₦airaland Forum

The Stone Wall

Living life is like playing tennis with a wall – you get served back by what you serve it. I have no one to blame but myself. I threw – no – I smashed the metaphorical ball against the stone wall and it bounced back to hit me on the face. Karma is the stone wall.

Martina had died because I had caused her death with my action; and the regret would live with me for the rest of my life. However, let me narrate my tale of doom from the beginning, maybe some other persons would learn not to long for my kind of shoes just because they looked fanciful.

It happened two months ago when I met Martina for the first time. I had just been offered the job of a surgeon in the only private hospital in my community, and so I had deemed it proper to celebrate this by having a nice time at the cinemas. I had treated myself to an emotional movie and lots of popcorns when I saw her sitting two rows away from me. I couldn’t reach her. I had to wait till the end of the movie. Coming out of the cinemas after the movie, I sighted her at the other side of the road. Everything about who I was – my original personality – had evaporated at the sight of her. She was absolutely stunning, and all I could think about was how to talk to her.

Then just as I was about to cross the road, I saw a middle-aged man collapse beside me. He had a teenage son of about seventeen years old with him. The elderly man was having what seemed like an asthmatic attack. This teenage son was weeping and screaming for help. People circled round the suffering man and his weeping son; no one knew what to do, and rather than helping, some were taking shots with their phones. I knew I was the only person there who could save the man but I was in a quandary. I had the choice to either save the man and lose the chance of meeting the lady, or go after the lady and leave the man to his unfortunate fate. I had to make a decision fast, time was running out. The lady was about to get on the bus and the man was losing consciousness. I had to choose between my civic duty and my pursuit of love – morality versus emotion. I took a selfish decision and crossed the road.

Well, my action paid off. I caught up with the bus just at the last moment it was about to pull out. I was lucky to find a space beside her and pitched a romantic tent there. That was how the love story of Martina and I had begun. I was the perfect guy for her, and she the right woman for me. By the time we got off the bus, I had forgotten about the man I had refused to help.

I resumed work the following Monday feeling as lucky as ever; my life was finally complete – I had found both my dream job and my dream woman at almost the same time. In a few years, Martina and I would live in a grand home and reproduce like rabbits. Life could not be more pleasant. Getting on the bus appeared to be the best decision I had ever made. I knew I only had to jump and I would be flying. My first day at work was splendid, I carried out my duties effectively; I performed successful surgeries on few patients, but unfortunately, I couldn’t work on those who couldn’t afford to pay for their treatments. I wished there was something I could do about them but there wasn’t. That was the rule of the hospital; you had to pay first before getting treated.

Then two months later, a hit-and-run victim was wheeled into the hospital in the evening of a Saturday. She was severely wounded; I almost didn’t recognize her – she was Martina, my Martina! I felt coldness play xylophone with my spine, rage violin with my arteries, and fear talking drum with my heart; I was a biological embodiment of a musical paranoia. I couldn’t think straight. I was in a panic, close to losing my equilibrium. I could not stop the trembling in my hands, or halt the progressively obvious tic that drew down my lower lip in short, abrupt spasms. I was close to losing my temper, if not my sanity. Who had done this? But now wasn’t the time for questions. All I knew at the moment was that kind passers-by who had witnessed the accident had brought her. I settled her medical bills as quickly as I could and rushed into the theatre but I was prevented from treating her on the basis that I was emotionally unfit for the job.

And so, instead of me, Doctor Thomas – a very clumsy surgeon – was assigned to carry out the surgery. I was outside looking through the window, watching as the doctor did a poor job on my Martina. And of course, the operation was unsuccessful. Martina died during surgery. I watched her lifeless mangled body and cried bitterly. I had met her at a movie theatre and lost her in an operating theatre.

The next day, the hit-and-run driver was caught. It was the teenager whose father was having an asthmatic attack. He had driven his father’s old pick-up truck to sell it to another man because that was the only way he could afford his father’s medical bills; and he had left Martina’s battered body in his wake.

Two days after Martina’s death, I was called back to the hospital to treat a patient because Doctor Thomas was on leave. The patient was the unconscious man I had refused to help two moths earlier. His bills had been paid and I had to treat him.

I didn’t even deserve to mourn my loss.

