has been kept under the radar. Only a very few people know about her return. So, no police escorts. Only the driver would be with her in the car."

"And why must be be the ones to do the heavy-lifting? You're asking us to risk our lives while you remain hidden? What if the plan fails? You will walk free while we go to jail? Is that it?" September was already feeling cheated.

Calendar shook his head. "You're getting it wrong. My job kicks in as soon as yours is done. I will be the one to negotiate the ransom with the minister. You see, it's my voice that would be heard when I call him. I would be putting myself more at risk by talking to the man. The police might track me down from there."

"If that's the case, then why do you want us to risk our freedom for something that may fail?"

"With proper planning, it's not going to fail. That is why we have a whole month to do proper planning. Now listen to me carefully. This instructions are very important. The first thing you need to do is get a phone that is not Internet-enabled. Just a simple phone that has no GPRS. A phone without that would not have GPS, for that is what the police would use to track you down. Secondly, you must not for any reason use your SIM cards in these phones. A different SIM card that is not registered in your name must be used. In fact, use a card that is registered under the name of someone you do not know at all."

"How do we get those?" August asked.

"It's very easy to steal someone else's SIM cards. It takes hours before most people realise their SIM is gone from their phones. What they protect judiciously is their phones, not their cards - which are even more important than their phones. I'll advise you to go to a faraway place, preferably another state, where nobody knows you. Ask a random stranger to lend you their phone. You could say you want to make call or check your Facebook page. When the person isn't looking, remove the SIM. They usually have more than one SIM card in their phones. Pick one and return the phone. Then disappear from the scene as soon as possible.

"Alternatively, you can go into the streets and meet those guys who steal people's phones. They always have an abundance of SIM cards with them. And with just a little payment, you will get as many as you want, but you only need one. Don't be greedy. Greed is dangerous. Besides, you only need to incriminate only one careless person, if you get what I mean. You have between this month and the next to get the SIM card.

"On the day of the operation, you are each going to hand over your SIM cards to me. Your phones will have to be off on this day. You mustn't receive any call from anybody whatsoever. So I will keep your phones SIM cards with me until the operation is entirely successful. At the end of everything, you are going to burn the new SIM cards and the phones. Are you all up to the task?"

The three men were silent for a long time. Finally, they nodded their heads.

And so the plan to kidnap the wife of the minister was hatched. Within one month, the three men did exactly as they were instructed, except September who didn't bother to travel to a different state to get a SIM card. He approached an unsuspecting woman in the street and stole her SIM card.

On the day of operation, the three men waited in their car for the vehicle conveying the target to pass. At a secure location, they ambushed the car, overpowered the driver and transferred the woman into their car. She was blindfolded and driven to a secure location given in the instruction.

That same day, Calendar, using another person's SIM card, and a plain phone, placed a call to the minister. He claimed responsility for the disappearance of the minister's wife and demanded a ransom of fifty million naira.

"Call the police and your wife's head shall be sent to you in a box. I will call you tomorrow morning with further instructions. Make sure the cash is ready by the time I call." He cancelled the call.

"Why didn't you simply tell him to transfer the money to your account?" February asked.

"That would be a very foolish thing to do. The police would easily find me as soon as they have my banking details. And if they find me, they will find you too."

"But isn't collecting cash dangerous?" asked August, "The police might be hiding at the rendezvous point, waiting to grab you as soon as you appear."

Calendar smiled again. "I have considered every angle. There won't be any rendezvous point."

"Then how do you hope to collect the money?" asked September.

"By 10:AM tomorrow morning, I will call the man. I will tell him to drive out of his compound with the money. From there, I would give him instructions on where to go. Each one of you will stay at strategic bus stops. When he drives past you, your job is to call me. Then while he's still driving, I'll ask him to toss the bag out of the car without stopping. He will do that and continue driving. Even if the police are with him, they won't know anything. When he tosses the bag out and the car stops, that means that the police are with him. If he doesn't, then they're not. I'll give another few minutes before coming out to pick the bag. I'll wait the few minutes just to be sure that the police are not following behind him. Either way, we will be perfectly safe."

