THE MAN WHO SPEAKS ON GOD'S BEHALF

His flowing white robe brushed against the wooden floor as he walked pass the high table where several dignitaries in their flowing agbadas and classy suits were seated. He climbed the wooden stairs covered with red rug and mounted the stage. A multitude of heads cheered at the sight of him.

An elderly man in purple robe ran from the left corner and handed him a microphone, then he bowed deeply before exiting.

The man on white robe took the microphone. Tapping the speaker slightly to test its functionality, the crowd cheered on. He brought the microphone to his mouth and cleared his throat. The excited screams of the worshippers rose to a deafening pitch.

"Otito diri Jesu!" "Praise be to Jesus!" He said. His voice echoed loud into the microphone, re-vibrating in over 80 speakers mounted around the large field.

"Na ndu ebebe!" "Now and forever more" the crowd chorused.

The annual bazaar at the adoration ministry attracts hundreds of worshippers plus dignitaries searching for political favors. And with the election drawing near, this man of God knows the power he wields and once again, he would speak on God's behalf. Bestowing his favours on the highest donor to his church exactly as the Lord has commanded him.

Today, the Lord has other strange commands that this man of God must follow. That's why he had to call out an aspiring vice presidential candidate to donate publicly to the church and when the vice presidential candidate refused and insisted that he would donate privately, this man of God who speaks on God's behalf bashed him and promised that he will fail in his political aspirations if he continues in stinginess.

Even God is interested in making money. Miracles are bought these days. Even oxygen will soon be for sale. The poor will soon be extinct. These men of God are setting new standards for the strange gods they serve in secret and the masses still follow blindly.

No one reads the part of the Bible that says : "On the last day, false prophets will rise."

Even when false prophecies are uttered by this man in white robe, no one cares. He speaks in the name of God, his followers would argue. Even when his ways are questionable, he is a child of God, his followers would argue.

Brainwashed robots masquerading as sane men.
Father anyi si! Our Father said!

Father anyi si! Our father said!

What about what the Bible says?

Which is greater, your reverend or your God?

Be wise, people. Read between the lines. Say no to political men of God. Say no to people who use the church to serve their own needs.

God help us all.

If you want to know more about this, read the event that transpired between Peter Obi and Father Mbaka.

With love,
Chioma Ngaikedi.

MEMORIAL

The blood was still there; splattered over the broken pieces of glass on the floor. It was splashed across the wall like the canvas of a drunken painter. The glass window was jagged from the piercing of the bullet.

Alice was standing on the very spot that her father had murdered her mother!

She was 9years old but she wasn't too small to understand what had happened here last Christmas.
She wasn't too small to feel the pain of her mother's death.

Christmas ceased to Christmas. It ceased to be fanfare and laughter. It ceased to be turkeys and carols. Christmas became a memorial of pain.

Alice walked to her family picture frame hanging on the wall. They had taken that picture on her 7th birthday. Pain rose to her chest. Tears burnt in her eyes. She bent and picked a large piece of broken glass and squeezed her palm around sharp edges. She bled. Her blood dripped on the white rug.
Her heart reached for things long gone.

The piano was still there. Sitting majestically beside the bookshelf. That was where her mother was playing Silent Night before the bullet stilled her fingers.

Alice had known that the divorce was coming. She had watched her mother's hidden affair with Uncle Bill, her father's younger brother. She had seen her father break down in tears. She had overheard her parents vow to spend this last Christmas together for the sake of their daughter.

But somewhere between the vow and pain, Alice's father unleashed terror leaving her with the memories of a bloody Christmas.

Alice turned round the room. Everything was still at it had been. Father's recliner was in place. Her teddy bear was lying on the couch. Unwrapped packages were under the Christmas tree. The gold flower vase was with dead flowers. The table was set with decayed food and half filled wine glasses. The piano called to her and she walked towards it.

Sitting on its ivory stool. Her bloody fingers began to tickle the keyboard as she played silent night to the mockery of Christmas.

LION’S DEN PART 2

The birthday party was over. I slept like a log of wood. I awoke to Benjamin’s call.
“Hello, birthday girl, come meet me at S and P supermarket”.

It took a quick wash and hurried dressing and I was at the supermarket. It was there that my best friend told me the real tale of what had transpired at my birthday party. He narrated how Uche and his gang had intimidated my invitees and robbed them of their belongings.

My ears bled as I listened. I couldn’t fathom the possibility that a friend that I let into my heart could so stab me. I was beyond furious. I was not going to let this matter lie low. This was a slap on my face. Cultist or no Cultist, Uche had no right to abuse my trust.

I was fuming. Benjamin tried to calm me down. “Lower your devil babe”, he said with his right hand rubbing my left shoulder gently.
“Cult boys are deadly”, he warned. I was headstrong. I refused to heed his advice. But then, he still pleaded with me again and again, saying that if I must confront him, I should be kind enough not to divulge my informant. I agreed. We had a deal.
My rage needed to be appeased.

