₦airaland Forum

A swig could also be taken from the gin bottle, 'swipe' is...well, kleptomanially sounding

When it comes to critiques, Ishilove is an idols. Hell! I didn't notice all those, except of course, the 'redhead'. That one was stretched a bit thin. Eno, I believe, isn't a mulatto. The red hair couldn't have come from its original source. Ask Obsession and Amigos

Rap maestro: A stylish way and excuse to pull out, shey? @you

At who? Me? Not in a million year! I haven't even contributed

Foxy_Ultimate: I wanted to pass too and ignore you but I couldn't help it. Everybody has his own fun side but are one serious dude that looks more like a sadist. Sorry to ask, but men... How do you make friends?

If you've got any beef with me, tell it straight to my face. Stop meandering, you're older than that.

Great job. Although bodily developed, Chilo isn't mentally, I presume.

Uniquexty: This house is now boring.

I've got a perfect reply for this statement, but the speaker wouldn't like it, so I'll pass.

Foxy_Ultimate: When Larry... Efe and HBG dey form boss why e no go boring. If we wan catch fun, dem go carry dia head dey come form seriousness... Mtchw

I don't form seriousness. I'm always serious when I need to. You cannot expect a clown in everybody.

Foxy_Ultimate: Na me be next?

Larry please repost the remaining writers....

Quickly please

Frosti: Chapter Eleven (March 23, 2013)

Senbonzakura_kayegoshi: Chapter Twelve (March 27, 2013)

Foxy_Ultimate: Chapter Thirteen (March 31, 2013)

Mynd_44: Chapter Fourteen (April 4, 2013)

Since we don't know Senb's whereabout, I'll suggest you begin preparing for your own time, Foxy.

Frosti: Thanks very much for the compliments, Sir. Coming from you, that's real huge. **takes a needle and punctures own swollen head**

Corrections noted.

You're welcome.

Very great job, Frosti. I really did enjoy reading your chapter. Revealing, suspense-filled and smooth. Kudos, sir.

I noticed some few errors, which I outlined/corrected (according to how I see them) below. Please make necessary corrections. I'll revisit the second part of your post later. Thanks.

Bless you, sir.

Frosti: Chapter 11
The Awakening
Submitted by Frosti
(The title and author's submission name should be bolded.)
____________________________________

Someplace, Sometime (bold)

He awoke with a start and tentatively opened an eye. He could not immediately place where he was and felt instantly disoriented. He felt very dry and light, like he had no real substance. It was quite eerie but yet still(yet or still, not both) sublimely peaceful. He felt at home, like he had been here before or his very being was attuned to it.

Picking himself up from where he lay, he decided to survey his environment. All around him shone white and bare. There were no trees, buildings or any sort of landmarks in sight. The was even no sun in the white sky. Just white sand on the ground stretching as far as the eyes could see into the bleak white horizon.

Where am I? Is this a dream or a nightmare? Am I dead? Where is everybody? Why is everywhere so white? What is this place? These, and a thousand and one other questions raged through his mind as he looked around him.

After sitting, contemplating and waiting for answers that were not forthcoming, he decided to explore more of his surroundings. As his bare feet crunched on the cool white sand, he walked off into the white horizon, his white robe billowing in the slight wind.
______________________________________________________

Gold Cross Hospital, Ikoyi Lagos
08:30hrs(bold)

Dr Kaboon was having a very shitty day. His wife's incessant nagging got to a new feverish pitch today just because he refused to give her money to purchase a very unnecessary piece of jewelry which she said many of her friends had possessed/bought, and which she too wants(wanted) to own. Damnable woman. Didn't she have enough jewelry already? He could remember the small fortune he spent on the diamond necklace he got her for her birthday just a few months back(earlier). And now she is giving him hell for this? His darling wife has totally changed from the soft-spoken woman he met and fell in love with(It is unethical to end a sentence with a preposition if it can be otherwise done. E.g. His darling wife has totally changed from the soft-spoken woman he had met and with whom he had falled in love). It was all he could do to hold himself and his anger and leave the house without beating her(Leaving the house was all he could do to resist beating her up). He left the house on an empty stomach.