THE FALCONIAN MISSION

One thing about spies is that you never really know who they work for. And indeed, sometimes, even spies themselves don’t know who they really work for.
It had been over twenty-four hours since our cover was blown. A lot of pains had been inflicted on us, but somehow, it seemed as if they were not going to kill us. There must be a reason they were still keeping us alive; for I knew that being caught as spies meant instant deaths, but here we were, still alive for an unknown reason.

The door of the dark room we were kept in suddenly opened and three armed soldiers stepped in; their faces were shielded in black stocking masks – this was done to hide their identities. The light from the corridor gave me the chance to see my partner who was held there with me; he had been beaten so bloody that he was almost unrecognizable. TJ was a strong soldier who could take more beatings than any other soldier I had ever known; but he seemed to have taken too much of that now.

As the three soldiers stepped into the room, I thought they had come to finish what they had started; they must have been sent by their superiors to shoot us dead. There was no point keeping us alive anymore. But we were not shot. Instead, I was grabbed by the men and taken out of the room. At the entrance, just before being dragged away, I looked towards my partner and raised my little finger at him. I was relieved when he managed to return the gesture. None of the soldiers noticed this brief communication between us. Between me and TJ, the middle finger was our code for everything is fine. Two soldiers dragged me down the corridor while the third soldier stayed with my partner in the room. I prayed the soldier wasn’t going to shoot my friend.

I was taken into a brightly-lit room where the mean Colonel Danjuma sat. This man had been behind a lot of bomb attacks in the country. Our mission had been to infiltrate this cabal and kill the Colonel, but we were caught before TJ and I could carry out the mission.
The Colonel sat comfortably behind a large desk and two armed but unmasked soldiers stood guard on either side of him. He was smoking a large cigar and blowing an equally large smoke.

“You are Santana, right?” he asked, his expression deadly, “The spy who was sent to kill me?”

Rather than reply, I glared at him. I wasn’t going to appear weak before this killer. There was nothing I could say anyway; my cover had been blown. All I could do now was to await my ultimate judgement.

“Anyway,” said Danjuma, “I have my own assignment for you. This is midday, in six hours’ time, I expect you to bring me the head of the Falcon.”

I looked up in shock. Falcon was the code-name for our superior. He was the person who recruited me and assigned this mission to TJ and I. Because Colonel Danjuma had always remained elusive to the authorities, the Federal Government had required the stealth service of the Falcon to help in killing Danjuma and end all the attacks.

“I’m not going to do that,” I said, “Nothing will make me do it.”

Danjuma smiled unkindly, “I knew you were going to say that, but you have limited choices. The only way to avoid being brutally killed by my soldiers is by doing what I demand of you. If you refuse or disappear, your partner will be killed; and I know you won’t try to disappear because your partner means a lot to you. He’s like a brother to you. You have to decide: the Falcon or the partner. You have six hour to carry out the mission. Good luck.” The soldiers took me away.

I took an hour to think about the mission. If I refused to kill the Falcon, the Colonel would kill me and TJ. I wasn’t afraid to lose my life but I couldn’t bear losing TJ; his life now hanged in the balance. TJ was more than a friend; he had become a brother. He was the only person in the world I cared about. To keep my brother alive, I had to kill the Falcon. I had no choice. The Falcon was a title though; if he was killed, another would replace him. Besides, if I didn’t kill the Falcon, Danjuma would just send another mercenary in my stead; especially now that our cover had been blown and he knew who his enemy was. The Falcon was already dead, anyway, whether I carried out the mission or not.

And so I returned to the Falcon, killed him and brought his head back to the Colonel just before my six-hour ultimatum elapsed. The Colonel was pleased.

“You are a true soldier,” he said excitedly, “you belong under my wings.”

“Where’s my partner?” I asked. All I wanted was to take TJ and get the hell out of there.

“Oh! Your partner,” he signaled to the three masked soldiers, “Take him to his partner.”

TJ was still in the same position he was when I was taken away; his face was still bloody but there was a bullet hole on his forehead. TJ was dead.

I screamed like a burning witch. I roared like an enraged lion. I nearly ran mad with anger. Then something totally unexpected happened; one of the soldiers was raising his little finger at me. The little finger! I took a closer look at the corpse in the chair – he wasn’t TJ! I immediately knew what had happened. Without waiting a second later, I attacked the soldier closest to me, and my ally shot the other soldier in the face. It was a joy to see my partner remove his mask and reveal himself.
“Hello buddy,” he smiled at me.

