This thread is the place the judges would make their numerous picks

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Shewrites
Audreytimms
Royver

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Sponsors Needed

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Only the judges and moderator can drop anything here until the round that allows contestants to drop it.
For next rounds, all contestants are to drop their work,comments and observation at this thread.
The instructions are also there and would be posted late

https://www.nairaland.com/4780030/writertain-writers-league-instruction-discussion

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Contestants

Youngzubi
juininho
MisterRuk
meneski
GSteve001

Heryordele94
Daysam007
devilmaycry
DrDreWise
Kusibe77
Missnande

Thewriter2018
peacesamuel94
Generica
Firstgentleman1

olatunyemi
KimberlyWest
Tbekz
duch12
Jazmiynne

Frankenstein
babtoundey
spidey77
vivypretty
Divineroyalty
SenhorSean
OluwabuqqyYOLO

EVarn
piroux
rafindo
Atayis

Entry 1

MY FIRST BEATING ENCOUNTER IN SECONDARY SCHOOL. 

  

How did i manage to get myself into this mess? I began to ponder,the thought of receiving that miserable cane of pains from my form teacher shadowed my mind, just two weeks of resumption  in Great Mind International School as a new intake i already got myself into Mr fred's trouble.


 "who comes first!,  Mr Fred's voice echoed through the whole classroom

i was shocked when i saw the fierce look in his eyes, you all know my do and dont but you decided to do the  otherwise, and for that fact i will punish the both of you mercilessly, said Mr fred.


 "jide, dont worry i know of one magic like that, it will definitely make his beating painless just watch and see, emake whispered into my ears as he picked   two little stones and placed them in his armpits and step out, for a second i forget about my offense and mavel how emaka magic worked,he received all the lashes without shaking, everybody cheered him up as he walked majestically back to his back seat, then with all boldness i quickly picked up two stones just like emeka had done, i placed them in my armpits and walked straight to Mr fred's dangling cane, with hope that the cane won't hurt i stretched forth my hands and my back low and well positioned, "wow!" Mr Fred sigh and raised the cane 360 degrees as the class went silent, then like a cane of thunder so it was released on my back taaa!!!!



"jesus!!!!!! I screamed in pain as i couldn't feel my back anymore, i dashed outside with speed and the whole class burst into laughter, that was my first beating experience in secondary school, it wasn't good encounter though but had it been that i listened and didn't join emaka in cheating during our midweek test Mr Fred would have been my favorite teacher.

All comments should be on the other thread.

https://www.nairaland.com/4780030/writertain-writers-league-instruction-discussion

Entry 2

Buck


Sometime in the year of our Lord, 1656, deep South of what would become the greatest union of states on earth, under one God, a slave committed the perfect crime ; an unpardonable sin, and would that it were true that the Almighty be the true judge, even he would have found it most difficult to save just this one man- if he could really be called a man in the same sense as Master Simons.


Buck was what they called " a recalcitrant nigger" in white parlance.; he was said to have been  the prince of an Island off the Guinean coast before his capture, and was a slave ever so regal, so majestic, even in captivity! He was of a good stock, very tall and well carved; his nose, particularly, was unlike the big flat noses of his fellows; it was sharp and aquiline-- Like a sword's edge . He was vastly handsome and successive masters hated him for it; their jealousy found the perfect expression through their whips and Buck, never one to be silent, rebelled as a slave could, earning himself sales from one master to the other, each successive one  harder than the previous. This was how Buck was sold, resold over and over till he found himself with Simons. But with this new master came a new duty for Buck: A duty so terrible it was the sweetest taboo. And today, they were about reaching the peak when Simons barged in on them.

Entry 3
Over the years, I've always thought that i have no place in the society until i started to realise that my disability has been a blessing in disguise.
I belong to a family of four, consisting of my parents, my brother and me. There has been this tenet that certain people with disabilities are being underrated. As a result, i never had friends in school.
My parents didnt regard me underprivileged and their support really helped my growing up.
At 14, i started to face the music when i won a name for myself after our junior mock examinations. At first i was worried but after relaying to my parents. I was encouraged but i find it hard to make friends because none of them would want to mingle with me. One of them once told me, i can never be regarded as equals with them that i should have attended a special school for kids with disabilities. I became resolute and gradually i was in good graces with my teachers and few of my classmates. Everything started changing when they started coming to me demanding for help with assignments.
I never looked down on myself and i always want to achieve great things in life. My dream is to become a renown writer. Although i might not be a able to speak a word but i'll make sure that the world hears me through the words i write.

