Other Stories by Larry Sun

1. The Brand of Cain (www.nairaland.com/1083003/brand-cain-complete-novel)

2. The Paradox of Abel (www.nairaland.com/1132025/paradox-abel-sequel)

3. Black Maria (www.nairaland.com/2185410/black-maria)

4. The Coffin of Errors (www.nairaland.com/1810612/coffin-errors-short-story)

5. A Merry Christmas (www.nairaland.com/2065762/merry-christmas-short-story)

6. The Nemesis of Daddy (www.nairaland.com/2250646/nemesis-daddy-short-story)

7. On Wings of Insanity (www.nairaland.com/2379658/wings-insanity-short-story)

8. An Ace for Oscar (www.mobilebookshelf.com/an-ace-for-oscar-by-larry-sun/)

9. Kanu - The Journal of a Rogue (www.nairaland.com/1851954/kanu-journal-rogue)

Stories by KingzPen

1. Tales of John (www.nairaland.com/1972157/tales-john-kingzpen-studio-production)

2. On the Run (www.nairaland.com/1860069/run-blockbuster-series)

3. The SIM Card (www.nairaland.com/1541582/sim-card)

4. Life on Campus (www.nairaland.com/1501355/life-campus-must-read)

5. Two Camps (www.nairaland.com/1470006/two-camps)

6. Richard Baines (www.mobilebookshelf.com/richard-baines-by-onasanya-israel/)

MY INIQUITIES (Episode 1)

I am a plague; there is a curse on my destiny, and I am become destroyer of cities!

I was only fifteen years old when I was abducted; and for the next six years after this, I never saw any of my family members. Even when I finally met the few of them remaining alive, I was not recognized. The only two people who would certainly have recognized me has passed on. They had died two years prior to my visit; and my remaining two siblings who occupied our old house treated me like a stranger. Maybe they would have recognized me had I revealed more of my identity, but I was under no liberty to do so, for I knew I was being watched by an unseen pair of eyes. Any slight revelation of my true identity might spell doom on the fates of my siblings; that is, the whole two of them, including the two married sisters and their entire families. I walk in the company of devils, and I admit that I, myself, am the Grim Messenger. Fo over three days, I've not had a moment of brief shut-eye. Each time I tried to rest my eyeballs, the terror I see in the darkness of those closed lids was always too frightening. Those innocent souls! The dead face of that child! Oh!

For the humble readers (listeners) to make sense of my lamentations, I must revert back to the beginning of everything; the moment when the plague was created and the monster in me was set loose.

My name is Idris Abu and I was the third child in a family of eight; my parents were blessed with six males and two females. We lived in a picturesque little village in Gwoza, Borno State. We were a peaceful and happy family until one gloomy afternoon of May 5, 2008 when five hefty men dressed in robes and masked in turbans suddenly grabbed me from our farmland only a few metres away from our home. I could not even scream out because one big hand covered my mouth and nose. I could neither scream nor breathe as the men carried me away to where they parked their car. As I was dropped on the ground, I made to rise and bolt my way back home but I shrank back to the ground when one of the kidnappers aimed the nozzle of his pistol at my head, his cold eyes daring me to attempt an escape. I could not struggle as the other men tied my hands and legs together. I was young but not naïve, I could only do what any sane person who found himself staring into the deep, dark hole of a gun could do; I allowed myself to be tied, even without giving the benefit of a yelp. As soon as the men finished stringing me up like a log of wood, one of them stuffed a hand towel down my throat before a thinner piece of cotton was used to gag me more. I was later deposited like a sack of wheat into the booth of the Peugeot 504 they drove over. I was finding it extremely hard to breathe as I was being transported to a destination unknown. The towel that blocked my windpipe made breathing and swallowing quite painful.

I laid in the dark confinement of the vehicle, wondering what might have caused the strange men to do what they did. Why had they taken me? What did they want from me? Why me of all people? Were they going to demand some money from my father before I was released? If they had kidnapped me for money, then I was the wrong person to abduct because my father might not be able to afford the ransom. My father wasn't rich; he was just a common farmer who grew tomatoes.