I looked at him sadly, “I’m sorry. The mission is off. I was made to kill the Falcon.”

TJ shook his head and said, “No, the mission is still on.”
“The Falcon is dead!”

“Is he?” he asked as he removed his left boot and revealed his bare foot to me. On his foot was the tattoo of a bird...a falcon!

“You’re the real Falcon?” My astonishment knew no bounds.

“I am,” he replied as he handed me one of the soldiers’ guns, “Now let’s go and kill all the bastards, starting with Colonel Danjuma.”

Chapter 1

I

(Update 2)

The 2nd Meeting

Maria, at ten years old, usually struck those who saw her for the first time as a frail shabby little thing, until they took note of her beauty – and every other defect would fall in the background of her personality. It was sad that she had only two dresses to wear since the last two years; even the ones she had now were getting too small for her, but there was nothing to be done about it. Maria grew up in an orphanage that rarely received any donations from the public. Matron Nene had been trying her best to keep the place afloat for the past fifteen year; but it had not been easy for her. Clothing was unimportant when she had to put food on the table for over fifty girls.

Matron Nene was the mother of many kids but she had never conceived of a child before. She had been married for forty years but never had a child of her own. She and her husband had continued hoping for the fruit of the womb until the man gave up hope and committed suicide fifteen years ago. The pressure from family members and friends, including the shame of attending the naming ceremony of his peers’ grandchildren, had driven him to hang himself by a mango tree in the backyard of their bungalow. Something in him had snapped and had made him think that life was meaningless without a child. Many had advised him to try his luck with another woman but he would not hear of it. The man was a faithful husband to the core. He considered infidelity an abomination. All his life, he had slept with only one woman, and that woman was his wife. He was a man who lived his whole life by the book; he never did anything unethical. Even while he was courting, he didn’t break his virginity until the wedding night when he consummated the marriage in the traditional way. It was only unfortunate that a child never came.

The desperation for an offspring might lead a seeker through an immoral path. While the husband upheld the sanctity of marriage, against all odds, the wife was not so faithful. Although the pressure from her side didn’t drive her to suicide like it did her husband, she sought the warmth of other men instead without the consent or awareness of her husband. She was ready to have a child by any means possible, even if it required giving a bastard child to her husband; still, no pregnancy came forth. At first, she had thought her husband was the infertile one – even though doctors had assured them beforehand that they were both medically-fine – but she started having doubts. After various escapades with other men on bed without any result, she started thinking that she might indeed be the barren one. Filled with so much guilt for her infidelity, she begged her husband to try other women but the man remained adamant, until he was found dangling from the backyard tree early the next morning.

Nene had been devastated by her husband’s suicide. She blamed herself for the tragedy. She believed her husband had killed himself because he discovered her infidelity. The shame of not having a child was enough, and the realization that other men of the community had seen his wife’s unclothedness was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. These were all what she had thought, but they weren’t. The man killed himself because he couldn’t cope with external pressure. While her husband was being buried, Nene swore that no man would ever see her unclothedness again. And so she refused to marry, and resigned herself to the fact that she would never have her own child till she died.

But fate had a different plan for her. Two months after her husband’s death, a newborn was discovered abandoned at a dump-yard. Inhabitants of the community had found no one more fitting to take care of the child than the lonely Aunty Nene whom everyone knew needed a child more than anything else. She had received the bundle of joy with happiness. She treated the child like her own. Everyone in the community had been happy for her. For the first time in many years, Aunty Nene had been genuinely happy. They started calling her Mama Precious after she had named the baby girl. At this time, however, she was past menopause, so she saw no reason to think about remarrying. No matter what she did, she was never to conceive. All she had to channel her attention now was on the child – Precious. At least, she had a child to call her own; she would never be lonely again. Before the end of the year, another child was found dumped in a gutter. The baby was taken to Aunty Nene. She was the only person in the whole community who could take proper care of another person’s unwanted child. Nene accepted the baby gladly. It was another baby girl. Her blessing had doubled.

