₦airaland Forum

Pelxmiye:
Nice one..I hope you have been commercializing this pasion for writing

Thanks, I'm still working on my writing skills. I have plans to write my own book.

For anyone who reads and wonders what the whole idea of these stories are, they focus mainly on the psychological aspect of human nature. Our feelings. Our sensitivity. The little things that make us feel insecure .These are the things we hardly talk about , that drive some people to the edge of suicide............and others, it hardly affects them.

Some people are strong, being shouted at , mocked on a daily basis, etc, does not hurt them. But for others, really sensitive people, that's not the case. That's what these separate stories are all about.

Story 1, 'LOOKS' is about a little boy who develops very bad anxiety problems due to the way his parents always glare at him. Its a short story I ended dramatically, but that's because its a story. Like I said, the theme of these stories are feelings.

Story 2 , 'WORDS' ....this story is about the way words can hurt a person, and highlights the way people use their words harshly without caring how it feels, without knowing what the person is going through, even if these words cut like a knife, people are too insensitive to know or care. The main character in story 2, is a different character from story one because story 2 is completely different from story one. This character is a grown woman with toxic low self esteem issues. I tried to narrate her story using a 'third person' style, I created an imaginary friend as the observer to narrate her story to the reader.

So I hope anyone reading my stories can now understand the whole thing better.

Ann2012:
Are they different stories?

Well done OP

Thanks dear. Its a collection of totally different stories.

AryEmber:
Umm.... me I'm lost oo

I tagged them story 1 and 2. They are different short stories, under one main title. Its like a book of short stories. I cannot compare my work to Chimamanda's but lets use her book, ' The Thing Around Your Neck' as an example. Its a book of short stories, but she used the title of just one of the stories as the title of the whole book.

I noticed people are usually confused about the write-ups I do when its different short stories so that's why I'm explaining to this length. Story One in this collection I'm writing is totally different from story 2.

Thanks for reading.

I'll add more stories later.

STORY 2.

**

WORDS.


"DON'T DRINK IT."
These are the hurried words of Nurse Ama , as she grabs the dettol in the cup from the lips of one dumb little teenager called Biola. I'm just an imaginary friend. I watch on as she holds the girl as if to comfort her and melt the ice in her heart. I shake my head slightly. Oh, these liars that men , and especially women, are. The witch has an unnatural grin on her fat black face. She's laughing because you can't see her face right now. Laughing at you and the situation you're in, you total IDIOT. I want to tell the girl, Biola, this. But I'm to blame, I travelled into her memory , a memory sixteen years before the present, and if I was jobless enough to do that, I should be patient enough to walk out of her memories now.

You see, like I said, I'm an imaginary friend. Biola only had me when she was a child, but guess what, she's a completely weak individual , emotional and all that crap, so instead of invading another kids memory, I'm here in her adult mind. She called me back for comfort, I guess. The adults that do this are usually somewhat sick in the head. Man, if she thinks I am going to stay here one minute longer she has a surprise coming for her. I'll flit in and out of her memory like a flashback.

Anyway I travelled back into her memory to better understand the connection with her " then " and her " now " . She's twenty seven now and she works at a firm. Secretary . Not bad, though she dreamed of being some kind of celebrity when she was a child.

So I've been with her in her present . " Who will marry such an ugly thing like her" the co workers say. " Ugly hair, nothing fine for her body, na wa o. "

" It would be better if she wasn't here abeg, when she goes for leaves the place is even better organized, we don't have to be shouting every time. "

" lol dey tie hair like bush woman"

" Is it that one you're calling fine ? With her long big legs? "

" Why are you tying your hair like an old mama, why do you behave like an old woman? You are young but you act old "

Well well well. If only they knew she's a pathetic suicidal junkie. Oh wait, they know but they just avoid her and don't laugh with her much. You know the deal, if you can't insult a person, how can that person be your friend? It's what makes any classic Nigerian friendship sweet.

I'm still in her present and she's leaving work now. She's visualizing me so we can see each other right now, but she's not talking to me. Why would she talk to an imaginary friend anyway? As an adult ? That would be considered insanity. As a Nigerian? Double insanity, they'd take her for deliverance.

She hails a ' keke napep' and is surprised when a really good looking very young man pays the 50 Naira fare for her. She thinks of the comments, the ones that have always described her since secondary school, and she wonders if the young man was blind to have still paid for her or maybe he thinks she's a really ugly old woman that needs a little pity. Search me, I'm not the one with a low self esteem that makes me glorify every guy that graces me with a smile . I'm a phantom , a created thought watching a real human being with a buried self esteem.