As the vehicle gallopped far away from our farmland, I nursed a gut feeling that I was abducted for something more sinister. I wish I was wrong. I knew I had been caught in a vortex that was transporting me into a nightmare world of violence, conspiracy and horror. I was being carted deeper into an alien landscape of terrorism where every human life was nothing more than the one-way switch of the lightbulb.

As we travelled on, I tried to mentally calculate all the turnings the vehicle made, but I soon lost counts after some time. The journey of doom lasted precisely an hour. I knew this from the digital watched I had on my left wrist. The car finally stopped; the booth came open and I was lifted out by two men. I felt like an invalid. I looked around me as the ropes were being loosened. The place was like a prison yard. The large compound was fenced round and one massive gate that served as the entrance and exit. The top of the fence was laden with so much barbed wires that it looked as if the walls were wearing a long wig. I suspected that there were more entrances than exits here. Just shortly after I was released from the booth, another car drove into the compound; it was also a Peugeot 504, and five other masked men came out of it. They went to the booth and carried out another boy of about my age. I needed not be told that this other boy, too, had been kidnapped without his parents' consent. I was confused as much as the boy. What did the men want with us? I was sure this question, and a host of other unanswerable questions, was circuling in the boy's thoughts.

The two groups of men approached each other and shook hands, complimenting one another in Hausa language. The other captive and I understood Hausa perfectly. In short, we understood Hausa more than we did English. Besides, I wasn't sure whether any of the men could speak English, or perhaps English was a forbidden language there. After the greetings, the men led us into one of the three buildings in the large compound. This particular building was erected in an old-fashioned way; there was a long corridor and on either sides were doors leading into rooms. We were led down the passage and ushered into a room at the end of the corridor. The room had no windows and the walls were unpainted. Instead of paint, what smeared the walls were some fading red pigment that looked like blood. The room was furnished with only a table and two wooden chairs on opposite sides. We were told to sit on the chairs. I was afraid. The other boy, too, was scared; he was shivering violently and sweat was already forming on his forehead. He was just at the peak of bursting into tears. He must have cried his heart out when he was being transported over, and another bout of helpless wails might soon be iminent.

After we had sat down as commanded, one of the men brought out a revolver, exposed the chamber and removed all the bullets therein. Then in our presence, he slot one bullet into one of the twelve holes of the chamber, he wound the chamber like a wheel and clipped the gun. With the safety of the gun released, he gently placed the pistol on the table before us. Thereafter, just as if it was a normal routine, the men began bringing out bales of money from their robe pockets and placing bets with one another. I had never seen so much money in my life. Each man was staking a huge sum of fifty thousand naira. The men who abducted me staked on me and those who stole the boy betted on him likewise.

The man who had placed the gun on the table stepped forward again and asked me what my name was. I told him Idris Abu. The other boy said his name was Sanni Abubakar. The man extracted an old coin from his pocket, and with the permission of the other men, and judging by the alphabetical placement of our first names, decided I was the head of the coin, Sanni the tail. He flipped the coin up towards the ceiling and caught it as it shot downward. When he opened his palm, the tail of the coin was exposed. The men who had kidnapped Sanni cheered excitedly. It was at such moment that I finally understood that the men had betted their money on the lives of Sanni and me.