And now this idiot Pyguru is also giving him hell. Dr. Kaboon would have given anything not to have to work under the same roof as his colleague, Dr Pynto Okuwati aka Pyguru aka Royal-Pain-in-the-Ass. His pomposity was way too high and totally undeserved. How could someone be so full of himself, yet know so little? It was a puzzle Dr. Kaboon was not sure he was ready to find out(solve/tackle/decipher) yet. Maybe he will have to ask some of his Psychology colleagues later.

“I am telling you, Kaboon, that the patient in Room 004 should be moved to ward 2. I think it will be better if he is removed from isolation."

Why must this idiot have to use his surname, Kaboon? Couldn't he just call him Tijani or even Tj as some do? To say Kaboon was irritated was a gross understatement.

"No Pyguru, the patient is in that particular room for a reason. That is the only room that has the necessary equipment to treat catatonic patients. The MRI scan of his brain shows extensive damage to his cerebral cortex. He requires close attention and monitoring."

"He is essentially a vegetable. He needs to be moved from that room so that it can be used for urgent and much more hopeful cases. Or maybe we can even transfer him to another hospital."

From which planet did this guy come from? Dr Kaboon had to focus in order to control his anger and his face passive and his voice cool. At this rate people around him were pissing him off, he wondered how long he would be able to hold himself. Maybe he should see an anger management therapist. He mentally added that to his to-do list.

"For the umpteenth time, Pyguru, that patient stays put where he is. His bills are being taken care of and they come from somewhere far above our paychecks, from the hospital Administrator(administrator, the majuscule isn't necessary). This conversation is over. You may leave now."

"What of the other matter concerning the nurses’ welfare package?"

"I have work to do now. I will take it up with the Administrator later."

Pyguru mumbled a last retort as he banged the door after him. Maybe one of these days, I will just ........(the ellipsis shouldn't contain more than three dots), thought Dr Kaboon as he buried his head in the patients reports files in his in-tray. As the head consultant out of the 6 doctors at Gold Cross Hospital, one of the perks of his high position was that he could he(delete, repitition) could overrule Pyguru and ignore his ramblings. But it also meant he was the one to peruse the patients’ reports in the morning before sending them to the required sections and doctors. And it was not light work.

He was still perusing the reports 30 minutes later when he heard a soft knock at his office door.

"Come in",(the comma should stay in the quote) he said.
And in glided a nurse. She smiled at him.
"It is time for you to do your patient rounds, Doc."
"Thank you, Nurse Veronica, lemme just tidy up".(same here) He smiled back at her. Nurse Veronica was one of his favourite nurses.
"The patient in Room 004 has really stabilized and his vitals are showing strong signals, though he is still in coma."
"Good. I will check on him too."
"Anything else I could do for you, Doc? You don't seem too bright a today."
Yes, don't quit smiling, thought Dr Kaboon.
"Yes, hold these files and accompany me on the rounds. I am having a pretty shitty day and could do with your charming presence."

He had once flirted with the dark skinned beautiful nurse and since then she had been making advances towards him. Advances he had of course refused because he didn't want to hurt his marriage and his wife and their two kids(when talking about his marriage, you're still referring to his wife and two kids, therefore, the conjunction you employed is inappropriate. Revise). Maybe it was time to revisit this other option. He smiled as an image of his nagging wife crossed his mind. Banishing the image, he decided to concentrate on the sweet smiling face before him.

"Let's go."
Locking up his office, he followed the heavy swaying hips down the hallway. Maybe the day will not be that bad after all.
____________________________________________________________________

Same morning. Police State Command Headquarters.(Bold)

Inspector David was excited. The source of his excitement could be seen flapping in his hands. It was an envelope addressed to the police Criminal Investigation Department, and in the envelope were some photocopied autopsy reports. The real autopsy reports of the death of Tracy Oluwami, Chief Koko's daughter and(not 'and' but 'who is also') Lucan's girlfriend and fiancée.

The autopsy reports showed the real cause of death to be cyanide poisoning and also showed the real time of death. It also made note of the small needle hole at the back of her head.

This new development just blew the case wide open and he could now prove the innocence of his dear friend, Lucan. He thanked his stars that whoever sent in the envelope had decided to address it to the CID, who knew what could have happened to the envelope if it was addressed to another department of the police, especially with all the corruption in the force.

He knew he had to share this information with someone he could trust. Picking up his phone, he decided to call Sharon, Lucan's Lawyer(lawyer) and his lover. He and Sharon had decided that they knew each other well enough to drop their platonic relationship and try something much more intimate. They had made love a couple of times.