Biola gets home and drops her bag on the bed. It's going to be the normal routine . She's going to take a bath and scrub herself until the skin peels in some places, hoping that her ebony black complexion will turn lighter and somehow she will start to look like those light skinned beauties in magazines. She's going to stare at her plantain resembling, burnt skin, village looking, rough feet that no shoes can beautify, and she's going to wish and wish she could replace them. She's going to cup her breasts while she looks in her mirror and wish they hadn't been manhandled by the first guy that ever gave her three hours of his time and a smile. She's going to squeeze her belly fat and hate herself for not losing it.

Oh well.

She looks across the bathroom, at the shelf near the small bathroom window with bars. Behind the bars, there is a bottle of dettol. One more bonus even better, a bottle of bleach. She might do it this time. She reaches out for the bottles, even if they are too far from her to possibly reach by her distance. There's an unhealthy longing in her eyes .

But then she curls those long thin fingers in a loose fist and brings her hand down. Her tense body just relaxes as she breathes in and out.

And I'm thinking as I fade out of her memory once more......

There might still be hope.

STORY 1.

**


LOOKS.


Daniel is a nine year old boy who lives with his mother in Ilorin, Kwara State. They live in a nicer part of their town, he goes to one of the better schools in his area. The type of school that has a road tiled before it, only because of the prominence both it and the area around it possess.

Daniel's mother is driving him to his school today, as usual. It's a Monday, and the rain is pouring down from the heavens with fury. It's cold inside the car. He's curling up in the car seat , seatbelt slightly twisted, by instinct he's simply trying a foetal position to drive away the cold. She looks at him, her perfect , beautiful face as smooth as China for a minute. Then just like the flashes of thunder , so sudden, the face changes into a long twisted ugly one. Her lips turned downward, her eyes in tiny slits now, her forehead one big freakshow of frown creases. She looks and looks at him , and for every minute she stares, he feels that red light in his subconscious mind flash faster and faster. His heartbeat up and down, up, down......... like a bird in a cage. He feels a personal condemnation and resentment within himself swell up and threaten to drown him, the waves get wilder with every second. The look has lasted only five minutes but he doesn't truly know if he was dreaming and he lived an eternity in that dream, or he just faced a nightmare that he'll see forever, recurring in his daydreams. He does the only thing he can think of, in his panic ridden mind. He sits up. The face of his mother slowly resumes its former, China smooth quality. But there remains a long suffering expression. An expression, that seems to Daniel, like the one his father carries every morning when going to work. The expression of someone, who has to do something they'd rather not deal with. His mother drops him off with a farewell that forces itself between her teeth. The tone, is controlled, a hint of reluctance buried in it.

Daniel spends the rest of the day with a dark cloud over him. He can feel an invisible burden rest on his shoulders, he spends the day trying to shake it off with those rubber smiles he gives the kids at school , the ones that make them laugh at him and say he acts like a robot; the ones that make them say he is stiff, unnatural and weird. The one that makes the bullies see the weakness in him and mark him as a target.

Daniel gets picked by his dad. His dad shakes his head when he sees him and there is that bitter regretful tingle in his tiny , almost unnoticeable nod. The small smile he tries to muster does not hide the memory of this nod from Daniel's eyes and memory. When Daniel gets home and greets his mom, who answers him with that slow look and that slurry greeting , that ugly downward turn of her lips the moment she sees him, he flees upstairs. Almost on angel wings he is almost afloat in that rush to get into his room.

In the room, his self loathing becomes a monster. He looks at himself in the mirror and there it is; anger , doubt, fear , hatred for himself all feast on his reflection and swallow it in a quick gulp. The boy in the mirror is caramel brown in complexion, smooth skin like mother, straight legs like his father , just a thin boy like the rest of the boys. But he hates the reflection of himself. If his mom and dad could look at him in those ways then something must be terribly wrong with him and he doesn't know it. He must hate himself until he curbs it. He must berate and hurt himself until he is as disciplined as mummy and daddy want.


She calls him to dinner. He is grateful because mummy is really doing him a favour by hosting his disgusting self in her lovely house. He is sure he is a stain on his parents. Daddy comes in and grimaces with that annoyed expression on his face while he's eating. His mom looks on with that weary and long suffering expression. And she tells him in a low voice to eat properly. The looks, they set off the red light in his dark mind . He feels like a dirty piece of garbage.


When Daniel goes back to the room, he can't stand the reflection in the mirror. He's been looking at himself like that since he turned six, the looks started when he turned five. He breaks the mirror with his fists and when he sees his red red blood, he begs God not to send him to hell.