Two other men suddenly drew their pistols and aimed at our heads. The one who aimed at my head was one of Sanni's kidnappers and the one having his gun at Sanni was one of my abductors. Another man stood by the table and spoke unkindly in Hausa language:

"Boys, what you need to do is very simple; we have taken two of you but we need only one person. That is why we left only one bullet in that pistol. Who deserves the bullet between the two of you? Or who deserves to live? Nature and luck will determine that. This is what I call the survival of the luckier. From obvious indication, the first person to pull the trigger is our dear Sanni Abubakar. Now I want you to listen carefully as I tell you the rules. Those men holding their guns to your heads are going to blow your brains out if you don't comply by the rules. Sanni, I will count down from five, if you haven't grabbed the gun, aimed it at Idris' face and pulled the trigger by the time I count to zero, you will be shot in the head. The same rule applies to you, Idris. If after Sanni pulls the trigger and the bullet isn't released, you must pick up the gun and pull the trigger, too, before the end of my second countdown. It goes like that until the gun finally goes off and only one of you remains living. I wish the better boy the luck. Let the game begin!"

This was bad, very bad. I was facing more danger of losing my life to foul play than to the risk of the bullet going off at the first pull of the trigger. What if Sanni pulled the trigger in succession until the bullet went off? What if, in his nervous state, his index itched and he pulled the trigger twice instead of once? It would be a foul play and I would be too dead to lodge my complaint. Those were the questions I should ask the men but I was tongue-tied. I suspected the men might even laugh at me if I spoke out what I thought. Besides, I didn't want to give Sanni that idea if the thought hadn't already crossed his mind. But it was hard to guess what was going through the boy's mind in that respect because he was weeping profusely. He was very lucky to be able to cry in this situation. I was too terrified to allow myself the pleasure of weeping. Although my face registered dark terror, I was still dry-eyed. I wondered why I could not cry. Maybe I was slowly losing my mind.

"Five..." The countdown began.

Sanni was still weeping. And as callous as it might seem, I hoped he continued crying and not pick up the gun until the countdown to zero.

"Four..."

Sanni grabbed the pistol with both hands. I opened my eyes wide. The moment to know my ancestors had come.

"Three..."

His hands were shaking so violently that the phrase 'accidental discharge' blossomed in my head. But 'accidental discharge' was not the right qualifying word, 'dishonourable discharge' was the closer term. By the way, I was about to meet my end; therefore, I was about to be discharged from this world, dishonourably.

"Two..." I shut my eyes tight. Great-great-great grandpeople, here I come.

Click.

Some of the men cheered loudly. I was too predisposed to know which side was cheering. A blank had been shot. Sanni dropped the pistol as if scalded by it. Then the countdown began anew.

"Five..."

I picked up the pistol. A dangerous idea occurred to me. I imagined shooting the men instead of the boy, freeing the boy and making our escape. A nice, satisfactory thought. Only that it would be a suicidal thing to do; the gun contained only one bullet. Would I even be able to do anything that silly if the gun contained a thousand bullets?

"Four..."

This wasn't the survival of the luckier; this would be the survival of the smarter. I had been given an opportunity to stay alive. This golden opportunity would not resurface if I didn't utilise it now. I was not going to drop the gun until the bullet was fired. Some might call it cheating, but in this case, I didn't mind cheating to retain my life. I was going to pull the trigger again if I shot empty, and again, and again, until the bullet was fired. I felt sorry for Sanni, he didn't deserve this kind of fate. Neither did I. Sanni had to die, either by hook or crook.

"Three..." I pulled the trigger.

Boom!

The gun went off with such a loud report that it fell off my hand onto the floor. The bullet went between Sanni's eyes, shattering his skull and exposing his mushed brains. Blood and the pieces of the brains flew like birds from a disturbed tree. Blood and gore splattered all around and stuck on the walls as the boy fell backward, dead. What was left of his head hit the floor like an inflamed watermelon.

I screamed, screamed, screamed and vomitted horribly.

But that was just the beginning of my terror.

(End of Episode 1)

Download the audio format of this story from [url=https://www.dropbox.com/s/v6x8r126xys1a3s/My%20Iniquities.mp3?dl=0]HERE[/url]

Cc: Ishilove, Lalasticlala, Semid4lyfe, Obinoscopy

Owkay...FTC!!! Feed me more!!!....I wonder what mission Idris was abducted for, I guess terrorism. Anyways, I will wait to see. Kudos Larrysun and Kingzpen. Nice concept you got here.