I called Uche up, in my most seductive voice. I told him to come quickly that yesterday’s pictures were ready. I was upstairs in my hostel, recounting the tale to my girlfriends. They were fuming. Remarks and advice flew in from different mouths. “Hmm, that boy is stupid,” one said.
“People, eh, how can he be that heartless, to obtain your own friends? Nawa o”, another remarked. “The guy is hungry!” a friend on the opposite bunk echoed. We had laughed.
Another joined up. “See, Becky, teach that boy a lesson. In fact, report him to school authority.”

I knew that I would not report him. Uche was my friend. I didn’t want him to be rusticated. I would rather give him a firm warning and go on my way.

In less than twenty minutes, Uche came to our hostel, with his friend. He called me and told me that he was waiting at the common room, a visitor’s lounge in the female hostel. My friend, Linda accompanied me in solidarity. She too wanted to give Uche the taste of her tongue.

Uche was all smiles and charms like he wasn’t a dragon beneath the gentle looks.

“Hold your smile”, I yelled. “How could you come to my party and steal from my friends that I invited. Fury was pumping in my veins. I was sweating profusely.

“See, if you want to form cultism, try somewhere else, you hear me, because if you try this rubbish next time, I will report you to the school authority and you will lose your admission”.
Uche was frozen in the spot. His eyes were darting up and about the room. All the girls were staring at him. My loud voice had attracted them. Uche was so humiliated. But I did not stop.

Linda and I called him all sorts of names, voicing out unprintable languages in unguarded manner. When I had exhausted my rage, I eyed him up and down, seizing him up with my eyes as though he was filth. I turned and left him, standing there in the middle of the common room, of the girl’s hostel disgraced.

To be Continued…

With Love!

LION’S DEN PART 1

The tip of the gun rested firmly on my neck, its metallic nuzzle sending flashes of promised pain of bullet hole pumping blood and jagged veins. My veins!

I cowered in fear. Shaking like a leaf at the mercy of the night wind. The night was pitch dark. Even the crickets did not dare to chirp nor the owl hoot. Tragedy loomed in the air. Help seem impossible as I knelt in submission, my knee burrowing into the sands, I was surrounded by 15 men, who had stones for a heart and smirks for a smile. The stench of their Marijuana smoke filled the air, infiltrating my nostrils. My lungs rebelled but I dared not to cough.

Tears ran down my face like a dam that has broken free. I stood at the boundary of life and death, my fate dangling before my eyes like a bone hanging on a tree.
Fear weighed on my mind like the noose on the condemned man. The events that led to this night floated in my heart. It had all begun only the previous day, my 21st birthday.

Life is a school. We learn with every experience, every sorrow, every fear and every triumph. I was a final year student at the University of Benin, but what life taught me in few hours of fear, I never learnt it in all my four years of study under different professors of various fields.

The birthday was not going to be held within school premises. No! No! I wanted to make a name, make a mark, show my friends exactly how big girls rolled.
I hired a hall in a beautiful fast food along Ugbowo express road, just 50 meters from my school gate. My friends converged, girls loved to party, guys loved to drink. It was an electrified party. I wanted everything well planned. I didn’t want anything to linger to nightfall. I could not handle the drinks that would sustain the guys till nightfall. All my good friends came, Gerald, Amobi , Donald , Uche, Frank, Ifeanyi, Louis and a bunch of others, all friends who had been with me from day one. And of course my girls were there too.

The party was increasing its tempo. The DJ was blasting music that made our ear drums tremble and our feet jingle. My best friend, Benjamin who served as the M.C called me to the dance floor. I was expected to take the dance with my boyfriend. I knew that I couldn’t do that, to wine and rock to the beats with my sweet heart, while lots of guys there were still hoping on me with proposals of love. I didn’t want hearts to bleed nor hopes to shatter.

So I picked two platonic friends, Gerald and Ifeanyi began to dance with them. The cheers rose, the applause followed, I glowed. “This is my day!” I said loudly.

After the dance, the M. C, announced that a certain special friend of the celebrant, Uche, wanted to dance with her, I did not object. I began to dance with Uche. Indeed, he was a special friend, we had been close from our first year at the University. We were bonded. So the dance was deserving. As we danced, his friends came on to spray us cash. My eyes struck four guys who were looking rough and brutal.

I was almost angry that Uche had invited people without informing me. It didn’t matter though, they were spraying me a bundle of 500 hundred naira notes. That was enough to diffuse any anger of their intrusion.

TEN minutes after the dance,My best friend cum MC, Benjamin called me to the back yard.
“How much did those guys spray you,” he asked. His eyes were bloodshot, he was furious.
“8000 naira,” I replied hesitantly wondering why he was interested in the money.