And so it was that every abandoned female child found was usually taken to Mama Precious. Far and wide, people heard of a woman who was willing to take in every neglected child. Abandoned babies from every part of the city were being deposited at the doorstep f Matron Nene. After five years, Nene had had about a dozen children growing under her wings. She was proud of it. She worked long and hard to provide food for the children. The only external help she received was when the state commissioner decided to build a bigger place for her and named it the local government home for abandoned female children; Matron Nene would accept only female kids. The male children were taken to other orphanages within the state, or, in some cases, out of the state. Matron Nene never cared much for male children. She felt men had taken advantage of her barrenness and had used her body. They had contributed to her husband’s suicide. They had ruined her home. They had destroyed her life. She never wanted anything to do with men anymore. To a large extent, Matron Nene believed that the male species were scumbags. Her tragedy – her personal mistakes with men – had made her a staunch feminist.

She had loved Maria the moment she found the baby at the entrance of the orphanage that early morning. The child’s cry had woken her up; and even before she came out she knew that another baby had been abandoned. The child stopped crying just as soon as Matron Nene opened the orphanage door. Almost instantly, the crying child became a giggling one; she cooed and raised a tiny leg in excitement. Matron Nene bent down and picked up the adorable baby. As she clang the child to her chest, a slip of paper fell off. She gave a grateful sigh; at least she wouldn’t have to worry about what name to give her. The only thing she would have to bother her mind about was the prospect of food; this was one more mouth to feed. She wouldn’t have worried much if the child had been old enough to eat adult food. She had a garden of various vegetables in the compound of the orphanage. At the backyard, she planted root crops like sweet potatoes, Irish potatoes, cassava, yam and cocoyam. Other crops like rice, maize, beans were planted annually. Then there were fruits like cashew, guava, pawpaw, orange, pineapple, mango and banana. Matron Nene and the kids would farm tirelessly for hours like men, and the soil produced them with enough food to last them for a long time. But for agriculture many of the children might have died of starvation. The commissioner had forgotten that the orphanage existed as soon as the building was completed. Now here was another child that would require baby food that she didn’t have; she could not afford to buy such food. The baby would have to do with goat’s milk. The child was the most beautiful baby she had ever seen; even the mosquito bites that appeared so obvious on her body were not enough to mask her beauty. It later seemed like the milk she was being fed gave her extraordinary nourishment for her skin shone and her beautiful eyes glowed brightly. A little as she was, Maria possessed long black hair that shone and sparkled in defiance of her birth and diet. She was going to do everything she could to take good care of this one. Maria was her number one favourite.

As Maria grew, there was something peculiar about her; she had a weak health. It was an unfortunate realization to Matron Nene. Such a beautiful child; as tender as a fledgling. Something must have been wrong with either her blood or her genotype – or something particularly mysterious. She had a weak immune system. While she grew, she caught all the illnesses and diseases that usually afflict growing children, including some others that don’t. She would occasionally be down with malaria or fever. Sometimes it seemed like illnesses took turns on her. Her health was a source of worry to Matron Nene; she started doubting that the child would live long. But although Maria’s health was weak, she had a strong mind. She battled her affliction as she grew. She knew she was different from the other children in the orphanage. She was aware of the fact that she wasn’t as healthy as they were, and she was determined to be as normal as them.

However, what Malaria lacked in health, she made up for in intelligence. She had a character and mind different from those other kids in the home. Where most children begin to walk at ten months, Maria was already taking her first steps at seven months old. She was speaking a word at a time at fourteen months old, and by eighteen words she was able to combine two words. She started reading at two and half years old but still unable to wear her shoes right. She could write at four years old but still poured on her bed each time she slept at night. There was no doubt that she was more brilliant and a lot smarter than her peers.

The children were ‘home’-schooled (pun intended). They had the whole of their primary education in the orphanage. Teachers usually came around everyday to teach them. They usually had their classes mostly in the late afternoons when the teachers would have closed for work from the various schools they taught in. Whenever it was time for them to write their primary school leaving examinations, Matron Nene would register them in a girls high school to sit for the exams.

The school-leaving examination was a memorable one to Maria. Even though it was just a day’s exam, the trip was an escape from the orphanage. She had never known the world outside the walls of the orphanage since the day she was carried in as a baby. Matron Nene had been overprotective of her. Everything she learned came from textbooks. The orphanage now seemed to her more of a prison than a home. She had never seen a male person; even the teachers that came around to tutor them were all females. There was no chance for her to explore the vast world outside the home. No excursion. No expedition. Nothing. There was only a little difference between her life and a prisoner’s, but she didn’t know that beforehand. A person born blind wouldn’t understand the importance of sight. Maria was a blind child groping in the dark, even though she had 20-20 vision, until the primary school leaving examination opened her eyes to a little part of reality – and those of the other girls, too. When the examination finally ended in the afternoon, Maria and the other girls were sad because they had to return to the orphanage. They had been so excited by the world outside that they were reluctant to return home.