Registered

Thank God I'm here on time, no dull moment. Carry on Sir Larry.

Sir Larry happy new month...

Here. Mr Larry, this story has gotten me. Will there be more updates?

Sits galantly on the front row popcorn and pepsi by d side.....Nice start Larry........Idris just commited his first crime forcibly....kai!! Terrorist on the making......#following

Larrysun, lovely as usual.

You do have a delightfully twisted mind!

A teenager playing Russian Roulette. That is rather morbid, to put it mildly. The graphic depiction of the death of a child causes one's stomach to churn ulcer causing acids.

I do have a problem with Gwoza as the origin of Idris. And the date, 2008... Boko Haram began to metamorphose after the extra-judiciary killing of their leader in 2009. Before then they were a rag-tag assortment of ne'er-do-wells preaching against western education to poverty stricken and ignorant folks, so 2008 is rather anachronistic.

I also noticed a line 'kidnapped without his parents consent'. You don't need parental consent to abduct a person; that's why it is called 'kidnap'

All in all, very graphic and interesting, although I do wish you will edit the scene featuring Sanni's death. It's rather vulgar depicting the death of a child in so graphic a manner. It's just so... wrong... That's why it isn't shown in movies

As usual, this is captivating! Everything of Larrysun's is.


However, I expected the episode to end at 'Boom!' as it happens in movies. The paragraph after 'Boom!' really took me with surprise. I never expected that. I didn't feel good reading it either, and I'm sure most people won't.

#Following...

The audio's soundtrack is Westlife's Easy Way?

nice story Larry bt wat of black maria. remember you've Nt concluded the story

Nice. I like the thought of havin' to cheat to live. It happens everyday in the society.



Followin'

Nice one Mr LarrySun... Keep it up

TheSonOfMark:

The story starts with Idris being haunted by flashbacks from that gory scene. How then do the readers/listeners get to feel what Idris feels if that scene isn't graphic enough? I think the use of imagery there is necessary. That insight into the gore that took place helps us understand why Idris is haunted.
The author hasn't crossed that supposed moral line 'cause the description doesn't extend to the mutiliation of the corpse and how it was disposed off.
♦

A young boy with half his head blown up, complete with bits of brain and blowback is the focus of the penultimate paragraph. If that isn't immoral, I wonder what is.

Nice story as usual. MY INIOUITIES

I think 'kidnapped without his parents' consent' was intended to be funny, because, of course...
It's an excellent piece, but I worry it may become drab. I mean, the solemn, serious tone serves its purpose but isn't interestingness the go-word?
Please explain how Idris could have known the time the journey lasted, when his hands and legs had been tied together. I'm not going to mention that he was in a boot, assuming his digital watch had an LED backlight.
And what does the expression 'stringed up like a log of wood' mean anyway?

nellyme:
Owkay...FTC!!! Feed me more!!!....I wonder what mission Idris was abducted for, I guess terrorism. Anyways, I will wait to see. Kudos Larrysun and Kingzpen. Nice concept you got here.

Thank you so much, dear. You've been so wonderful.

Sleekyshuga:
Registered

You're welcome here, ma'am.

Edipee:
Thank God I'm here on time, no dull moment. Carry on Sir Larry.

Thank you, sir. No dulling!

Great one again from LarrySun, keep 'em coming please.

Terrific, following.

My Iniquities (Episode 2)

I heard the men cheer loudly. Apparently, some men had won and some lost. I felt like someone having a terrible nightmare. The terror proved too much for me to comprehend. I had taken another person's life; I had been forced to commit a deadly sin. And sadly enough, no, funny enough, I had enriched the pockets of my evil abductors by my grievous deed. My stomach felt totally empty, my head light, and my vision became blurred. I could not look at the body of the boy I had killed; the gruesome image appeared too terrible for me to continue beholding. The noise of the joyous winners rang uncomfortably in my ears. I had nowhere to look; everywhere I turned brought me a part of the dead boy's brain—the table, the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. With the absence of visible sanity around, I shut my eyes, whimpering and weeping for the evil act I had been subjected to do. I thought about my family. Would I ever see them again? Had they been searching around for me? Would they find me? I knew the answers to all my questions as I asked myself; the answers were negative.