Entry 4

My Teenage Holiday Deed

I have always adored the liberating calmness of the holidays. The air
smelt even fresher, and i would almost hear the tranquil melody of
freedom, from the vibrant nudges  its caressing currents. The grasses
rustled, and the trees swayed too, both yielding in submission to the
coercive wheedling of the air currents,like they were teaming up to
render a universal whisper of freedom. For me It was freedom indeed
from the mad, unpleasant raucousness of school.

This day was one of such. I was at the market. Mama's voice still in
my mind, "you can forget everything, but don't forget fish", I knew
already  from experience that it was merely her manner of speaking,
and didn't mean a license to forget anything, no matter how minute.

As I moved, I noticed a shadowy figure tagging closely behind, almost
touching. I turned to confirm, Only to behold the bloodshot eyes,the
tobacco stained teeth,the small tuft of hair at the center of the
Oblong,hairless mass that was his head.

" Child help me,I'm starving.

Were the words that came out of the throaty quiver.

I don't know for sure, why I did it, how I did it, but I was sure of my punishment. And while I went through it,I envisioned the stranger's face, his lips muttering blessings, his unsteady voice like fleeting echoes. I concluded I would do more in future, but this time, with my own money. thenceforth I felt heroic.

Entry 5

Palm Oil from the East

I woke up that morning to my sister saying that there was no palm oil in the house. What? Going out to buy things like that had been a task for the brave only. I happened to be sandwiched between two women who sold oil in my neighborhood. The last time I bought palm oil from one of them, I had to boil it just to melt it before use. Can you imagine? And the taste of it was like petrol mixed with termite-eaten raw beans.

I sat down on the couch and planned my escape to a nearby street to get what I wanted. An idea came to me. I slipped into my black trouser, collected a sky blue shirt from the hanger, and went out. The morning air was as clean as a virgin from Warri. It was the usual Lagos Environmental Sanitation day. Thank God. But wait. One of those women lived in an adjacent building. Who cares, anyway? Abegi.

Finally, I reached an intersection and, like an arrow shot from the trembling arms of a terrified hunter, I turned right and walked briskly. I found a half-open foodstuff store and sighed in relief.

“How much is the small bottle,” I asked the boy. He was obviously Igbo, Strong and healthy looking.

“Six hundred naira, brodaa,” he said with a boyish smile.

“Six gini?”

“This palm oil is from the east, oga.”

“Really? Then give me the one from the west.”

Nonsense.

Entry 6

You don't have an option son, you must become a lawyer. It's the family's business .The Legacy must continue." Wilson's father told him during dinner.

"Dad, does my opinion and happiness matter in this house? This isn't the path I want for myself. I've got no passion for it." Wilson replied.

It was their family's legacy. Their primogenitor was an influential, wealthy, and famous lawyer. It became the way of the family and was to be maintained by the first son of each generation (which Wilson was). But he was not ready to tow that path. He wanted to be a music artist but nobody supported him.

"Willie, are you alright?" asked his mum.

"No! I'm not," he shouted. "It has always been you, dad, the family's image and legacies. Nothing about me. I have my own life to live also. I've got my own dreams and goals too. And that's what I'm set on achieving from no........"

"Shut up!" His father shouted. "Ever thought of the life you're enjoying? The wealth, fame, respect and fear you get just because you're a member of this family? It is all because of The LEGACY. This topic is no more open for more opinions." he concluded.

Wilson stood up and walked out on his family, entered his car and zoomed off. Infuriated by his father's words and blinded by the echo in his head, "the legacy must continue!" He failed to realize that the truck in front of him had stopped. BOOM!

Entry 7

HEARTBREAK 

"You don't have to do that," Sandra barked furiously, dropping the photograph on the table and hitting it carelessly. Her eyes are teary and her hair dishevelled.

Papers and clothes scattered across the room, and the large frame mirror that had previously hung aesthetically on a side of the room were now in pieces.

She sat on the floor with a note on her right hand side and a bottle slightly opened too. She had been like that for over an hour weeping.

Suddenly, her phone rang but she ignored. Then it rang again and again, and she reluctantly reached for the phone.

Samuel was the one calling. She yelled at the phone before switching it off.