“Give it to me”, he said, “Uche and his guys are cultists. He has been harassing me. Please, Becky, I cannot come to your party and leave in sorrow.”

I looked into his eyes. I trusted him. So I gave him the money.
”Thank you”, he said, and left.

The party ended in a mild chaos. My friends that I invited began to leave one after another without saying goodbye. Uche and his friends roamed from one point to another smoking and drinking recklessly. I didn’t want that kind of behavior, I didn’t want it in my party. I gave him a mild warning laced with an affectionate smile.

The night drew near. Uche called me. “Becky, where is your boyfriend?’ He asked aloud. I instantly knew that the alcohol was taking its toll on him. It made his tongue bolder and his voice louder. I laughingly brushed the topic aside as a skillful footballer would slid the ball. Of course, my boyfriend was there, but I could not bruise Uche in that manner. Uche had been singing songs of his undying love to me since our second year, but I simply was not dancing to his tunes. I kept him in a friend zoned corner of my heart where he was valued even far above a boyfriend, he was a family.

Still, my reassurances did not penetrate Uche’s ears. He continued his search of my boyfriend, stopping people and prying into my friends’ affairs just to dig up my secret.

That day, as the sun gradually set, the music slowed. The birthday party was over but the event that would follow will forever remain green in my mind.

To be Continued

With Love!
Chioma

THE MAID Part 6
I almost jumped in fear. Ekanem afar off. Then I looked down, it was one of
the victims. The hand was bloody and the face was disfigured. But I could tell
from the clothes that she is a female. I squatted as I looked closely at her.
‘Help me, please’, she said. She was groaning in pain. I paused on my tracks. Reality swirled around me.
I was shocked to my bones. 'Fate is cruel.' I thought. 'To bring my tormentor at my feet.' I may not recognize her face, but I most definitely cannot forget her
voice, Aunty Egondu’s voice, that hoarse voice that tormented me for years,
the voice that haunted my dreams. That voice that unleashed cruelty on me.
The stripes of her cane are still on my skin. They were the badge I will
forever wear, the agony that I had survived.
I looked at her. Anger boiled in me like a volcano threatening to erupt.
The same way fear gripped me, years back, when I was shaking like a leaf,
helpless in the wind. The horror I had endured roamed my mind like a
hundred demons that had broken free from jail. I tried to scream but no word
came out.
‘Water, biko ‘, Aunty Egondu pleaded. I was jolted back to reality. I stared
at her, her jaw was torn open. Her head is cracked open. A metal scrap was
dangling from her ribs. She was bleeding from her ears. Broken pieces of glass were
trapped to her skin like beads on a necklace. Whatever anger I felt dissolved like an ice. I grabbed her
gently, placing her head on my laps. She drifted in and out of consciousness..
‘Sweetheart!’ I screamed at my husband, my eyes roaming through the crowd.
Ekanem saw me and ran in my direction. We didn’t need words to
communicate. He quickly checked her pulse.
‘She will not make it’, Ekanem said. His eyes soothing. He tried to hold my
hands but I snatched it off.
‘No, she will make… She cannot die. Sweetheart, do something!’ I screamed.
Fear gripped me. I began to say prayers in urgency. God must surely grant
her mercy.
Ekanem grabbed Aunty Egondu from my arms. We ran to the car. I swung the
door open. The kids quickly shifted to the far end. I entered and gently
laid her on my laps.
We rushed to the hospital. Our car was drenched in blood. My yellow dress
was soaked too. I stood vigil at the hospital as I waited while Ekanem and the
doctors worked on her. I prayed. I cried. I suddenly realized the futility of my rage in the threat of death.I did not
hate my aunty anymore. I wanted her alive. I wanted to tell her that I had forgiven
her. I needed to heal the wound in our minds, I realized.
It was a 2-week battle before Egondu was brought out of the intensive care. I
walked into her room, She was straddled on oxygen and pipes. She looked
helpless. I held her hand. She was fragile. Too fragile! I looked up at her. Her eyes were open.
She was staring at me. Her eyes were unreadable.
‘Aunty’, I said, my voice held that same fearful treble. I was the maid again.
‘Nnedi thank you! I heard your prayers, I saw tears. I don’t deserve your
mercy but…,’
I quickly held her mouth. She was quivering. Her eyes were misty.
‘Today is not for agony, Aunty, ‘ I said. ‘Today is for celebration of life.’
My Aunty did not talk again. Her eyes spoke for her. Pain, regret and agony
flowed from her being. She held my hand in a strong grasp.
‘I am sorry. I am so sorry’, she sobbed.
I gently folded her in a bear hug. Tears flowed from my eyes. For the first
time in a long while, I felt whole. I felt free.