The children thought the Matron was being unfair for keeping them holed up in an orphanage. She should have set them free like birds and allow them experience more of life, they thought. A lot of the girls – except Maria, of course – disliked the woman for this. But they were all wrong. Matron Nene, in her own defense, did what she did because of her love for them. The world out there was cruel and she didn’t want them to be a part of it. But the kids were too young and naïve to see anything cruel about the outside world. One girl of about fourteen years old refused to board the bus that would transport them back to the orphanage. She ran away and was never seen again.

Maria almost did, too, as a matter of fact; but she was wise enough to know that such action was an unwise one. Besides, she would be attending a secondary school outside the orphanage after the summer break. All she had to do was exercise a little patience.

Little did she know that she was soon to have a firsthand experience about the cruelty of the world.

Hello guys,

The PDF of Maria (Update 3) is now available for sale at N50 only.

Contact me via WhatsApp or call to know how you can make payment. Thank you and God bless you.

LSD
09061754872
larrysundynasty@gmail.com

okeyben10:
is d full book ready

Not yet.

TheBlessedMAN:
Following

The boss! I remain loyal, sir.

Everyone should understand that the fifty naira update is just an update. Not the complete book. I will be updating you as subsequent updates are available.

Thanks and God bless you for patronising me.

Cheers,

LSD

okeyfineboy:
Yours too. You used to be my best romance writer and still one my best, your stories are super interesting and awesome.


There are so many talented/fantastic writer on Nairaland.

Giannaaaaaa/Inkvodkapaper - Lies from pretty, Lethal matrimony, wilting matrimony,
Burned (Superb/absolutely beautiful)
Colors of my heart (still in progress) - I love the writing style.
Giannaaaaaa is one of my best writer, I don't know who I like more between her and safarigirl.

Glowing Scene - Her chocolate and Sushi blew me away. It was super interesting and inspiring. I total loved it.
Switched was also a good one.

Safarigirl - She can write for Africa. Tormented was very fantastic/awesome. It was a great read.
In memory only was another good one.
Unwanted was cool.
Yet to complete Caleb and Mending fences are both beautiful stories.

LarrySun- A brand of Cain and Paradox of Abel were mind blowing. The suspense/intrigues was something else. The guy is a born writer. I was super impressed with these stories.

Royver : "The cross, the tail and cross" and "I see things other do not see" were very fantastic stories

Frank 3.16 - Tenth generation was a very unique and wonderful story. Quite interesting.
Cyber lover was fantastic
Lost key was cool too

AudreyTimms: Letting go and unfulfilled promises were super good. She's one of my best romance writer.

Repogirl: The one who awaits was the first romance story I read on nairaland. I didn't really fancy romance stories before then. I was very impressed after reading it. That was how I came to love romance stories.
False pretenses - very interesting and lovely
First night - very nice
Forever and for always (still in progress) - super interesting

PrettySpices - Take me as I am, for better for worse and co are all very lovely and interesting story

Chumzypinky - Tradition. I also love that story. Chumzy, try and finish it.

RoseMary - Kiss me one more night ( very fantastic and interesting story)

Souloho - The devil wears okrika. It was super interesting and a great read.

Worthy mention
Jail bird - One of most interesting if not the most interesting story I read this year. "Jail bird" and "Burned" are my official best stories for this year.

Wow! You are awesome, sir!

I prostrate before thee.

okeyben10:
is d full book ready

No.

Read Book Two here:

https://www.nairaland.com/4821389/black-maria-book-two#72592768

Eberechi24:
50 or N500?

N50.
The next update.

The next update shall be posted next week Friday. But if you can't wait til then, the PDF is available for sale at N50 only.

Contact me via WhatsApp or call to know how you can make payment. Thank you and God bless you.