With tears  streaming down her cheeks and no one to comfort her, she picked up the paper  and started writing:
"How could you have gone this far with Samuel? You are not even worthy to be called a mother again. Why must you have sex…"

When finished, she dropped the note on the floor, picked up the bottle and emptied the contents in her mouth. And after some while she started shaking hysterically and vomiting foam from her mouth.
She was dying slowly and no one was there to save her.
Her eyes were shutting and she was quickly loosing contact with the world.

Suddenly, a loud bang erupted from the door, and a silhouette of someone screaming her name loud was all she could see as she lost contact with the world.

Entry 8

Toad Stew
I could remember back in 1985, my cousin and I lived at the Ogoja main market, Anambra . Mama Ekiti , as she was called owned a popular canteen, her food was so delicious that even the market lunatic who fed on trash came once in a while for a taste of her "magic cooking". Mama Ekiti had lots of customers from as far as the Akwa metropolis, many married men were ready to ditch their wives cooking to have dinner at her canteen. Oke (my cousin) and I were members of the Ogoja Youth Taskforce, we protected the market community from thieves and hoodlums who came at night to rob shops, in return the traders paid a " levy" of #10 every week. That week like every other Mama Ekiti refused to pay her levy again, she always claimed that she had no money to spare for us. No money? She had the most successful food business in the market, many times she had proven to be a shrew and insulted us in her dialect . These Yoruba people were too stingy, we needed to teach her a lesson.

Night came, Mama Ekiti and her girls had locked the canteen and were on their way home. At that hour many traders had left the market, it was almost empty. We were a team of six, I, Oke, and four members of the taskforce, we broke the padlock of the canteen door, three of us entered while another three waited outside to keep watch. In the kitchen, Mama Ekiti had a second hand Binatone freezer where she preserved some drinks and soup she would serve the next morning, to our delight we found a very big pot of chicken stew she had prepared before she left. We carried the stew pot from the freezer with a crate of beer, satisfied with our deed we left the canteen, everywhere was still the way we found it, of course except for the padlock.
That night we prepared a large bowl of "eba" enough for six hungry youths and warmed the stew under a stove, we grated okra into the stew. Believe me it was delicious, no chicken nor beef in the stew was spared, at the end we flushed everything down with some bottles. The next day we all had stomach aches, it was as if something was jumping inside our stomachs, to our deepest horror we began to vomit and stool toads! I could remember vomiting more than ten fat and slimy toads from my belly and some hoping out of my anus , it was three days of hell. Mama Ekiti acted as if no one had broken into her canteen, and continued business as always. Oke and I quit the taskforce, whenever someone says Mama Ekiti's cooking was magic I would just smile and agree, it was indeed magic..
Till today I don't eat chicken stew, sometimes I hear toads croaking in my head when I sleep. Maybe some toads are still living in my stomach.

Entry 9

Violet walked towards the building, smiling, her gigantic hips swinging from side the side. She pushed the entrance door and climbed the stairs, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. She turned left stomped to the third door. A sweet aroma hit her nose. She smiled and inhaled deeply; her stomach rumbles. 
Segun is at it again. She stretched forward her hand and turned the knob; the door was locked. She quickly opened her bag and brought out a bunch of keys. She inserted a key into the hole, turned it twice and pushed the door. She entered and locked the door behind her. 
There were two glass cups and an empty bottle of vodka on the glass table. Music was playing on the background. She called his name twice but there was ni answer. She dropped her bag on the lounge and walked to the kitchen. There was a pot on fire, she opened it; jollof rice. Why is Segun and why did he leave the pot of jollof uncared for? She asked herself as she walked to the bedroom. 
Her mouth formed a big O and her eyes widened when she saw Segun, her boyfriend of seven years hopping on a lady. She gasped loudly, drawing their attention to her. Her eyes met with Seguns. There was shock in his eyes. She stomped to the sittingroom, covering her mouth. She missed her step and fell face down on the glass table. 
"She is dead!" Segun said in horror.

Entry 10


Special Ops

The gusts of the Sahara tugged at his kaftan as he led a flock of cows towards a high-walled residence on the outskirts of N'Djamena. It was twilight and two men sat around a fire in front of the residence.

"Salam aleikun, friends," he greeted, "Please, could you offer-"

"Move! You and your filthy cows," one of them immediately jumped towards him.

"Mmm, such Chadian hospitality, " he smiled.