THE MAID part 5
I stood in the middle of our bedroom in our semi-detached duplex. My boxes of clothes were laid out on the bed. I couldn’t seem to decide on what to wear from the heap of beautiful and equally expensive clothes. Ekanem would not be happy. I had promised never again to be late for family outings. Sudden memories of the past flooded my mind. I saw myself with my black nylon with two or three tattered gowns. My eyes misted. Energy drained from my frame. I broke down in joyous gratitude. ‘My life has been a tornado, a swift and turbulent one. But I stand here today to say that my wind blew me to a greener land. I am a product of grace, love and unquenchable vision’, I said punctuating every line with sobs.
I definitely do not have all I want, but every ‘lowly stench of a maid’ consciousness has long been erased from my mentality. I, at 29 am the exact definition of success. So, you can say that life is beautiful. My husband, Ekanem is a wonderful spouse and an amazing father to our two children , Zion and Nuella. As an accountant in a Coreley Enterprise, one of the best in Africa, I am now the bread winner of my family. The lines of hardship that once lined my mother’s face from the years of farming have begun to fade. My father who was once an example of a spineless man has been conferred with the Ozo title of Isimmiri 1 of Ezeagu, which is the priciest title in the whole village. My siblings are all well placed.
It was in that teary recollection mood that Ekanem entered with our children. I quickly wiped my tears; I didn’t want to ruin this day with tears especially not when the children are super excited about travelling to the village .It was my sister, Ifeoma’s traditional wedding.
‘Is everyone set,’ I asked forcing my voice to adopt an enthusiastic tone. ‘Yes mum,’ the children screamed leaping in joy. And off we went, packed in our spacious Toyota Sienna car. We began our journey to Ezeagu.
It was a 6-hour journey. Every sight on the road appeared to excite the children. Their high pitched expressions of surprise at the police at the check point, the passerby carrying a bunch of firewood or the Agboros engaged in a brawl. Everything enticed their curiosity.
The journey was smooth. We had passed Ninth Mile when we noticed a slight traffic jam. I stuck out my head from the windows. I saw people gather by the road. They were staring at something. I looked deeper and saw smoke oozing from a badly compressed vehicle. I saw several lines of blood flowing like a stream across the tarred road. Fear quickened my breath, compassion pierced my heart. These were travellers just like us.
‘Park dear,’ I said to my husband. Perhaps there will be survivors. Ekanem’s medical skill may be needed. In the space of a minute, we were out if our car as we walked closer to the scene. I saw the goriest scene my eyes had ever witnessed. Whitish remains of human skulls littered the floor. Several limbs were firmly burrowed into metal scraps. Intestines were spilling from torn stomach. Some human were burning even as they succumbed to death. ‘This is disastrous’, I heard Ekanem murmur as he edged closer, his eyes roaming through looking for survivors.
‘ Oga, no waste your time , person no fit survive this’ someone said from the crowd.
It was a hopeless case indeed, I turned to go. But just then, a hand held my leg.
To be Continued… With Love!

THE MAID Part 4

Dawn barged in on my night sleep. A sleep I have not had in four years. The harsh crows of the cock chased my dreams. I jumped awake. Was I dead? Sleep has never been more than a fleeting doze. Aunty Egondu will skin me for sharing in the right all of humanity considered inalienable. Sleep.

My eyes gently opened. A woman with a whip flushed through my mind. But when I summoned courage to stretch my eyelids to its limit, I noticed something was different. I was lying on a mat. A privilege I have not enjoyed in a four years. I stretched on the mat that the old woman had given me. The events of past night rushed in on me, bruising my morning’s serenity. I saw the cock walk pass, obviously moving from house to house. Not all homes are worth visiting, I thought. Many are a den of cruelty. I cannot let her take me back. No longer will I endure the inhumanity. I found a piece of paper on a table. The children must have left the stationery while doing the previous day’s assignment. I wrote a simple, thank you note and dropped it on the table and off I ran. To where? I don’t know, but running to freedom was not negotiable.

I have become a wanderer. I trekked till my bones ached, I was tired, hungry, drained. Bondage seemed better than this scorching sun and hunger belly. My veins were drawn, lining my wrist like a map showing my pain. I was almost dying when I got to the St Peter’s Catholic Church. I slumped at the gate. I drifted between reality. I saw unfamiliar figures looming in my eyes. Hurried steps, frantic arms carried me to a chair. I was fed water and consciousness sipped into my eyes. People gasped at the straps of cane that had marred my flesh.

St Peter opened a warm arm of care. And I walked into his embrace. The church became my home for 15 years. I would only see Egondu occasionally, though she would perhaps out of shame take the other way.

