₦airaland Forum

ziddy:
this is outstanding. the best i've seen on this lit-section, so far.

Thank you

doyin13:
hehehehe. . . .

You do a lot better than I ever will.

Great story I must say, and I can barely notice a mistake

Can't wait for the next instalment

I read some of your London stories and think you're not too shabby yourself! I'm not well versed with writing about realistic themes, so you're one point above me, hehe. I'll put up another installment soon.

chitzi:
In my last post I did say the use of the noun "incomer" and the verb "underwhelm" are creative.I also expressed the fact that am unsure whether they would be incorporated into the English lexicon.Not that those words do not exist, but they are not often used in daily communication amongst most Nigerians.They are very much part of the English lexicon. But-I stand to be controverted- they are not yet fully part of our Nigerian English lexicon,  since their usage is few and far between. For this reason, The Living Game achieves a major point by drawing attention to such under-utilised words.

I read your initial post this afternoon and was confused about what you meant by the creative use of "underwhelming" and "incomer." I now understand that you mean writing with seldom used words. Well, I fear that I come off as pretentious when I do this, but I toss off those worries because I almost write as I think. Unless basic grammatical know-how calls for corrections, I usually don't bother much with first drafts. 

I also share the opinion that one guards the writing process from prying eyes, but I can hardly call this next great African novel. I'm having a bit of fun with this one. I have attempted to write full-length novels in the confinements of my apartment in the past, alone, but boredom and a general sense of being isolated put me off. I guess I'm not really cut out to be a writer. I'm excited about this piece and hope it won't be another false start though. Watch this space.

Appreciate your enjoying my first installment. I'm particularly happy that I've played a significant role in delurking you (Ha, now that's a creative use of words ).

Do you also write?

[center]The Living Game[/center]


[b]Ogbunabali snaked through the narrow, winding path in the bush and stopped on his toes when he reached clear ground. All around were leaves, grasses, irokos - silhouettes in blueish twilight. He waited.

The first one to appear was female. She was short, and even in the dimness he could tell that she wasn't that pretty. Uneven features, middle-aged, short, frizzy hair, meaty build. She lopped her head and staggered to a fall, bare breasts and stomach folds touching the earth first. She placed her hand on her forehead and moaned.

He cleared his throat.

The woman was still.

"She's coming awake," he thought with amusement.

Her eyes caught his and she opened her mouth - wide. Then, with a sudden jolt of shock, her arms rushed to cover her breasts and womanhood. "Oh my God," She said - and she was loud - "What is this? What is this? Who ah you?"

The second one, another female, appeared. She was noticeably thinner, a little taller. Short hair again. He sucked his teeth. She was less of an eyesore, with curves that flared at her hips and tapered at her waist. Ogbunabali judged her to be in her mid-twenties - her gait was worldly.  Jilted lover? He couldn't tell whether she had a pretty face. The fat woman looked up at her. The younger lady shook her head and rested her face in her palms. And breathed. Awareness took hold as she raised her head and scanned her surroundings, stopping when her eyes met his. She gasped. She was pretty, he noted somewhat happily.

"Greetings," he said, smiling. He was almost embarrassed at his gruff voice.  Almost.

"Where am I?" She stammered. Her arms rushed to guard her womanly parts when she realized her indecency.

"What am I seeing 'ere?" The heavier woman  struggled to stand up, arms shielding her privates. Ogbunabali's smile retreated. She shivered - it was hard to tell if it was from the cold or from fear. The younger female turned to the direction of the fallen lady and watched as Meaty awkwardly shuffled her way up.

Ogbunabali heard pattering footsteps from close ahead. The women heard it too, turning toward the direction of the thick bush behind them. Leaves were ruffled as the incomer rushed into the open space.

It was a male this time. Underwhelming in appearance, heavy at the waist. His hands over his manhood. His eyes widened in confusion.

"Jesus--God--this must be a dream!" He noticed the ladies and jumped in morbid shock. "Is this a joke or something?"

Ogbunabali snickered. The slight man turned towards him and jumped again. "What in God's name are you?" he blustered.

"Two more," Ogbunabali yawned in reply. He stretched his long, narrow, golden arms and widened his mouth. He knew the trio stared in wonderment at his queer, freakishly thin appearance.

And two more came. Both male. Same awkward attempt at covering themselves, same dismay, same freak outs. The first wasn't anything of note - he had an average, forgettable appearance. A nonentity. But the taller of the two was formidable in appearance, darker, Ogbunabali thought with a degree of loath. The god hoped he would be a loser. He derived a evil sense of pleasure from seeing the big man cower in terror under the eve night. Frightened elephant, he chuckled to himself.

He waited for a little bit and watched the mini-chaos. Panicked questions rippled through the bushes. Some sobs, awkward gesticulations and face-covering performances were the rage. He afforded a glance at lady lovely. She had apparently been staring at him for some time, eyebrows creased in puzzlement.