In a flash, he spun the man around, grabbed his neck and broke it. Before the partner could react, his dagger was already buried in the man's heart. He then retrieved a sack strapped on a cow's underbelly, geared up and waited out of view.

Five minutes later, the gate opened and two men walked out.

TAP TAP

Two quick muffled shots from his Glock dropped them, and he moved in.

The single bungalow inside had boarded up windows and the security lights were off. Night goggles on, he stealthily walked to the backyard, turned off the power generator and returned.

Someone immediately stepped out of the building with a Kalashnikov and he gunned him down. He rushed to the door and threw a flash-bang inside.

BANG

He dived in and rolled, taking out five men as he moved around the house. He located a locked room, kicked the door open and beamed his flashlight on a terrified face inside.

"ID confirmed, Alpha Command" he spoke into his comms bud. "I found her... It's Leah Sharibu, and I'm bringing her home."

Entry 11

BLACK TO WHITE
Temidayo--- sitting on the settee---was astronomically perplexed, sensitively worried, and rationally infuriated. His ruddy face had become dejected.
He looked at the phone in consternation, he could not believe what he had seen; the transition of black and white.
The myriad of questions flooding his heart, were indeed, numberless. He could not answer questions with the recent trauma garnered through his chat with his friend. “When some try to revamp our culture, some want its death enthusiastically” he said aloud, unknowingly.
“This is preposterous!” he postulated, dropping the phone on the settee and stood up. “Must we live like them? Must we dress the same way? Must we eat their food? Above all, must we bear their names? He asked solemnly, raising his two hands upward like a baby crying for help to gesticulate his inquisitively pensive mood.
It was obvious that the outrageous act of Temidayo’s pen – friend, Raphael, had made him swim in the poll of overwhelming thought. For career purpose, his friend had changed his name from Makinde Raphael Tobi to “Mark Ralph Toob”. The latter that was used on Facebook , and freelance websites for gentrifying reasons.
“If you can’t beat them… I prefer to be a white in order to have breakthrough easily” were words for flimsy excuse by Raphael.
“Things about our culture have gone from bad to worse. Can the cultural remnants survive fifty years more of its perish?” he asked, rhetorically, tears tricked down his face. He collapsed on the floor.

Entry 12


When Dare had called the police to report a break-in in the jewelry store where he worked, Miriam had been sent over for damage inspection. But nothing significant had been taken and she had left early. Two days after, he had called again to complain the door had been tampered with but, again, nothing was taken. While she took tea—the tea he had insisted for disturbing her—she had expressed that something was fishy somewhere.
So, a week later, he had called again that a shelf had been broken and two worthy pieces were missing. She had stayed much longer this time and had eventually had dinner with him. He had laughed off that he might be in danger. Three days later, he had rung (after she had waited endlessly) and she had ran to him.
Nothing was amiss and he had apologized for the hoax, saying he had merely wanted to see her again. This had intrigued her. Had it all been a trick to keep seeing her? Or was a burglar truly attacking the store? Could the missing pieces be with him? Undecided, she had left without an answer. Much later, at night, he had called and had talked a lot of love and her. He had known her favorite colour and novel. In the morning, she had gone to the store to meet him dead. Police report said he had been shot tryimg to burgle the store. And he had carried a
gun and a mask.

Entry 13
Ezra my friend is the most kind and reserve friend i've ever had. Always puts others interest first,a selfless fellow but one thing i know he dreads most is being in the presence of ladies; far from it! He is handsome and at times i feel like i should have those sexy eyes of his. Why is Ezra always scared of them girls?




James another friend of mine have tried to get Ezra laid but it just doesnt turn out productive.




"we can talk about this amicably and no one will leave this room in a bucket" she said still standing.



"You don't expect me to pass those documents to you for nothing do you?" This is getting complicated...oh God! whats she doing with a dagger?




The gate wasn't locked so i strolled in. About to knock on the door i heard voices from inside.




"Ahhhhh! You are one strong stud huh? "Damn! That was...ohhhh my God!"




Wow sounds like Ezra won't be needing our help anyway. Get her bro! Smash her very hard! She said his a stud...




"Am sorry Mr Ezra..." she's sorry? "Your death won't..." who's death?...Ezra!... I banged on the door it was locked from the inside and from inside i heard the shattaring of glasses; The window!




I stepped back and rammed the door open with my shoulder. There he lay soaked crimeson. They weren't even... I rushed towards the broken window, my vision blured by tears. No one in sight.