To be Continued

http://chiomangaikedi.com/maid-part-4/#more-194

THE MAID Part 3
I got whipped into frenzy. A frenzy of rage over her repeated yell. How could she know that her maid had planned an escape mission for tonight? A little bird must have told her. Not minding, I just knew that I had to run. Indeed, blindly, hurriedly. I had crossed the Rubicon. I was determined to escape the grasp of my Aunty. The night was cold and light showers of rain dampened the earth. The air smelt of defeated dust.
I tripped on a stump and rolled over, landed on mud and dirt. I didn’t pause to dust my clothes not clean the mud stuck on my face. I kept running, determined to keep four years of abuse behind me.
I was already a long way from home, when I decided to seat on the edge of the locked shop by the street. It began to dawn on me that I had no plan. No food. No shelter. No money. What was I thinking? How would I survive? Bitter tears flowed from my eyes; life suddenly looked complicated. The street was dark and lonely. Two men were walking towards me. I could see their sticks of lit cigarette. And their low laughter and assured steps. I became afraid. I was shaking and shrinking into the corner. They came and walked pass not noticing me. I blessed my Aunty for buying me only dark colored clothes.
The men had long past when an aged woman with her child walked by. “Good evening, mother!” I greeted in a tiny voice laced with emotion as I asked the Woman for help. “You can sleep in my house for tonight. But tomorrow, I must return you to your Aunty. Children of these days are bold. To run away from home what impetuous”, Your aunty must be scouting for her maid now. She said, visibly angry at my guts. I offered to take her load as I walk with her back to her home.
To be continued….. With Love! Chioma.

THE MAID Part 2
Night came slow today, as though pleading with me to calm my rage, as though seeking to infiltrate my mind with the wisdom; the wisdom of patience. But I was beyond reason, beyond fear. The maid must escape bondage tonight.
My bag was already packed, whatever few tattered gowns I owed, were in the black nylon hidden under the tank. I waited, bided time, for the moon to shine in intensity and the crickets to chirp even louder. My Aunty would soon go for her usual gossip round with Mama Nwakaibeya in the next flat. But she was late today, as though hesitant, as though sensing my escape plan.
In my fearful jittery, I splashed water on the floor, and that landed me a hot slap, almost blinding my eyes. I saw stars, and they didn’t seem so far away. They were at the tip of my eyelid. Blinding light dipped in fury and haze. “God save me from this woman’s rage.”
“Nnedi, fetch my slippers,” my Aunty screamed. She was getting ready to go. the maid was going to do all the work as usual. I almost jumped in joyous relief. Her slippers were in my hands as I stood and listened obediently as she laid a list of instructions as she went.
“Parboil the beans. Grind the pepper. Eh.. Make sure you clean the fridge. Don’t watch television o”. She finished and went off.
“What injustice.” I thought. Her children are sitting and watching cartoon. Two of them are older than me. Yet, she never allows me such privilege. Not that I want to..hmmmm, okay, of course, I do. But when you are constantly treated as a leper, you learn to stay aloof. I soliloquized.
My Aunty left for Mama Nwakaibeya’s flat. I waited to hear the usual laughter that characterized their gossip. Yess.. There it was; that throaty giggles mingling with enthusiasm and laughter.
Her children were glued on the cartoon. No one would notice my absence. I tiptoed to the backyard. The night was dark. The owl’s hoot and the buzzing insect sounds mingled with the night breeze, sprouting goose-bumps on my skin.
I was afraid. If my Aunty caught me, I would be meal for supper. My heart threatened to break from its cage. I quickly picked my nylon under the tank. The wooden stool was waiting by the fence. My heart was beating as walked to the fence.
“Nnedi!” I heard my name. I heard footsteps. I broke my pace and began to run.
I got to the fence. The footsteps were nearer now. I could not tell if they were my footsteps or an illusion of my fear ridden mind.
“Nnedi!” I heard again. I refused to turn back. I climbed on the wooden stool and just as I was about to jump to freedom,
Await part 3...
with love, chioma

‘Kpa, Kpa, Kpa..,’ Aunty Egondu’s blows rained on me, like the punches of a crazed man. I had broken the lantern glass globe again. Hell was let loose. The maid had offended the gods again!

With this daily dose of beating, my body should have thickened to her blows, adjusted to the melody of her rage. But trust Aunty Egondu to invent new ways of destroying my odeshi. She would apply raw pepper on the cane, borrow koboko from our gateman or even use the little wooden kitchen stool on me: anything to appease her thunderous rage. That was the plight of the maid in her hand.

I was only 12years. A victim of circumstances. My father may not have been lucky in wealth creation, but he was well blessed in procreation. We were 11 in our family, our parents and 9 of us.
Mother, however hardworking, she may be, her hoe could not produce enough food to feed our mouths. Therefore, some of us had to be sent off to distant lands, like seeds scattered in the field. I was among the unlucky few.

So, when my honey-tongued Aunty Egondu came, all her juicy and colorful stories of Calabar could not lift my fallen spirit. My premonition was hardly ever wrong. This woman would skin me alive.

Four years in her home and I was exposed to a world of absolute cruelty. I would lay awake all night, catering for her new-born twins, while she slept blissfully. I would rise still, at the break of dawn to grind the beans for bean balls, which she calls Okara.
I would cook, clean and still bear the burden of her rage. My spine was breaking.