"Okay people!" He bellowed. The panic died almost immediately.

"If you're smart, you should have guessed that you're in the land of the dead," he said simply. "But I know that none of you are smart. So therefore, I'm telling you that you're in the land of the dead."

"You're here because your deaths are death-taboo related - you know, suicide, murder-for-murder, manslaughter for murder, vice-versa, et cetera. No need to tell you what you already know." He knocked his head. "Crack your skulls to remember, and fill in the blanks."

He waited for their acquiescence. They looked at him with muddled expressions.

He sighed. "I meant what I said," he said with contempt. "Knock your heads."

"Eh?" The nonentity spoke up.

When the god didn't reply, they reluctantly obeyed. Tapped their heads. For a moment there were still blank expressions. Soon realization dawned on their faces. Confusion turned into sadness, and sadness gave way to dread.

"So this is hell?" The tiny man with the large waist asked. "Are you Satan?"

"You see why you're foolish?" The god responded. "I'm not Satan. This is not hell."

"What?" The word slipped from the man's mouth.

"You're here because you've been selected to receive a chance at a grand prize." Ogbunabali smiled. "One of you is going to live again."

They glanced at one another. As if that would have provided some clarification.

"Once every century or so, by random selection, folks who traverse the deadlands to the sky or to the abyss come here. They are usually grouped in categories - accidents, good old natural deaths, diseases, sabotage, wars, mishaps, et cetera.  I give them a chance to solve a special riddle. There are, of course, many obstacles but what large-scale puzzle hasn't got some? All you need do is shine your eyes, be one step ahead, and be observant. And you're guaranteed a chance to be reincarnated into the life that is assigned to you."

"What happens to the losers?" The beautiful miss asked. There was a hint of sadness in her voice.

"They die violent deaths. I mentioned obstacles? And then they go on to their final resting places. For most of you, it will be hell."

"Oh," she replied meekly.

"Think of what a good life could bring," he burst into enthusiasm. "A fresh start, cleansed souls, another chance at heaven. Another chance to do things you would have done. Live a life you should have lived. You subconscious reflexes will always turn to this moment, and you will be guided by an invincible shove to right direction. That push, my dear friends, would be derived from this once in a blue moon opportunity."

His speech was met with continued silence. Soon the large man spoke.

"This is too much to take in. Forgive me." His voice was hideously feminine. 

"Understandably so. I wish I could render a more involved performance. But there it is."

"What challenge ah whee goyin to face?" The fat woman asked.

"That's for me to decide soon," He said curtly. "I'd use the free time for reflection if I were you. You will need a lot of it."

"Um, " his favorite spoke ever so softly. "Are we going to do this, like this?"

"Sorry?"

"I mean, no clothes?"

"Oh! Clothes, " He ran his eyes over her curves. "Yes, clothes. Yes, there will be clothes if you like." She looked away, obviously uncomfortable. Not that he cared.

"We like, please," the other woman spoke. The others nodded in agreement.

"Okay. Wait here, I won't be long."

He turned away and retreated into the bush. Their eyes followed him.
[/b]






Soooo, here is my first installment. I might have committed a few grammatical blunders ( + cliches, stilted sentences et al) but I hope you enjoy. I usually write impromptu. If I plan out a story I'll get bored by the time I set out to write it, maybe that's why I'll never settle down to really writing a novel, but who knows, eh?. Will post a second part if I sense (mostly) positive reception. I'm making this up as I write, so I'm also in the dark.

Feel free to conjecture. I could do with a few ideas. I have some clamoring to get out though. Good night!

I can assure you that it is my original work. Like most works of fiction, it has its roots on real life occurences. Parts of it is based on a robbery attack made on my home in Lagos almost two decades ago (when I was away in boarding school in Benin-City) where around a dozen armed robbers laid seige on the house and attacked my mother and brother. Though I must add that all the gory bits are pure fiction. I must admit however that the bit of the father and daughter was informed by a discussion I once had with a few of my school mates when I was at university (and we were swapping tales about accidents and robberies) and someone shared this fascinating tale she had read about robbers who for no fathomable reason made a mother sleep with her son and the father his daughter. Like everyone else, I was appalled, but I filed it away for creative use someday.

So, I do not know what you might have read in the Hints magazine you referred to, but I assert my right to be known/acknowledged as owning the copyright in this work (inclusive of sequence of events, dialogue etc.).

We're definitely on the same page. Please, don't misconstrue what I stated . The story took me back to my hints/hearts reading days and I thought to mention it as an off-comment.

Funny, the hints story I read was a mother twin boys/father twin girls situation. eek. It was an engrossing read though - you know what they say about two great minds thinking alike .

I read something along the lines of this in Hints magazine years ago.

Not to discredit the authenticity of the story, cause it's pretty disgusting. Very good descriptions.

Deleted

Deleted

Thus, I type "Because, because, because."