Sharon picked up at the first ring.
"Sweets, I got great news! Are you currently busy?"
"Baby No(no), today has been a slow day at the Chambers here. What happened?"
"I got something great. I think Lucan's case just blew wide open(*blew wide open* the phrase is becoming to sound monotonous). I am coming right over to your office to pick you up so that we can really strategise on what to do. Am(I'm) also getting a bottle of champagne."
"Okay baby, I will be waiting." Sang Sharon.

Ten minutes later, David was easing his 3-year old dark green Toyota Carina out of the garage and into the street. In his excitement, he failed to notice the sleek black car that entered the road three car lengths behind him.
_________________________________________

Same Time. Police State Command Head Quarters(Bold)

Like Inspector David of the CID, Asst(write it out in full) Chief Inspector Jay Brown aka(alias...aka is wrong) JayB also received an envelope an envelope with the same contents. But unlike David, JayB was not a happy man. He had an open-and-shut case before him and had even shuttered investigations pending when and if Lucan recovered from his gunshot injuries. With this new unwarranted evidence, he was staring at the full possibility of having haunted a possibly innocent man to his present state. Damn you anonymous tipster. He caused(cursed) silently.

He looked at the envelope and it’s(its) contents again. It was quite a nondescript envelope, the type you could get at any bookshop for a few naira. The stamp on it showed on it(error) showed that it was posted outside Lagos (smart**Smart** bastard, he caused**cursed** again). It was addressed to the officer in charge of the case involving the murder of Chief Koko and Tracy Oluwami and had just a PO Box(P.O. Box) as the returnee's address. He instinctively knew the PO Box will(would) be fake.

Picking up the intercom, he requested Sgt(write it out) James Aproko to report ASAP.
Within the minute, Sgt Aproko was in his office and saluted smartly.

“You called sir?”
“Yes. I want you to take this envelope to Forensics department. I want them to run a complete test on it and it’s(its) contents – fingerprints, DNA, the full works. I also want you to check the PO Box on the envelope. I also(remove 'also') want a full background check done on all the workers at Dr. Suleiman’s Funeral Parlor.
“Yes Sir! But the background check will take some time”.(put the period in the quote)
Then get on it. I want to know if this is real or just some or just a plank(I want to know if this is real or otherwise). I want your report on my desk ASAP. Dismissed!”
Saluting smartly, Sgt Aproko wheeled out of the office.

JayB was indeed not a happy man. The events of the past few days had not been very favourable at all. His boss, Chief Inspector Ibe, had been killed and while he was still trying to locate the killer(s), a new boss had been fostered on. This new boss had then proceeded to close the damn case as non-solvable(unsolveable). And coupled with the half dozen homicides of recent, no sane man could be happy.

He sighed as he opened the file on his desk. Two idiots had caused a brawl during a football match involving two European clubs and had proceeded to wreck the match viewing(match-viewing, or simply viewing centre) centre. One person had died and 6 more sustained injuries of varying degrees in the fracas that ensured(ensued). He sighed again. It was indeed going to be a long day.
_________________________________________________________________________

Jakende Low-Cost Housing Estate 9:06 hours(Bold)

Tope felt good with himself. He knew he had done something noble. After successfully fending off Mrs. Ajoke by showing her a wrong envelope and telling her he had no such document, he had boarded a bus to a post office in a small town outside Lagos. There, he had made two more copies of the autopsy reports. One copy he had addressed to the police CID and then another to the officer in charge of the murder case of the girl in question. He then breathed a sigh of relief.

He was now back in his one-roomed, self-contained apartment(however, no self-contained apartment is one-roomed. Revise) and was now perusing a copy of his favourite book on the human anatomy. He knew he was going to get an A1 on his internship report. Thank you Lord for your mercies and kindness, he silently prayed.
__________________________________________________________________________

brokoto: I noticed some errors on HBGs post. Is it too late to make corrections? I just read it today.

It's not late.

Where is Senbonzakura_kayegoshi? He's the next writer to update after Frosti. I expected him to have started biting Frosti's pate off for eating a part of his own pie. But as usual, he's gone off the grid. What shalt me do?

Frosti, why are you doing this? You're already eating into someone else's time!