That was exactly how the plan was carried out. Calendar got the money and the four men met at their secluded locations. It was a clean job. The woman was released to her husband and the kidnapped shared the ransom. While February, August and September collected ten million naira each as agreed, Calendar kept the remaining twenty million naira for himself.

The SIM cards and the phones were burnt. The four men shook hands and they parted ways. They agreed never to meet again.

Three days after the job, February, August and September were arrested in connection to the kidnap of the wife of the minister. While they wondered how the police were able to catch them, it was revealed that their leader - The Calendar - was the traitor.

When he kept their phones, he had been using their SIM cards to call the minister. The police had traced the phone numbers to the three men.

While the men were awaiting trials, Calendar was having a good time with his wife in an expensive hotel suite. He was proud of himself for carrying out a perfect plan. The three men, and other innocent people, would rot in jail. Nobody knew his name or where he lived. In another six months, he would recruit three other men for another kidnap job. Nobody would say no to an offer of ten million naira. He would never go broke again.

He had told his wife that he had gotten a job in an oil company. She didn't need to know anything about what his actual occupation was.

That afternoon, the police broke into their suite and arrested his wife. Apparently, her phone number had been flagged in connection to the kidnap. Calendar could not believe what was happening.

It turned out that it was her SIM card that September had stolen in the street. She did not inform her husband about it because she didn't even realise it was gone. It was not her major SIM card anyway. With further investigations by the police, it was eventually revealed Mr Anthony Brown, the recently sacked gardener of the minister, was the leader of the gang.

©Larry Sun, July 2020

Flash 11: The Doppelganger

Akin was a popular figure in Irapada Village. He wasn't rich, or was he a chief, but he was well-known all around Irapada because he was a cheerful and polite young man.

And so when Akin was felled by a strange sickness, the entire villagers mourned his death. He had only seen thirty rainy seasons, and he had just married his childhood sweetheart - Olubunmi. The entire villagers had gathered in his compound the day he was being interred. There was no dry eye that day. His new wife had thrown herself over his corpse and had begged to be buried with him.

By dusk, Akin was buried and all who came to pay their last respects returned to their huts. Indeed a good man had gone, but life must continue.

However, a heavy rain fell the following day. It was the heaviest the villagers had ever witnessed. The rain fell for fourteen days. Crops were washed away by erosion, giant trees collapsed, many livestock drowned in the flood - but fortunately, there was no human casualty.

When the rain stopped on the fifteenth day, the sun shone brightly as if the entire village had not just suffered from a deluge, and it wasn't even the season of rain yet. When the oracles were consulted by the village's topmost occultist, it was revealed that the passing of Akin had really upset the gods.

The villagers tried to salvage what they had left and daily activities resumed as usual. The market opened and trade continued. But Olubunmi, Akin's widow, remained locked in her hut, grieving her loss. She would cry herself to sleep and wake up to resume the cries. Everyone believed that she would get over the death of her husband and move on with her life. It was only a matter of time. She was not the only young widow in Irapada Village, and she would not be the last.

A month later. The impossible happened. A stranger walked aimlessly into the village. He appeared at the village main market. On sighting him, the entire market became a bedlam. Everyone ran here and there. And in a few minutes, the entire market was deserted; only the stranger and the goods remained.

The stranger wondered why everyone had been running from him. While he continued wandering and approaching the village square, the king's palace was filled with villagers who had beheld the stranger.

"Kabiesi, the impossible has happened!" wailed an old trader who sold timber in the market.

"What do you mean?"

"We saw Akin!"

The king frowned. "Akin? Which Akin are you talking about?"

"The same Akin. The son of Agba-Akin who died many years ago."

"Are you talking about his son that died about thirty days ago?"

"Exactly, Kabiesi! We all saw him with our eyes!"

"The same Akin who left a beautiful widow behind?"

"He's the same one. We all saw him at the market."

The king shook his head. "But that's impossible. He's dead and buried. How could he be alive?"

"But he's alive!" insisted the man. "We all saw him!" He turned to the others. "Am I lying?"

The rest confirmed his statement.

"You must have seen someone else. It can't be Akin. Akin is dead. Did you not see his corpse when he died?"