Entry 14

“Please, support me with anything you have. As you do so, God will grant your heart desires”.

I peered into my wallet and saw the last N200; my lifeline for the day. I cast a puzzled look at my roommate whose seat was a stone throw from mine and he returned the gaze with a frown. I got the signal, but I still stood up, money clutched in fist, and contributed my widow’s mite saying a silent prayer. The man collected it and prayed even more.

It was not until after the day’s lecture that I discovered how hungry I was. My roommate was furious, but I avoided him successfully till I made my way to the ATM, ready to stand in line under the scorching sun and withdraw from an account that had zero balance. It soon got to my turn. The cold machine displayed the message ‘insufficient funds’. With a bowed head I resigned myself to fate and walked the long rough path to my hostel.

After five minutes of hungry walk, a car pulled up beside me, inside it a pretty woman beckoned. “I was behind you at the ATM, I saw what happened. Please manage this and take care”. She said while stuffing my outstretched palm with cash. She drove off before I could get a chance to thank her. Then I remembered my prayer earlier, “God I commit my feeding into your hands”. Tears flowed freely in torrents. Good deeds get rewarded fast too.

Entry 15

I know some countries support homosexuality,but that life is disgusting to me.I remember encountering one back then,I usually hear of them but it wasn't real to me.I always thought it was all lies.
So on this sunday afternoon after church service i escorted my mum to the road cos she wanted visiting her friend but i had the intention of buying fuel since there was no light.
After buying the fuel i decided to use another road home,when I saw this guy,he was walking somehow shaking his waist.He came close and started with the usual hello,I thought he wanted asking for directions or something so I replied him.
Then he said,he saw me when I passed with my mum,that i looked so fine and that he has been waiting to talk to me.
Ahh my body was already shaking self,but i had to keep calm,so all the stories i have been hearing was true and happening in my presence.I was speechless.
He then proceeded to ask about my name,I replied with a fake one though.He now told me he likes me and wanted to be a friend.I told him no wahala,but deep down i was scared.
"Where are you staying " he said
I quickly gave him a fake address,as I was telling him I was giving him pace since we were walking.When I turned the next street and he was far behind i started running till I got home.That was how I woke up sweating,damn! I was only dreaming.

Entry 16

After my mma's death, we—my wealthy baba and I—had journeyed far and had eventually come to settle on the Niger. The Igala, among whom I later grew were initiatially skeptical and watchful, like the shea-butter hawker hoping against the sun. But Baba was patient and in a short while, they had come to adore us and my generous Baba was soon
made a chief.

The year I had turned ten, Baba had wedlocked Aboyo, a fair maiden who glided the earth and whose firm backside hung in the air like a proud medal. Aboyo was as much as an unfaithful mistress though, a bat that wined with birds and dined with rats and the times I had acted as though I was not looking, she had gone in with Alero, the merchant who helped Baba handle his cocoa.

I hoped Baba would suspect but I felt that his sojourn to Maccah, had taken a great toll on his lithe body. Aboyo took in bore Orhiza, a son so lovely that my now frail Baba or anyone could not help but love, even me who knew he was made with Alero.

Then,soon, when Baba had died and the king had ordered that all Baba owned be bequeathed to Orhiza, I had wept but only wept but only wept—after all, I was a girl child. And it had turned out, Baba had known about Alero all along and he, Baba, had always been a barren cow.

Entry 17

Ricochet


"It will never be about the story, it's in the telling" - Cramwordplay, 2018.


Ulonna come off it biko!


The words circled in the deep recesses of my mind creating a mumble that I would later identify as fear. Iya was a second mother to me. Her daughter, Ochia and I grew up eating from the same pot. Iya was never wrong, but this time she had to be for the weight of her assertions were so thick they created a fog.


Iya's tears were the first triggers of my fear as she physically trembled while I described my encounter with Odinna.


He claimed to be from our clan...


I shook off the thought, Iya had to be wrong.


It didn’t matter that Mpa disrupted Odinna's wedding. Charging at the couple, Mpa had proven that Odinna stole his betrothed and insisted that the priest marry him to his woman as the rightful groom.


However indeed, Odinna is now Christian.


I was retiring for the night when the SMS came in.

It was Nkem, my fiancé. I smiled before opening it.


Our wedding is in 2 days, yet Nkem sends me texts every night reminding me how he wished the days would come closer.