Firstly, write out your first draft, even if it's less than twenty pages. But the second draft will multiply. Trust me. And make extensive research. My first book,The Brand Of Cain, was just about twenty thousand words when I finished the first draft. The second draft jumped up to fifty-five and I was very glad. But the third and last draft gave me over a hundred thousand words. I know that may be less than three hundred pages, but it still counts for something.

However, the most important is not how much pages you've written but how much you've been convincing. Not how far, but how well.

Bless you.

Try to space your paragraphs. Doing that will make for easier readings.

Rap maestro: Back 2 business, wey frosti?

I have absolutely no idea. Perhaps he's busy discussing with the jail-break, hospital-break, bullet-skulled Lucan Ode. But when he returns, I'll surely chastise him.

Mynd, I see thou.

Your days approachette fast

Frosti, we are still waiting o.

Mazi_Omenuko: Any dkkk for chilo yet? I can help you out in that regards

God of mercy! Mazi, if you keep at these 'helping's, you may end up with a distended membrum virile.

I'd rather wait for the prose contest. I'm a total klutz at poetry.

And, longest of times, Wunmi. How have you been? You went totally off NL.

Efemena_xy: I see.

Thank you very much.

Maturedly replied.

However, Frosti...your chapter is a WOW for the moment, though some errors are heretofore noticed, but the reading glides smoothly. Bidding for more.

brokoto: its some sci-fi shite about a dream within a dream within a dream...just like a writer writing about a writer writing about a writer. Kapish?

Yeah! Kapish. Thanks.

brokoto: What's the name of that Justin Timberlake movie again

Inception? Hmmm. Larry!

I've not watched that movie. I'll find it and watch, just to understand my Bro better

luvmijeje: Larry,I luv ur last updates,maybe becos I luv Ariel.
In chp 3,I'm thinking u should state how Daniel knew the first 10 men were not the one he was looking for.
Well done.

Thanks, this last one is rife with errors; I posted it with slumber clouding my senses. I'll correct them.

Oh! Thank you, you're quite right. I should really explain the first ten men.

Sipping Nescafé Three-In-One coffee, his favourite drink, and rereading the chapter he had drafted the previous day. He made a lot of pencil corrections in his notepad before he switched on his computer laptop to enter the changes. Ariel mostly preferred writing his chapters on paper before using the Word Processor. The feeling of having a pen in his hand was enough inspiration, he liked the smell of ink, and writing itself brought him slews of interesting ideas.

After fudging with the computer system for about half an hour, he shut down the laptop and closed it. He would have loved to continue though; he still hadn't finished typing the written scripts, but the battery was already giving warning signals. There had been no power supply for close to eighteen hours. Remembering that he had promised himself to complete the chapter he was writing this morning, he pulled out his drawer and selected his favourite ballpoint pen. He took a candle out of a packet. He lighted it, let a little wax pour into a saucer and struck the candle firmly onto it.

Books were stacked higgledy-piggledy on the floor. Barbara Cartland, Frank Yerby, Daphne du Maurier, Elsie Lee, like that. Romantic novels. Gothics. Edwardians. Regencies. Women with long glittering, low-cut gowns. Men with moustaches, wearing open, ruffled shirts and carrying swords. Castles in dark mountains with one light burning in a high window. Most of these elements of literary romance belonged to the deceased Ella. Ariel himself, like Ella, was also a romance novel aficionado who fancied the historic offerings of the genre. He sometimes saw himself as the guys on the colourful covers, often named Thor, a Viking with a stomach that resembled an old woman's grinding stone and a chest that was often continued on the back covers. Ariel, in the guise of Thor, raided towns and ravished beautiful women from Morocco to Spain and back again in a century somewhere between the fall of an ancient Rome and the rise of the Protestant reformation. Evidently, this was not healthy reading for a man years past puberty, but Ariel's interest in the genre was more of a literate endeavour than a perusal of Victoria's Secret catalogues. Even romance dominated a large percentage of his books, both written and unwritten. Ariel had read more novels than the average human; good ones and bad ones alike. As much as he had read some great books he also had read a shitload of silly stories, and most of them were probably just made up by silly novelists trying to make some silly cash while they peddled their silly manuscripts to silly publishers.