"I was one of the people who placed him in the grave," the man admitted, "but I saw him."

"Maybe you saw his apparition. It happens, you know. The spirit of the dead are known to be frequently roaming."

"He's alive, Kabiesi."

"Okay. I will send some of my guards to the market. If they find him, they will bring him here. I won't believe anything you say until I see him for myself."

And so the king of Irapada Village sent some of his guards out in search of the ghost.

The stranger had just stepped into the village square when the guards found him and grabbed him. He couldn't fight free. He wondered why the men were holding him, and where they might be taking him.

When he was brought to the palace, the king almost ran away on sighting him. Every other person maintained a clear distance between themselves and him.

"Akin," the king called. "Is that you?"

But the stranger was staring at the king without giving any response.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?"

He still remained quiet.

The king continued to question him but he gave no reply. The others were staring at him with eyes filled with disbelief.

Finally, the stranger spoke. "I don't know who I am." He looked around and added, "Where is this place? Why am I here? Who am I?"

"Your name is Akin. You are the son of Agba-Akin, a successful trader. But you died in the last full moon. How come you are still alive?"

Akin looked up at the king. "I died?"

"Yes, you died. You even left behind a young wife. Look at these people here. They were all present at your funeral. They all saw your corpse. They watched you buried."

The stranger smiled briefly. "I have a wife?"

"Yes. She always cries in your hut and calls out your name with grief every night. Her name is Olubunmi. Do you remember her?"

The stranger shook his head. "I don't remember anything." He paused and said, "I want to see my wife."

While the stranger was detained in the palace, the king sent his guards to fetch Olubunmi from her hut. It was the last day of her widow confinement. The guards refused to tell her anything. The instruction they were given was only to bring her to the palace. As soon as the arrived at the palace, Olubunmi saw her dead husband and fainted.

The occultist, after consulting the oracles again, declared that the gods had decided to bring Akin back because he was a good man. It was what the gods did every one thousand years.

Akin was shown the grave where he was buried. The villagers told him how he died. They also reminded him about the person he used to be before his death. Gradually, Akin became his old self, and the villagers were grateful to the gods for returning the cheerful Akin to them.

Akin had five children with Olubunmi and they lived happily for another thirty years.

But he wasn't Akin. The villagers didn't know; neither did the king nor the occultist knew. He was simply a doppelganger. His name was Akanni. He lived in the city. He was travelling across town when he had an accident that caused him permanent amnesia. He got lost and wandered into Irapada Village.

Akanni never remembered that he had a pregnant wife in the city after his accident. Akanni and Adeola, his first wife, never saw each other again.

But thirty years later, after his death, Adisa, the first son of Akanni and Olubunmi, would also wander into the city and would be mistaken as Adigun, the grown-up child of Adeola, because Adigun had recently died too.

©Larry Sun, July 2020

Flash 10: The Believer

I was about twelve years old when the missionary came to our village. They had already built a school in a neighbouring village before they came to ours. And I attended this school; I had been attending it for many years. My father was the village's chief priest but he was wise enough to understand the value of western education. Perhaps the oracles had revealed to him that western education was the future of humanity.

When the missionary finally came to our village, they were about to convince a lot of the villagers to denounce their religious beliefs. They were doing it remarkably. With words, and words alone, they were able to make people destroy their shrines and believe in a Supreme Being that lives in the sky.

I remember them stepping into our compound. Apparently, they had succeeded in convincing the majority of the villagers, and my father, being the chief priest, needed to be convinced too. If they could turn the chief priest, the remaining few stubborn ones who still held on to their beliefs would fall in line.

As soon as the whitemen stepped into our compound, my father rushed into the hut and returned with a cutlass. Indeed, it was a sight to behold as the preachers ran for their dear lives, tripping on each other, falling and rising with renewed strength. Even as young as I was, I already understood that the men were weak. No one would threaten my father with a cutlass and he would run like that, yet these foreigners who claimed to be protected by an all-powerful God bolted at the sight of a mere cutlass.

I thought that was the last I would see of the foreigners, but I was wrong. I was on my way to the stream to fetch some water one afternoon when I was approached by one of the men who had come to convert my father. I recognised him as the leader of the group.

"Hello boy," he greeted pleasantly. "What is your name?"

"Tochukwu," I answered. I was fascinated by how long his nose was. It reminded me of the story of Pinocchio we were taught in school.

"Oh! You understand English."

"I attend Mayflower Primary School."

"Good. I guess I don't need a translator." He paused and stared at me. "Tochukwu. What does that name mean?"

"Praise God." I replied.

He chuckled and said, "You're the child of the chief priest, aren't you?"

"I am," I replied. "And you were one of those who came to our compound the other day."

He seemed embarrassed by my statement. He looked away briefly and stared back at me. "I want you to talk to your father."

I frowned. "Talk about what?"

"You need to convince him to accept Jesus into his life."

I knew who Jesus was; at least I thought I did. We were taught religious studies in school. It was a very important subject that we must not fail.

"Who is Jesus?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"Jesus Christ of Nazareth. He is the Son of God. The creator of heaven and earth."

"So why should my father accept this Jesus?"

"Because without Jesus, nobody can see the kingdom of God."

"What kingdom is that? Where is this kingdom?"

"It's in heaven. It's paradise. It's where the righteous go when they die. Anyone who does not have Jesus in his life will end up in hell where he will burn till eternity."

I stared back at the man and boldly asked: "What makes you think that your religion is superior to ours?"

"Christianity is the only true religion."

"I don't agree with you," I replied. "There is nothing about your religion that's better than our. To you, Jesus is the only link to God. The deities of our religion also convey our messages and requests to God. We have Amadioha, Agwu, Chi and other deities that convey our prayers to God. So, why should we denounce our religion and take yours?"

He was beginning to get uneasy. As he spoke, his nose seemed to grow longer. "You worship in shrines and carry various lifeless effigies of the small gods you worship."

"The same way you worship in churches and bow before the image of your Jesus and Mary. How is your religion different from ours? From your explanation, it's clear we worship the same God. We only believe in different prophets of God. You have your Jesus and we have our Amadioha. You have other prophets of God and we do too. In your stories, Jesus once lived in this world, same with our deities."

"The LORD said you should not worship any other god beside him. You lot worship your deities. You are going to hell if you don't repent."

"We worship God. We believe in Him. The deities are only messengers. We ask things through them just like you ask in the name of your Jesus."

The man shook his head. "It seems like you're a fanatic. Like your father, there's no changing your belief."

"I will adopt your religion and convince my father to do the same if you can give me a good reason why yours is superior. I have not been convinced so far, preacher."

"I hope you know the truth before it's too late for you, boy."

"I am not gullible. I will not accept your religion simply because you told me so. The fact that your skin is whiter than mine does not mean you are wiser. I feel sorry for the other villagers who chose to accept this foreign religion blindly. They are the ones who have lost their ways."

I picked up my waterpot and continued my journey to the stream, leaving the foreigner in the middle of road. I looked back at him, he was scratching his head.

After my father passed away. I became the chief priest. Even now that I am ninety years old, I have not strayed from my path. I know where I am going when I die. My creator and I already had that part figured out, I don't need you to preach to me. Worry about your own salvation.

I was born a traditionalist and I am going to die as one.

©Larry Sun, July 2020

Flash 9: Taken

Joe and Amanda had been married for two years. Their love was the purest, the truest. They could lay down their lives for each other. Neither of them had ever been with any other person. They were each other's first love. They shared the rarest kind of love. In this world of deception and betrayal, Joe and Amanda managed to find each other - they were the perfect couple. This love was sweet. They found paradise in each other's eyes. They thought this was never going to end.

But tragedy struck after their second year of marriage.

Amanda had cancer. It had been eating her up for a while; and by the time she was diagnosed, recovery was out of the question. Amanda was going to die.

After six months of the diagnosis, Amanda was bedridden. She had become a shadow of herself. The beautiful woman had been reduced to a fleshless wraight. But Joe never stopped loving her. He never stopped caring for her.

He took leave from work to take care of his dying wife. He would bathe her and clean her up. Each night she slept, Joe prayed she woke up the next morning. He would cry helplessly by her deathbed.

"God, please spare my wife," he would beg.