Life was unbearable. I sought death. I sought freedom. I sought peace.
I endured and endured, until I broke every possible limits of endurance.
No longer will I be enslaved. No longer will I be abused.
Tonight, I shall run away. Tonight, the maid shall be free….

To be continued…..

With Love!

daremiarchs:


I asked for a 50% share of the loot or I'll hand him over, as the guy hand over the purse to me na hin the mob get us o...... Wetin come surprise me be say Daniel come face the mob and started shouting I've caught the theif......

Hahhahahahah.. I no fit laugh.. Permit me to write an extension with your idea.. Lolz.

daremiarchs:
Na me catch Daniel o

Wetin you come do am..?

kingklassique:
Following u back to back
Good write up

Thanks dearie

OLE
Daniel jumped into the muddy waters. He waddled through it in a mindless haste. His yellow shirt dripped of mud and slime. He ran. His heart was beating loud in his ears like the Trumpeter in the village church. He was clutching a fat red purse. His wet shirt flew from his sides in the speed of his flight.

'Ole! Ole,thief!,' he heard them chant. The loud thumping of their feet sounded like the mortals of women pounding yam at Olojo festival. Daniel ran for his life. Hot beads of sweat dripped from his brows, gently sliding into his eyes. He blinked.
Daniel darted through the Plantain Plantation.
His hands pushed young stem from his way and his leg crushed sprouting tendrils. He was relentless now. The chants was was close on his heels. Fear fueled his race. He turned left, pushing the tomato hawker from his path as he ran towards the grammar school.

The grammar school stood in sight. Victory beckoned Daniel. The chants was louder now. Fear was almost crippling him. His breath came in short pants. He dared to look back. Angry faces of men with rage in their eyes.

A sharp stick struck Daniel's back. Pain and panic ran down his spine. He brushed pass two men as he ran into the school compound, the chant alerted the men, they turned on Daniel, grabbed him by the sleeves. Daniel slipped from their grasp. Leaving his shirt as their souvenir. He raced madly towards the fence. Freedom was within his grasp.

He jumped with his arms outstretched to reach for the edge. Someone jumped with him, his hand grabbed Daniel's shorts. Dragging him down to a circle of angry men. Fate awaited him.
Daniel let out a wail.. 'please!'

OLE
Daniel jumped into the muddy waters. He waddled through it in a mindless haste. His yellow shirt dripped of mud and slime. He ran. His heart was beating loud in his ears like the Trumpeter in the village church. He was clutching a fat red purse. His wet shirt flew from his sides in the speed of his flight.
'Ole! Ole,thief!,' he heard them chant. The loud thumping of their feet sounded like the mortals of women pounding yam at Olojo festival. Daniel ran for his life. Hot beads of sweat dripped from his brows, gently sliding into his eyes. He blinked.
Daniel darted through the Plantain Plantation.
His hands pushed young stem from his way and his leg crushed sprouting tendrils. He was relentless now. The chants was was close on his heels. Fear fueled his race. He turned left, pushing the tomato hawker from his path as he ran towards the grammar school.
The grammar school stood in sight. Victory beckoned Daniel. The chants was louder now. Fear was almost crippling him. His breath came in short pants. He dared to look back. Angry faces of men with rage in their eyes.
A sharp stick struck Daniel's back. Pain and panic ran down his spine. He brushed pass two men as he ran into the school compound, the chant alerted the men, they turned on Daniel, grabbed him by the sleeves. Daniel slipped from their grasp. Leaving his shirt as their souvenir. He raced madly towards the fence. Freedom was within his grasp.
He jumped with his arms outstretched to reach for the edge. Someone jumped with him, his hand grabbed Daniel's shorts. Dragging him down to a circle of angry men. Fate awaited him.
Daniel let out a wail.. 'please!'

Divepen1:
like seriously, you can't end there o

LOL. Flash is better when you are left guessing

llaykorn:
Ngaz

'm sorry this is coming late; I've had a busy week. I wish I could organize it better, though. Let me know when you get this so I can modify.



The day has suddenly become Dusk. Like an eclipse in midday. How fast bad news travels, like the speed of light, bellowing into homes like the roaring thunder, announcing the death of Rose, my sister. She was just ten. A rose plucked before her bloom, she was cursed by the epileptic lord, chosen to serve his selfish needs, but my sister often disobeyed, rebelled and the god would go berserk, throw Rose into a fit of nervous disarray,

(I recommend a full stop there.)

her body betrays (betrayed) her, twisting like a cobra in a disjointed ball,

(no comma: there is no need for a comma after the relative pronouns. Eg, This is a book which will make me not sleep. There is no need for a comma after 'which'.)

that would make even the most daring gymnast green with envy,

(I recommend another full stop here. A reader would think you're deliberately trying to be stingy with sentences. Lol. Bringing up a new subject (her eyes), I think, necessitates a new sentence. If you want to combine into one compound sentence, 'and' could be used instead of the comma.)

her eyes would roll back into the socket (their sockets) as if, hiding from the monster that seeked to claim her soul, her teeth clenching, holding back profanity else her pain be made worse.