LSD
09061754872
larrysundynasty@gmail.com

PROLOGUE

(Update 1)

The 1st Deadly Sin

There was no way she could know who the father was, for at least seven different men usually slept with her every day. She was the cheapest prostitute on the block, and practically every man could afford her. If you had two coins to rub together, you could easily get into Charity’s panties; not that she usually wore panties anyway. All you had to do was hike up her skirt to gain easy access. Just like her name implied, Charity was charitable indeed. Maybe she suffered a defect in dignity at a tender age, no one could tell; but it seemed as such because she had never said no to a demand of sexual congress. Anything for the money, that was her slogan. You didn’t need to be good-looking to lay with Charity; hell, you didn’t even need to be rich, just find a random coin and she would be all yours until you ejaculated. Why Charity chose to be so cheap was a mystery, for she was the most beautiful prostitute of her time who could be a lot richer by choosing rich clients. Her eyes were large and bright, her lips full and soft, she had a pointed nose and the right curves belonged in the right places. She was a voluptuous goddess. Men deserted their wives to get between her legs, and wives had fought her a lot of times for seducing their husbands. But in reality, Charity didn’t seduce them, they always come by their own volition – and who was she to say no to them. Her sexy body made her irresistible; her breasts were full and firm to the touch. Well-meaning men had offered her marriage but she always turned every one of them down. She would not allow herself to be tied down by the sanctity of marriage. She could not bear the horror of being with one man for the rest of her life, of sleeping with only one person all her life. No, she preferred the freedom to use her body as she pleased. She enjoyed the excitement of not only having random men sleep with her, but also the disabled like the hunchbacked, the crippled and the general imbeciles; she always found the romp with these special people strangely exciting. Charity was a beautiful prostitute without class. Every day and night, men always lined up at her doorway to have her; and she was always ready to service them all.

When she discovered that she was pregnant, Charity didn’t take it serious. She continued with her business without caring a tiny bit about it. This was an unwanted pregnancy but she didn’t do anything about it. She was too busy servicing men to bother herself about the growing foetus. She knew what she would do; she was going to abort it but she was too busy to have the time for that. She kept pushing her abortion appointment forward till the seventh month when the pregnancy had already matured. The abortionist had informed her, however, that the pregnancy had grown beyond abortion stage, and she might lose her life if she went on with it. The man had advised her to keep the pregnancy and give birth to the child. Charity had shrugged indifferently and had left the man’s office, only after the man had had his way with her, of course.

Her pregnancy grew bigger than a watermelon but the men didn’t mind. She was too beautiful to resist. They kept sleeping with her and pouring more sperm on the head of her baby. Many times during the sexual intercourse, she always wondered if the child in her was not running the risk of getting pregnant too for the amount of sperm that usually baptized her on a daily basis; she eventually agreed that it was impossible. She looked even more beautiful with her pregnancy. Her fair complexion shone golden like mercury, her jet-black hair grew longer. Her skin, soft to the touch, was of caramel smoothness. Because of her pregnant state, the men had her from behind in the doggy way. Charity would be damned if she allowed the child in her to keep her from enjoying herself to the fullest. She had never had any pregnancy before and at twenty-eight she still wasn’t ready to be a mother. She didn’t give a thought to what she would do with the child if she was finally born.

A man was on top of her when her water broke. The man had initially thought he was screwing her so hard that she was squirting; and so he had kept on pounding her without knowing she was in labour – he wouldn’t really care even if he knew. She held in the pain until the man was done. Then she gathered up herself , told the other waiting men that business had closed for the day, and then sought out the abortionist.

The abortionist, a quack who fancied himself a bona fide doctor, was an opportunistic son of a gun. He still had his way with charity before helping her to bring the baby to the world.

Charity gave birth to a girl, amidst various random semen.

No one among Charity’s clients had seen any child more beautiful. The baby was loved by all and sundry. Charity received gifts from men and women alike because of the child. Everyone wanted to hold and carry the baby. But Charity herself was indifferent about the child. The baby had no name because she couldn’t think of a befitting name for it. While she breastfed the child, some perverts paid her extra to get breastfed too, and she obliged them of course. The men of raging libidos waited only a week before resuming their task of climbing on her and humping away their sanity.

Charity spent more time with other men than with her daughter. Hell, she spent more time under a man than under a roof. She would put her baby to sleep and attend to her customers. Most times, the baby usually came awake when Charity was having her session with men. She would not attend to the child until she was done. It soon occurred to her that giving birth to that child was a grave mistake. She should have aborted the pregnancy when she had the child. Now the baby was getting in the way of her business, and pleasure. She knew she would have to do something about the child. There was a limit to the amount of hindrance she could take. The men didn’t mind though; as a matter of fact, the cries of the baby usually turned some of them on.