The smile died on my lips as the SMS opened on my phone screen:


"Ulonna the wedding is off. Ochia has always had my heart and I fear marrying you would be a mistake.  I am sorry Ulonna but I will marry my best friend on Saturday."

Entry 18

Darkest Hell

I once read that our fears are nothing more than a state of the mind. I believed in it and thought I lived it until that night when the Devil came to steal my soul. The Devil I knew wasn't the monstrous horned bull I'd heard about as a child. No, this Devil was 6'4", clean cut and a well angled face that was good enough to be a supermodels'. I thought for sure he was going to dump me at the slightest chance and move on to the next girl as there was always a swarm of them around him.

Bade was the one who stole my heart during my first year in school. He was everyone's ideal leader even among the lecturers. When I was a naive girl he shielded me from the wiles of campus danger and I soon became the envy of numerous girls. Like a Knight in shinny armour he swept me off my feet. His eyes were pure fire and I became his before I had the opportunity to know all my course codes. Little did I know what I was getting myself into.

It's been 10 years since. The Mr Ajibola that now parades me as his dutiful wife in every occasion is different from the one that unmasks beyond our door. Every year I tell myself that I would file for divorce, but every year when he steps in through the door, all I can see is the fire in his eyes, burning right through me.

Entry 19

.
The place the girl mentioned is an abandoned warehouse with a dwarf fence. It isn't far from school and there is the risk of finding dangerous things in it. A train track passes besides the building which is said to be used for storing scrap metals. In the past, when metals were quiet at night, lovers used the place. I am here to check the warehouse and to see him.

I stand, palms in my pocket, and, behind the flowers behind the bench in the front of the warehouse is a sign post that reads: city warehouse, and besides it, he exhales visibly under the light of the night.

‘Hi,’ I call.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ He says.
I point to the little girl, ‘she says her teddy is inside.’
‘Forget it,’ he says and walks away.
I don’t want to believe him. I have heard so much about the warehouse and I might find some things to use in my story. Telling the girl to wait, I walk towards the fence. He didn’t even wait to allow me explain how I have missed him. The gate squeaks open.

‘Which side is it?’ I ask the girl.
She is quiet. I turn.
The thing is about hundred eight feet tall with giant hands, large nails, red eyes, and it’s snarling. It walks to the transfixed girl. And I shut my eyes and scream. When I open them, the thing is removing pieces of blood-stained dress from its mouth.

Entry 20


THE CALL
“Oluomachukwu!!” My father called from his room. I sat up with force from the bed immediately I heard the call because my father never calls my full name except when I had done something bad. Different thoughts flew through my mind as I searched my memory for any bad deed I may have done lately.
My heart pounded loudly in my chest, as I remembered Mr. Ike, our neighbor’s visit yesterday evening. I had tried to eaves drop on their conversation but their voice had been too low for me to hear. He had caught me coming down from Obinna, the notorious bad boy’s car a week ago.

“Oluomachukwu!!” he called again, his voice louder than before enough to break into my disarrayed thoughts.
“Yes father” I answered, scampering out of my bed. I rubbed my hands down my night gown in an effort to wipe my sweating palms than to smoothen out the silky red night gown that stopped at my knees. I tied a wrapper loosely to my chest over my night gown, so it could cover my revealing night gown and also soak up the sweat trickling down my laps.

Taking a deep breath, I opened the door to my father’s room to see him seated at the edge of his unmade king sized bed, leaning forward with his folded hands resting on his laps.
“Why is my dinner not yet served?” “I thought you were asleep, so I didn’t call you after serving it”

Let The Competition Begin!
The Judges will select their choices and give a brief explanation for doing so.


After they have all picked their numbers, I'll reveal the writers behind the name .
Enjoy..
Please, no comment is allowed here.

After going through all the entries, I have chosen my six choices.

Entry 17, Entry 12, Entry 10, Entry 8, Entry 5, and Entry 2.

Entry 17 renewed my love for historical drama/novel/film. It was well written and I am very impressed. It also had an unexpected ending.

Entry 12 was also well written. The story had a twist that I liked. Kudos to the writer.

Entry 10 was Ghen Ghen Ghen. Nice use of words. Action all the way. I am a sucker for action films/series/novels etc. So glad we have Nigerian action/crime writers.

Entry 8 was very very very nice. it was endearing, intriguing and the story-line was well played.

Entry 2 reminds me of one of my favourite authors 'Ted Dekker'. Nice one man. Or are you a she? lol. How did it end? Hope the book is completed. Will really like to read it?