Then strong hands grabbed my shoulders. They held me so firmly that I felt pains around my shoulder bones. My legs felt too weak to withstand my weight. The men dragged me out of the room into the long corridor. We went down the long corridor and stopped at the middle of the passage. One of them opened another room on our left hand side. The room was dark, and just like the slaughterhouse I just came out from, this particular room, too, had no window. By the flick of a switch, the lights came on and I could see the room clearer. This particular room had no chair or table, but a big hook hung from the ceiling and had a strong rope attached to it. Confusion overwhelmed me as I contemplated about what terrible drama I would be fated to perform this time around. But what happened far outweighed what premonition I must have nurtured.

The men rid me of my clothings until I found myself totally n*de. Then they proceeded to tie my hands together with the dangling rope. They tied me so tightly that my feet barely touched the floor, I felt stretched like a smoked fish. Fear gripped me; the kind of fear that goes beyond the struggle for modesty overtook my personality. I knew what was coming to me. The men looked at me unkindly; their faces still remained shrouded with mask. I could only determine their wickedness by the cold stare their eyes registered. I began to beg them to let me go. I could as well have been begging a log of wood. None of them hearkened to my plea. They seemed too bent on their mission to listen to a frightened boy...

Listen to what happened to the poor boy in the graphic audiobook below, as emotionally narrated by KINGZPEN.

https://www.dropbox.com/s/07qpt3vi26t60l9/My%20Iniquities%20%28Episode%202%29.mp3?dl=0


Enjoy!

Ishilove:
Larrysun, lovely as usual.

You do have a delightfully twisted mind!

A teenager playing Russian Roulette. That is rather morbid, to put it mildly. The graphic depiction of the death of a child causes one's stomach to churn ulcer causing acids.

I do have a problem with Gwoza as the origin of Idris. And the date, 2008... Boko Haram began to metamorphose after the extra-judiciary killing of their leader in 2009. Before then they were a rag-tag assortment of ne'er-do-wells preaching against western education to poverty stricken and ignorant folks, so 2008 is rather anachronistic.

I also noticed a line 'kidnapped without his parents consent'. You don't need parental consent to abduct a person; that's why it is called 'kidnap'

All in all, very graphic and interesting, although I do wish you will edit the scene featuring Sanni's death. It's rather vulgar depicting the death of a child in so graphic a manner. It's just so... wrong... That's why it isn't shown in movies

Now this is that kind of honest, skin-tight criticism that is hard to come by in the Literature Section of today.

Thank you, Ishilove dear, for taking the time out of your busy schedule to read this work, and also criticise. I am indeed grateful.

llaykorn:
As usual, this is captivating! Everything of Larrysun's is.


However, I expected the episode to end at 'Boom!' as it happens in movies. The paragraph after 'Boom!' really took me with surprise. I never expected that. I didn't feel good reading it either, and I'm sure most people won't.

#Following...

I didn't feel good writing it either, but I had to write it.

I've decided to shield the graphic descriptions from the reading of the innocent minds. Any twisted mind like mine (as sweet Ishi has conjectured) can go ahead and download the audio.

Thank you, bro, for reading.

llaykorn:
The audio's soundtrack is Westlife's Easy Way?

Lol! No, it's not.

manuel80:
nice story Larry bt wat of black maria. remember you've Nt concluded the story

Black Maria is still on. It's my latest favourite; I can't ignore it

JigsawKillah:
Nice. I like the thought of havin' to cheat to live. It happens everyday in the society.



Followin'

Thank you, Jiggy. The moral value of humanity is gradually pointing south.

stuff46: