₦airaland Forum

timpaker:

Heheheheheheheh.

Truth is I misplaced your number when some knuckle heads made away with my phone at the airport in Lagos. I lost access to my mail and social network for sometime.

Got new ones, will beep you with it soon (I haven't forgotten my Sallah special that you owe me )

joseph1832:
Good. Now tell me where tha fuck_ you've been? Noticed how dry this place have been without you?

joseph1832:
Are you high Lekan?

joseph1832:

timpaker:


Mr. Lake,
Where have you been hiding?

How are you doing?

Laveda:
Where do I go?
When I'm feeling so lost and I don't want to be found.
Where do I go when I'm trying to laugh but all I can do is cry?
Where do I go when it seems like I've lost happiness?
I'm trying to keep on living because I'm not ready to die.
I'm trying not to give up because I have to strive to be better.
I'm trying to wear a smile even when things aint right.
Where do I go when I feel like I've lost it all?
How do I keep going, how do I fight this fight?
I'm tired of feeling down, but I'm trying with all my might!
Where do I go when I'm giving up on the world's cheapest thing?

Where do I go?
Does it take very long?
For me to find that peace,love and a place where I belong.
I need you to help me,help me see things in a new light.
Help me stand I'm losing it.




This is just my thoughts I'm pouring here..

Nmeri17:
Sunday 17th July
Hey baby? I can’t ask how you’re doing since you’ve stopped bothering to tell me; but the weather here reminds me a lot about you—how it makes you Hot. Lol. Those times the air in our house is steely cold and the dim light in the living room causes the chairs to have long shadows. You just walk in quietly and use your long palms to crawl into my briefs. Then you draw in the cold air and tell me how sweet I smell. Oh, the days. The sky outside is bleak and the chairs have got long shadows but you aren’t here nor will you reply me even though I know you reading this. You swore my writings were the best you had ever read and nothing would keep you from reading them. Whatever tho.
4:33pm »
.
Friday 29th July
Last Tuesday, the head of our department picked my poem amongst eight others as the best he’d seen in the entire department!!! But I didn’t tell you cuz I’m still mad at you; five weeks and three days since you left for Marseille and not a word. Gilbert showed up with swollen eyes in those his skinny pants and waited for me in the rain till I came back before telling me you drove them to Nice but fell asleep along the way and would be asleep for some time. He wasn’t smiling like an idiot so I kind of think he hadn’t been drinking but I still drove him away all the same. Going to Marseille to give engineering your best shot is this? Falling asleep for weeks? Wake up Dave, I miss you. It’s about time you texted me back. Come crawl below my underpants and whisper in my ears.
5:19am »
.
Tuesday 9th August
Yo Dave! This my last text to you. I’ve had it! Why don’t you ever text me back or tell me to leave you alone? You mad at me for something for six fucking weeks?! You’re an absurd pussy Dave. Bleep you! Don’t even bother replying anymore!!
7:53pm »
.
Hey baby? It’s me again. You know I didn’t mean none of those. Your girl gets naughty at times. Things starting to get weird these days. Took a train all the way to aunt laner’s and she looking at me like I’m sniffing coke. She start whimpering and telling me everything’s gonn be alright the moment I done ask her why you aren’t returning my calls, not my texts nor do you even wanno see me. Idk what you told her Dave but you didn’t raise no quitter so I’m getting to the bottom of this.
11:13pm »
.
Wednesday 10th August
Quit playing Dave!!!!!!!
02:47am »
.
Return my calls bitch!!! I fucking hate you for leaving me like this
02:50am »
.
I love you baby. You’re all I’ve got Dave.
04:02am »

Nmeri17:
Nothing seems sinister about four young men idly chatting away outside Le Livre. They aren’t blocking the entrance. They’ve been there for nearly an hour and more and more cars are occupying the restaurant’s parking lot as it nears the hour when dates are most romantic. A middle aged security guard—rough at the edges with more bones that flesh—gingerly approaches the young men. From a distance, one can see the lone officer gesticulating and motioning away from the spot they have occupied. They jeer a bit and one fishes out some things from his purse and approaches the officer. Lobby. They claim they intend buying a little more time while waiting for their host. The officer can be seen disapproving vehemently by shaking his head and stepping backward, all the time motioning away from the door.