(There is no need for a comma after 'as if', really. And I think it's more correct to come up with the subject again after using 'as if'. So that would be: "as if SHE WAS hiding". Glance through the examples here:
http://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/as-if-though)


I had known instantly that our playful embrace had gone sour, her nails were digging into my little spine, drawing blood and pain but I didn't mind, for I knew that the demon was at it again. "Rose... Rose", I called my voice echoing the desperation, I felt.

(I was hesitant to assume you had a special love for the comma, lest I choke on false beliefs. You just confirmed it. Lol. Imagine I walked up to you and said, 'This is the book I bought', inserting a slight pause between 'I' and 'bought'. That sure would sound awkward. Separating the object from the verb and subject with a comma is equivalent to inserting the pause up there. This is all about the comma between 'desperation' and 'I felt'.)

I watched as she wriggled in pain, her face twisted like squeezed tissue paper, (I recommend a full stop here and starting another sentence with 'her pain') her pain was tangible, I could almost touch it.
"
Yeptka... No.. Tatakoo, no.. ", Rose murmured, her words incomprehensible, (full stop) but her pain had its own voice, stifling her breath like noose on a condemned.

I reached towards her, held her with all my strength just like papa

('papa' should start with a block letter. It's actually a proper noun)

had taught me, but my 7year old arm couldn't hold her down, it was as though she possessed the strength of a million men.

('it was as though' should be the start of another sentence. It is another idea being expressed.)

She was jerking convulsively, (full stop or 'and) she kicked the table, (full stop) the jug came crashing, water splashed on the tiled ground, (no comma before introducing 'as though' and no comma after it) as though (it was) following its trail, Rose edged towards the stairs and went gliding down the stairs, (full stop) I was screaming at the top of my lungs, running right behind her, (full stop)I held her sleeves, but like someone destined to drown, she slipped off, crashing through metal rails and concrete stairs and rolled into the waiting arms of papa. (Papa)

(The same note about commas. Create compound sentences with conjunction and not a cluster of commas if you're that writer who hates short sentences. I feel they're cute, anyway.)

Her teeth were clenching, papa was screaming.

"Someone get me spoon ", papa roared. I collided with mama in the frantic haste to reach the kitchen, but by the time, we got back in split seconds, papa had already ducked his index finger into Rose's mouth, (semi colon) anything to prevent her teeth from clasping. Mama was sprinkling red oil on rose's forehead as she was offering prayers to the Virgin Mary. I was looking at rose's face, something was different,gravelly wrong. I just felt it, like a part of me leaving, (full stop) I saw rose's (Rose) eye become lifeless, (and or full stop) goosebumps enveloped me, (full stop) casting a shadow of grief on my young memory, (full stop) mama was crying bitterly now, (and, full stop or semi colon) hope was clearly lost,(you know) papa's finger was cut off, (hahahah, full stop again) he was bleeding profusely, (and) the other part was buried behind the clasped teeth of my sister, (full stop) if papa felt any pain, he didn't show it, (full stop) he just sat nodding as neighbors offered their condolences,refusing offers, (no comma)to have his finger bandaged.

(Firstly, the verb 'clench' is a transitive verb and cannot be used without an object. 'She clenched her teeth' work fine and replacing the verb with an intransitive one like 'contract' would work too. Secondly, your usage of the past continuous tense for both verbs is quite unusual. It's more common to use the past tense for both parts of the sentence, or the past continuous tense for the first verb, and the past tense for the second part. The same thing applies to 'I was LOOKING at Rose's face'. If it's not for the sake of answering a question that was asked with the past continuous tense, it's very strange to narrate an incident using the past continuous tense alone. It would have been correct if something happened while you looked, and that would come with the past tense.)

It was strange how moments can separate life and death, (full stop) I looked at my wrist, it was still there, the red bracelet, (no comma) Rose had given me moments ago, (full stop) my heart was breaking into a million pieces, (full stop) I didn't even know how I still stood, how my knee could still hold me, (full stop) I wondered how my heart could still beat or how my nose could breathe,(full stop) life is supposed to end today, every single one of us, it is either death or we fight this epileptic lord and get my sister back.
It was when mama's (Mama's) hand reached for me, (no comma) I held on to her like a dying man holding the tiniest shred to reality, (no comma) I walked into her embrace and together we cried brokenly, mourning our Rose (insert a relative pronoun) crushed under the heels of the epileptic god.

Once again, this is a captivating story. It's the kind that never fails to win short story contests (I've been in many; never won one). You'll just have to do some work on punctuation, and you're there, gbam! I've just added a thousand pages to my book of thrilling expressions from reading this. Keep writing!