Ariel held his hand poised; ready to write, but nothing came. Writer's block again. Most times, when Ariel experienced the block, he got away from his writing table to relax himself. He sometimes could go for days without revisiting, and when he did, he always impressed himself with what he came up with. He had experienced the same creative impasse this morning and he had refused to go off for days anymore, he had promised himself that he was going to finish today that chapter he had been writing for over a week past, he was sure that when he returned to the script in the evening, he would pen something brilliant and impressive, something that would match those he had often written after every usual block in the past. Ariel was afraid that he would have to break the promise he had made to himself. All his life, he had never broken a promise; not to anyone, not to himself.

At fifteen, in the first year of his senior class, he had carried the tenth position out of twenty students in the class. The boy who carried the first position had laughed most particularly at Ariel, his sworn foe, after seeing Ariel's report card. He had taunted, insulted and made jest of him. With eyes red with fury and humiliation, Ariel had promised the boy that come next term he, Ariel, would be the one carrying the first position. The boy had laughed at him so hard that he had to be carried out of the class. The promise he made to the boy, he also made to himself.

The next term came, Ariel studied like he had never done before. He forsake novels, which was the hardest addiction for him to give up at the time, and picked up his class textbooks. He studied every subject extensively. He took extra coachings, completed the notes he had been too lazy to write, listened attentively to class teachings and asked questions on topics he did not understand. Lo, when his result was released, all his teachers were amazed; Ariel came first. Undisputedly. Shamefully, the bully, who came in the second-place withdrew from the school. Ariel kept to his promise that term; if he hadn't carried that first position, he'd promised to hang himself by the mango tree planted in his neighbour's backyard, he had gotten the noose ready when he was expecting the result. The third term, he maintained his average position, at least he didn't promise to always carry the first position forever. His classmates had blamed him thereafter for causing the shameful withdrawal of their best student.

Then, suddenly, like a bolt lightning of which lacked the preceeds of thunder, his idea came. And he almost leapt with joy. He was going to turn one of his characters into a writer! The idea had erupted from the errors he had made in the previous chapters; errors which he didn't catch before, even after reading them for gazillion of times. In Chapter 9, he wrote that a girl took a cab because it was raining heavily. Two chapters earlier he had described the same night as crisp and clear with a full moon shinning. Contrary chapters. In Chapter 11, the muscled but dumbest one of the gang of thieves, a real mor*n, said, 'I have a feeling of deja vu'. How the goodness would a mor*n know what deja vu means? Chapter 15, the policeman was moustached. Policemen generally should be clean-shaven. The bank manager was broke. That was quite silly. Chapter 16, the rich billionaire was as ugly as a vulture. Unnecessary cliché. Chapter 17, the catheral was rolled carefully. How many people knew that ganja was called cathedral? Chapter 18, the gun went Aachoo! Since when does a gun go Aachoo? B*ng, maybe. Or blam. A gun could snap, or pop, or roar, or thunder. But Aachoo? Always sounded like a sneeze. All these and more, Ariel suddenly noticed. Hence the need to turn one of the characters into a writer. A part of him was telling him that he had suddenly become Mr. Waziri, the insane publisher. But he knew it was not true. He was so glad at this sudden inspiration that he was immensely proud of himself. This character was going to have all the adventures he had not. He was going to write what appealed to him, no matter what the publishers or critics may say contrarily.

He was happy at the impressive way his pen was now dancing on the paper and he smiled as he wrote. The ideas were flowing now, there was nothing going to stop him tonight; he was going to complete this chapter today. Of course, changing one of his characters was going to affect the previous chapters and the plights of other characters, but he already had a medicine for that, thankfully. He would finish this chapter first, then make the necessary corrections and changes in the previous chapters later. He wrote and wrote, stacks were piling, pages increased and words multiplied. His phone rang but he ignored it. Nothing! Absolutely nothing was going to stop me, he decided, with grim determination. Not even if my pair of trousers was on fire. He gave a second thought about that, perhaps he would take a few minutes to extinguish the fire before it burned his cojone, then continue writing. There was no sense in having a burnt organ due to stubborness.

He wrote for over an hour, and the candle was beginning to burn out. By the time he finished the chapter and dropped his pen, the clock struck midnight and his phone carried seventeen missed calls; he wasn't even aware that the phone had rung seventeen times. And he had a text message. When he checked the missed call, the number was hidden. And the message read:

Your parents await you for Christmas. Come home.