.
The approaching fellow shrugs and withdraws his arm, replacing the items gotten from his purse. He retreats to his friends and they announce to the man they’ll be leaving. They do eventually.
.
An ash colored Sedan tries driving into Le Livre but is told to park outside the compound since the parking lot is filled up. The driver smiles genially and reverses into the adjacent street. About five young men are seen shortly after, walking in, with no sense of urgency. They make their way into the eatery and the Sedan driver claps audibly to get the attention of the occupants.
.
‘Good evening ladies and gentlemen’ He says, smiling broadly. One of the men behind him pulls a gun from his waist.
.
‘I neither intend to waste your time nor to hurt anyone’
.
A sudden blast can be heard coming from a close range shot fired behind the head of the speaking man, mid-oration. He takes a heavy fall with his face to the ground and a short fellow steps forward. He clears his throat as a signal to quell the chaos that ensued following his provocative action. The deathly silence in the hall can be heard even by the now lifeless bodies of the security guards on duty by the forerunning four young men. The short fellow languidly walks over to a flamboyantly dressed man drenched in his own sweat, clutching the leg of a table like a toddler making its first steps. He stoops over him and whispers
.
‘My name is Abednego and I’m a highway robber. Nice to meet you.’
Then outstretches an arm in greeting.
.
The man says nothing but continues to tremble with both arms wrapped round the table leg. The other batch soon reunites with the crew inside the hall.
.
Abednego stands up and dejectedly retreats to where the other men have converged.
.
‘Please give me a stick of cigarette.’ He says to no one in particular.
.
‘I hear stick-ups are more convincing when you’re puffing smoke into somebody’s eyes.’
.
He turns round and makes a joke about how he should be a poet for playing on “stick-ups” and “sticks of cigarettes”.
.
‘You care for a drag?’
.
The flamboyant man nods, almost violently, turning down the gesture.
.
‘Why?!’
.
‘You won’t talk to me. But you’d let me smoke alone like a fool. You think I’m a fool?’
.
More nods like the former follow.
.
‘Ok!’ he bellows.

Abednego then retrieves his firearm from its pouch and for the first time, the man speaks. His heavy baritone can be heard reverberating off the walls of the hall. Although his words blur into a babble as it is seemingly impossible to sift off legibility from his desperate wail, the words “please” and ”in the name of God” can be heard.
.
Abednego then crouches on one knee and hugs the man condolingly as he wails louder. He shuts his eyes momentarily and hushes
.
‘sshhhhh.....it’s alright. I won’t hurt you.’
.
‘I just wanted to be sure you weren’t mute.’ He continues with a smirk.
.
‘Come.’
.
They both rise from the floor together in each other’s arm much to the bewilderment of the other hostages. He holds the man’s face in his palms and as he wipes off the tears off his face, he tells him he was unable to understand his crying story and would love to have a recap. The man, relatively calmer, then narrates how he is seeing someone else and how his young wife and congregation would find him out were he killed in the heist. The whole time, Abednego is listening attentively and nodding deductively.
.
‘I understand—I understand—look at me—your wife won’t know a thing—listen, listen, I know—your church people won’t know. Yes! You have my word.’
.
The man then takes a deep breath and smiles coyly. The smile is unrequited.
.
‘What is your name? What is it you do with your life besides fucking broad chested members of your church?’
.
The man straightens up.
.
‘I am pastor Andy Oyewande. I offer consultancy services at BrandPower Homes and I’m an industrial strategist.’
.
Abednego sighs, then shrugs, then sniffs.
.
‘I like your shirt.’ He says nonchalantly.
.
As if triggered by a spell, the pastor starts to UnCloth.
.
‘No..No...No...No..I don’t mean you should hand it over. I mean, like, you at least deserve to die looking good so leave it on. Or don’t you think so?’ He asks and cordially holds the pastors shoulder and relishes the horror that has once again enveloped the man.

As he turns around to deliberate on whether to taunt another hostage or commence the carnage, he thinks aloud
‘I have a feeling that tonight is gonna be a good-good night!’

shyling:
Alas he was he that had been trysting with him for over six months.... A priest warming the sheets...mouth agape soul weary he left...