It turned out that some of the men who patronized her were paedophiles. While others were waiting for the child to come of age, some were already offering Charity some money to have their way with the two-month-old baby. She always flew off in anger each time such offers were made. Only sick people would have sexual interests towards babies. Now whenever men complimented her beautiful child, she always suspected such compliments. Vultures circled her; they were waiting for her to turn her face so that they could feast on the innocent child.

She was a wrong mother for the child, she agreed. She was not worthy of taking care of such an innocent girl. Her kind of life was not suitable for such a child. Besides, if she managed to train the child well, there were others willing to take advantage. There was only one thing left for her to do – she had to carry that child far away from herself; she had no family member, and there was nobody she could trust enough to leave her daughter with. But the best thing she could do for that child was get rid of her before one crazy customer would, in a drunken state, jizz on the child’s face.
Very early one morning, before the first cock crew, Charity carried her daughter and left the house. She travelled as far away as the outskirts of Lagos until she found what she was searching for. It was still very dark but she could see the signboard at the top of the entrance: Lagos City Orphanage. Tears rushed to her face as she stared at the innocent child. The baby giggled in the silent night and grabbed her mother’s little finger. Charity tried to take off her hand but the child held it in a firm grip. It seemed as if the baby was not ready to let her go.

She carefully wrapped her daughter in a shawl and gently laid her on the concrete doorstep. She took off her necklace and put it round the child’s neck. Charity kissed her daughter’s forehead and turned her back to leave. Then she stopped. She wanted to leave but couldn’t. There was something holding her back. She felt she owed the baby something. She tried to remember but the task seemed to be eluding him. It was something important. She might regret it for the rest of her life if she didn’t carry it out. But she couldn’t remember! It was so frustrating!

Then it occurred to her. A name!

She had to name the baby. It would be wrong to have a total stranger give name to her child. Apart from the necklace she put around the baby’s neck; there must be something else to show that she was a part of her daughter’s life. It was entirely her right to name her child – it was her responsibility. She brought the child to the world, she should give the child a name, no else should. She thought deeply about what name to give the child. She thought about the name Christine but dismissed it almost immediately; it was too English. She wanted a saintly name for the child was a saint but it shouldn’t be too foreign either. She considered a biblical name, thought about a befitting name for a female saint. Then it occurred to her. She reached into her arm-bag and brought out a jotter from which she tore out a page. She wrote only one word on the page:

MARIA.

She placed the paper on the baby’s chest and turned to leave. And for the first time that day, the baby cried. The cry of the child tore through her heart but she didn’t stop; she couldn’t. Her kind of life was not for the innocent baby. She was doing the baby a favour by forsaking her.

The cry was so painful to her that she had to cover her ears as she ran away to drown the child’s cry, and hers. As the baby’s cry died off, so did Charity’s connection with her.

Read Prequel via the link below:

https://www.nairaland.com/2185410/black-maria

Buy the full book at Okadabooks from the link below:

http://okadabooks.com/book/about/black_maria_book_one/20094

Reserved.

AdiscoPele:
Larry, your website is down, pls, what's wrong?

Technical problems.

blazebaba:
For goodness sake this update is taking too long...

Too long, right?

My brother, pick up your phone, call your lawyer, and serve me a subpoena.

Available for purchase.

The Man Behind the Mask

It is not everyday a man in a black mask approaches you and offers you a million naira to deliver a package. That was exactly my experience. I didn't take him seriously at first until he demanded for my account details and sent half a million naira to me. All I had to do was simple. I just had to move a package from Point A to Point B. How hard could that be. The mysterious guy in mask collected my phone number and assured me that the instructions would be sent to my phone. I watched in awe as the short masked man limped away.

I received the instructions via WhatsApp that night. I was to be at Maryland bus-stop by 10:00am prompt. A certain Mr Thomas would give me a package to deliver to Mr Azuka at a certain address in Ikeja.

I was standing at the precise location at 10am the next day when a man I recognised from the photographs sent to me approached me and handed me a small travel-bag.

"Remember, do not open the package!" he warned before disappearing among the crowd.

I grabbed the bag firmly and boarded the next available bus. I was in Ikeja in half an hour. But I still had to take a bike from Ikeja bus-stop to the site of delivery.