Hey guys. Glad to be here again. I hope to have more fun than I did last year. Without further ado, below are the entries I picked and my reasons for picking them.

Entry 2
Reason - I loved the way you captured the story. You took us back to the slave era and sort of made it abstract. It was well written.


Entry 3
Reason - Your entry is motivational and the last sentence really got to me. I believe it's what everyone wants; to be heard through whatever medium. 


Entry 4
Reason - I'm not so good with descriptions, so I was drawn to your descriptive ability. It was as if I was right there, spending the holiday with you and standing beside the beggar. A little editing here and there you need to do, but it was good.


Entry 14
Reason - Well written. Inspirational. Motivational. Emotional.


Entry 18
Reason - I found your entry intriguing. It made me want to know more. What happened? Why did he change?  Why can't you file for a divorce? A little editing to be done but good work.


Entry 20
Reason - Well written. Suspense. The tenseness and fear you felt was portrayed well. Needs a little editing but I loved it.


That's all, folks. I wish everyone success. Ciao!

We await sir Royver ('s) selection

Entry 4: Good sentence construction, good use of English. As a writer, you want to be able to draw people into your story and I think you did a good job here.

Entry 6: Simple, intriguing and straight to the point. I like writers who don't make you try so hard to decipher what their story is about. reading is also about relaxation, not glossing back and forth across dictionaries. Sometimes we try too hard to impress with our bank of vocabulary, it may work, it may not. This in my opinion, was just right. Kudos.

Entry 8: Beautiful! Yes! Good use of English, great syntax, an engaging writing form and a twist at the end. We have a storyteller!

Entry 10: Awww, Nice. Good use of English, strong descriptive prowess, I like how you were specific with the weaponry and how you didn't make your action scenes look awkward or excessive. And of course, we all want Leah Sharibu home. Great job!

Entry 12: Yes, I like this one. The writer has a good control of English and there is intrigue and suspense in his/her story. Good job.

Entry 14: Great piece. Once again, simple syntax structure, great command of English, and an easy flowing story that had a happy ending. Sometimes restricting the number of words for a story makes it difficult for a storyteller to pass across his/her message. You had no such difficulty. Great job!


Of course there were a lot of other stories that were interesting, some made me laugh out loud, but for now and for the purpose of this competition, I think these six would have to suffice.

Well done everyone!

Entries

1. Youngzubi
2. Juininho
3. SenhorSean
4. Peacesamuel94
5. Generica
6. Divineroyalty
7. Thewriter2018
8. MisterRuk
9. Duch12
10. Frankenstein
11. Atayis
12. Drdrewise
13. Meneski
14. Firstgentleman1
15. Devilmaycry
16. OluwabuqqyYolo
17. Jazminyyne
18. Missnande
19. Kusibe77
20. Vivypretty

Shewrites
picked

2. Juininho *

5. Generica

8. MisterRuk *

10. Frankenstein *

12. Drdrewise *

17. Jazminynne

---

Audreytimms

2. Juininho *

3. SenhorSean

4. Peacesamuel94 *

14. Firstgentleman1 *

18. Missnande

20. Vivypretty

---

Royver

3. Peacesamuel94 *

6. Divineroyalty

8. MisterRuk *

10. Frankenstein *

12. Drdrewise *

14. Firstgentleman1 *


At this point, the following people will have to pick one of the judges that selected them. The judges have the right to lobby for them before the contestants pick. This means that the judges not chosen will have to pick other writers to fill in their 6 slots.


2. Juininho

4. Peacesamuel94

8. MisterRuk

10. Frankenstein

12. Drdrewise

14. Firstgentleman1

Wow. Picked by two awesome writers. The choice is harder; harder than even the Odyssian dilemma. Well, Shewrites gushed better than Audreytimms( I love the moniker) . In this case, I go with my overblown ego. Thanks both. I really appreciate.

I choose Shewrites.

No hard feelings, juininho. I understand.

I hereby pick Entry 16. OluwabuqqyYolo. Truth be told, I intuitively knew you were the writer of that entry from your first entry during the last competition but I didn't want the drama of last time where we'd have to fight for you and make the other contestants feel less worthy. I also didn't want the heartbreak of you picking someone else again. Where there's Royver, the genius who sees things others don't see? So I jejely jumped and passed. Imagine my shock when your entry wasn't picked. Anyway, welcome to my team.