"Take me instead."

"She doesn't deserve to suffer this way. Amanda has the purest heart. Why are you punishing her this way?"

He would cry until he fell asleep beside her.

One night, he suddenly bolted awake to find a stranger by their bed. Fear gripped Joe's heart immediately.

"Who are you? What do you want? How did you get in?" He tried to see the intruder's face but it was shielded in a dark hood.

"Her time has come," the stranger spoke calmly.

"What are you talking about?" Joe was confused. "Whose time has come? Please leave my house right now before I call the police."

"I am the messenger of God. I have come to claim your wife's soul. Her time is nigh."

Fear immediately gripped Joe's heart. Something about the man sent coldness through his spine. He tried to wake up his wife but Amanda was not responding. He started crying again.

"Please don't take her from me!" He begged. "She's all I've got. Please spare my wife! I'm begging you! Don't let her die."

"It's her destiny. You're not meant to be together for long. You have to let her go. You will find another woman. Although your love would not be as perfect as this, you would be together till old age."

"I don't want another woman. I want only my Amanda. Please spare her."

The intruder shook his head and said. "You can't be together again. It's simply impossible. It's beyond my power. Her destiny is the design of the Almighty."

"Then take me instead!" Joe pleaded.

"It's not your time to die, Joe."

"Then do something. Spare her life, please!"

"There is only one thing I can do. I can reverse her destiny without altering God's design."

"Will she live?"

"Yes, she will live. Her sickness will disappear. You will both live for a long time."

Joe jumped up in happiness. "Thank you! Thank you so much."

"But you will never be together again."

"What!"

"The love you both share will evaporate. Every indication that you ever loved each other will disappear."

"But we got married. Everyone knows she's my wife."

"Nobody will know anything. The memory of both of you ever being together will not only evaporate from your wife's memory but also in the memories of everyone who knew both of you. All your wedding pictures, videos, love messages, romantic dates - everything will evaporate. You will become a total stranger to her."

"That's not fair!"

"Life is not fair. You want her life back, don't expect fairness. Now tell me, do you still want her to live knowing that she will not only stop loving you, she will also hate your guts?"

Joe was silent for a long time.

"Think deeply about it," the messenger urged. "Take your time."

"What about my memories of us?" Joe asked, "Would they also evaporate?"

The figure shrugged. "Yes. You will also hate her."

Tears ran down Joe's cheeks. "She's the love of my life."

"If you want, I can leave you with the memory. But I'd advise you to allow me wipe every trace of her from your mind. The memories will only bring you sadness."

"I love her. I wish you knew how much I love her. If the memories are the only things I would have left of her, please let me keep them. I am not ready to let her go."

"Then so be it."

Joe fell back to the bed and slept off.

The next morning, Amanda was not beside him. He searched everywhere for her but couldn't find her in the house. Everything about her had disappeared. It was as if she never existed. He ran out of the house. There was no sign of her. He checked his phone for her number, but couldn't find it.

He called his friend Andrew.

"Please have you seen my wife today?" Joe asked.

"Wife? Are you drunk?"

"Please answer my question," Joe said urgently.

"What's wrong with you, man? You've never been married. You don't even have a girlfriend."

Joe cancelled the call immediately. It was true after all. Amanda had disappeared.

Then he remembered. He had every memory of her. He knew her phone number off hand. He quickly dialled the number.

"Hello, who is this?"

"Amanda. It's me Joe."

"Joe? Who is Joe?"

"The same Joe. Your husband."

"Is this a joke?"

"No, I'm really your husband, Amanda!"

"You must be crazy."

She cancelled the call.

But Joe never gave up. He continued trying to locate her. She was his wife. He wasn't going to back down suddenly. He would make her remember. He found her on Facebook. She was using her maiden name, not her married name. He sought her out in her home.

But just as the messenger of God had said, Amanda hated him. She never wanted to see him.

A few weeks later, Joe attended Amanda's wedding. Tears fell down his face as he watched her kiss another man. She had looked at the man the same special way she had looked at him on their wedding day.

Today, Joe is in a mental facility. Everyone believes he has gone mad.


©Larry Sun, July 2020