A hand suddenly snatched the bag as I waited. I quickly turned around and beheld a short man in black clothes making away with the bag. As he ran, I noticed that he was limping. I took chase immediately. I ran after the thief as I had never done before. Realising that I was catching up, the bolting villain turned a corner and dropped the bag before he disappeared across the bend. I had no reason to pursue further since the bag had been dropped.

I boarded a bike to the final location. I couldn't wait to make the delivery and collect my balance. I was beyond shocked when the motorcyclist dropped me in front of a police-station. He claimed it was the address I gave him. I slowly dismounted from the bike and wondered why a police-station would be chosen as the point of delivery.

"What do you want, Oga?" Two armed policemen walked up to me.

"I was asked to deliver this bag to someone," I replied politely, looking around for Mr Azuka. He didn't seem to be around.

"A bag?" the men exchanged glances. "Who were you asked to deliver it to?"

"One Mr Azuka," I answered. I could feel a trickle of cold sweat run down my spine.

"I am Officer Azuka," replied the taller policemen. But this man had no resemblance whatsoever with the one in the photograph I was sent.

"Open the bag." The other officer ordered.

"I was told not to open the package." I sounded stupid.

"My friend, open the bag!" Officer Azuka barked.

I slowly bent down and unzipped the bag. What it contained was hideous. There was a human head, bloody and aweful, balanced in the bag. There was a mask covering the face. It was the same mask worn by the man who had approached me.

The policemen aimed their guns at me immediately. "Remove the mask!" Other officers had joined them.

My hands shook as I gently pried off the mask.

The man behind the mask was the same man whose picture was sent to me: Mr Azuka.

Larry Sun
October 2018

technicallyrich:
you painted who a hero.don't worry i will soon highlight your caricature in person mazi nnamdi kanu.
So you get mind write these about kanu.
How will you fell if i write the same thing about the coward awolowo.that committed cheap suicide.
I won't unfollow it if i do,someone else will do it and it will become a norm.
But before i do that,let every one read the intro again with an open mind relating it to nnamdi kanu.

At this juncture, your disillusionment is hilarious.

technicallyrich:
i can't believe you are igbo and saying these,about your own brother,while i am even ijaw.
Have you read his chapter one and seen the similarity and description of our biafrans leader.
How would larrysun fell,if i write a story and name it awolowo,the coward and rat poison king.then go ahead and start describing awolowo physical features.
Oga something are more than co incidence.
I am going to highlight some facts in his write up and link it to nnamdi kanu so that you see for yourself.
Finally literature was my best subject in school,so believe me when i say these Larrysun is insulting ss and se.

Please tell me the similarity in Chapter One. If anything, I painted Kanu as a hero in the story. I don't see where you are getting your ideas from. If you find my work offensive, just unfollow the thread. You don't have to read what you don't like.

technicallyrich:
Larrysun are you in anyway trying to insult,the supreme leaders of ss and se biafrans.prince kanu.
There over 5billion names why use our beloved kanu.
I have always known that you are a yoruba boy.
In black Maria you painted lagos as been more beautiful,smart etc than my ph.but i hope you know that lagos,is a no mans land.
You could have use the name of that useless fool and coward awolowo or the tivenubu,than a man and prince that you can never ever be.
You write trash to sell for 50 naira and you think you can insult kanu.
I wonder of other biafrans are reading these and seeing how he is stylishly mocking nnamdi kanu and ss and se people.

Wow! This is very funny! So, I am not free to use any name I deem fit? I think you may need psychological attention, for you are seriously being insufficiently intelligent. Is Nnamdi Kanu the only person named Kanu in this country? What of Kanu Nwankwo? Besides, this is fiction which has no political affiliation. In which part of the story did it bear any resemblance to Nnamdi Kanu? Is Mr Nnamdi Kanu a 19-year-old student of University of Lagos. I think you are just seeking attention by making Everest out of a molehill. You are the tribalist here, not me. And stop sowing the seed of hate in the minds of others. My character, Kanu, is entirely fictitious. I don't hate any tribe. As a matter of fact, regardless of the crisis going on in the country, I still believe we are all one.

Available for purchase.

Available for purchase.

Available for purchase.

mitchelljnr:
brother Souloho19 please don't adopt uncle larrysun pattern oo, I beg u in God's name come and update. God bless you with more insight to write.

Lord Jesus!

youngPablo03:
Larry I also want a copy of it?.how can I get it.i reside in Ghana

Send me a mail.