I read your piece as I was eating dinner,i almost choked on my food,hahhahahaha. You should be on stage with basketmouth and I go dye.

I totally agree with you, I have this special live for comma. You see, a certain writer that I respect advised me recently to include commas in my works, na him, I come overdo,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, hahahhahaha.

Also for the past continuous and past tenses mix up, hmm. I don't even know how to begin to correct that one, when these stories come, I am often too eager to capture it as it comes.

Until some three months ago, I used to think that writing was only about a fantastic plot.. And as a filmmaker, I went into my chamber and began to search for dramatic stories.
Now,i have been made to understand that writing has volumes of rules that separates amateurs from experts. And trust me, I don't want to be an amateur,and learning all the rules will take me years. # crying.

So much for wanting to be like chiamanda and Margaret Atwood, they didn't mention that their achievements no be beans.

So, this cross is heavy o. The rules are much. I have over 40 opened site on my phones,all on grammatical rules for creative writing, I am dialogue tag rules, tenses, punctuation etc. My head is aching sef.
I just wish I can find an editor, let the person Handle the hard stuffs, but that would make me half baked, right?

I will keep learning. Keep growing and praying. And I will be glad if you will help me in this journey..
Thanks alot.

joanee20:
You really write well.. nice one

Thanks dearie

@llaykorn it's my immense pleasure that you read my work and even more so, you appreciated it. I am blown away.

However, I have been told alot of times that I have more to learn especially in grammatical construction and I am ready to learn because I want to go a long way in literature.

Kindly, point out my errors. And if the stars smile on me, take me up as my tutor to teach me how to be a better writer.

I have gone through your works. You are truly talented. I fight daily to sieve my admiration of every envy. Lolz. One love.

Dusk
The day has suddenly become Dusk. Like an eclipse in midday. How fast bad news travels,like the speed of light, bellowing into homes like the roaring thunder, announcing the death of Rose, my sister. She was just ten. A rose plucked before her bloom, she was cursed by the epileptic lord,chosen to serve his selfish needs, but my sister often disobeyed, rebelled and the god would go berserk, throw Rose into a fit of nervous disarray, her body betrays her, twisting like a cobra in a disjointed ball, that would make even the most daring gymnast green with envy, her eyes would roll back into the socket as if, hiding from the monster that seeked to claim her soul, her teeth clenching, holding back profanity else her pain be made worse.
I had known instantly that our playful embrace had gone sour, her nails were digging into my little spine, drawing blood and pain but I didn't mind, for I knew that the demon was at it again,
"Rose... Rose", I called my voice echoing the desperation, I felt. I watched as she wriggled in pain, her face twisted like squeezed tissue paper, her pain was tangible, I could almost touch it,
"Yeptka... No.. Tatakoo, no.. ", Rose murmured, her words incomprehensible, but her pain had its own voice, stifling her breath like noose on a condemned.
I reached towards her, held her with all my strength just like papa had taught me, but my 7year old arm couldn't hold her down, it was as though she possessed the strength of a million men.
She was jerking convulsively,she kicked the table, the jug came crashing, water splashed on the tiled ground, as though following its trail, Rose edged towards the stairs and went gliding down the stairs,I was screaming at the top of my lungs, running right behind her, I held her sleeves, but like someone destined to drown, she slipped off, crashing through metal rails and concrete stairs and rolled into the waiting arms of papa.
Her teeth were clenching, papa was screaming.
"Someone get me spoon ", papa roared. I collided with mama in the frantic haste to reach the kitchen, but by the time, we got back in split seconds, papa had already ducked his index finger into Rose's mouth, anything to prevent her teeth from clasping. Mama was sprinkling red oil on rose's forehead as she was offering prayers to the Virgin Mary. I was looking at rose's face, something was different,gravelly wrong. I just felt it, like a part of me leaving, I saw rose's eye become lifeless, goosebumps enveloped me, casting a shadow of grief on my young memory, mama was crying bitterly now, hope was clearly lost, papa's finger was cut off, he was bleeding profusely, the other part was buried behind the clasped teeth of my sister, if papa felt any pain, he didn't show it, he just sat nodding as neighbors offered their condolences,refusing offers, to have his finger bandaged.
It was strange how moments can separate life and death, I looked at my wrist, it was still there, the red bracelet, Rose had given me moments ago, my heart was breaking into a million pieces, I didn't even know how I still stood, how my knee could still hold me, I wondered how my heart could still beat or how my nose could breathe, life is supposed to end today, every single one of us, it is either death or we fight this epileptic lord and get my sister back.
It was when mama's hand reached for me, I held on to her like a dying man holding the tiniest shred to reality, I walked into her embrace and together we cried brokenly, mourning our Rose crushed under the heels of the epileptic god.
With love,
Chioma Ngaikedi.