₦airaland Forum

Efe_XY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[quote author=t-flow]O boy...I been just get chance read all stories nau nau...omo na ZIP o. Everybody tight!! @Royver - you no see anything sha?[/quote]As per how?
Your story was fantastic by the way, like a mirror evil reflection of my own and so wonderfully told. Kudos!

Thanks!

Pls what's a PM

repogirl: Royver, interesting as usual but short,
.....i felt there should have been more....it was romance in genre but ..... Will save the rest for later. Great job.
.

Thanks. Still keeping my fingers crossed.

Done.

Night visitor

(2,050 words)

By ROYVER


It is a warm night. The air is hot and sticky, the kind that makes you want to pull your clothes off before going to bed. Everyone in the boarding house is asleep. Well, almost everyone. Sandra is still awake. She has sneaked out of the dormitory into the store room, just as she does every Friday night. It’s a small room and is supposed to be used in keeping provisions for the students’ use though for the past semester it has been abandoned. The ceiling is covered with cobwebs and the light bulb is ash colored having burnt out a long time ago. Beside one of the walls is a single chair and table. The only source of light comes through the single window on the opposite side of the room which is just large enough for someone to squeeze through. Sandra cleans the table and chair with a napkin that she brought from her dormitory. Not the cheeriest of environments but Sandra doesn’t mind. She’s expecting a visitor tonight.


Sandra looks at her watch. It’s almost midnight. She sighs and counts the tiles on the wall beneath the window sill. When she finishes she looks at her watch and sighs again. A mosquito passes by, courting the blood vessels beneath her skin with its high pitched song. She swats at the insect in irritation but even that does not spoil her mood. She wonders how he will look tonight. She smiles to herself as she remembers their last encounter, her lips making a petit curve, cute, kissable. She thinks he might let her kiss him tonight. She had tried once in the past but he had refused, saying it was not proper; he would be taking advantage of her; she was too young, if his people found out, and so on. She had wondered why he had been so nervous about the whole thing. It’s not like she wasn’t going to be sixteen in a few months, truthfully it wasn’t even her first kiss, and what did he mean ‘if his people found out’? Anyway the topic had so agitated him that she had dropped the subject. They had gotten a whole lot closer since then, her handsome night visitor.


She looks again at her watch. It is 11:36 p.m. She begins to worry about him. She wonders how he steals out of his abode every Friday night to come and see her. Does he have an accomplice? Has he ever been caught? She cannot say. She has never gathered up the courage to ask. Maybe tonight, she thinks. Tonight she’ll ask. A rattling noise outside makes her heart skip a beat. Is that him? Did he come early today? The idea that he might be as anxious to see her as she is to see him excites her. She moves to the window and stares outside. There’s a sickle shaped moon out tonight and the stars compete with it to light up the heavens. She hears the rattling sound again and looks in that direction only to see a huge rat scurrying around the garbage bin, looking for a morsel to eat. She watches it in fascination as it climbs nimbly up the side of the garbage bin and into the leftovers of the evening only for it to be chased out again by a previous occupant. The two rodents bare their teeth at each other for a while before the new arrival concedes and jumps down to seek dinner elsewhere.

12:03

Where, oh where is he? Why does he linger so? She watches the thin hand of the watch count away the seconds. It is past twelve and yet there is no sign of him. She begins to pace around the small room. After a while she starts fiddling with the doorknob. She is about to start counting the tiles again when she hears a faint knock at the window. She looks up and sure enough there he is. She lets out a little cry of delight and rushes to open the window. She pulls the window open and he comes in, smiling, taking her hand.

“Sandra,”

She stares at him in awe and wonder as she always does when she sees him. His upper body is completely naked revealing an ebony- brown lean and muscular frame. His lower half is covered by a skirt that seems to be made of jet black fur that extends just above his kneecaps. There are golden bands around each wrist and ankle. His generous crop of hair is darker than the night sky crowning an exceedingly handsome face.

But it is his wings that keep her attention the longest. A large outgrowth of feathers that seem to sprout out somewhere behind his shoulders. Each feather is velvety black with a golden tip at the end. He watches the look of amazement on her face as she studies them as she has done on each of his previous visits. Suddenly he stretches them out and laughs at the look of awe and delight on her face. Each wing glimmers, even in the poorly lit room. She grins and pulls him further into the room, motioning for him to sit on the chair. He settles for the table instead and she sits beside him.

They talk and laugh, sharing each other’s experience of the day. She tells him about her school mistress, how her teacher punished a girl for not paying attention in class by making her balance her notebook on her head, how she and her classmates were caught completely off guard by a surprise math test. She giggles and tells him she thinks the head boy might have a crush on her, if not why does he offer to help carry her books back to hostel in the full glare of his peers?

He tells her about the battles of Avalange and his encounter with the destroyer of lost souls. He tells how he narrowly escaped being caught by one of the ancient giants and how he helped rescue a little boy who had been abandoned by his peasant mother. He narrates his battle with grotesque creatures too terrible to define. He retells his first flying lesson, a story she never gets tired of hearing.

They laugh together, listen to, and advice one another. Soon the watch beeps one o’clock and he has to leave. He approaches the window, bids her farewell and is about to climb out when she suddenly runs to him and hugs him fiercely. Her vision blurs as tears fill her eyes and her voice is shaky as she pleads with him to stay a little longer tonight. He holds her close to himself, his wings wrapped around her. He sniffs the scent of her hair and she feels the slightest heave of his chest as he savors the fresh aroma. Then, gently, he pulls her away and holds her at arm’s length.
“A time must come when you will no longer get these visits from me. We are two different creations, you and I. Of the same God, yes but otherwise we were not meant to interact, not in this time anyway. I have taken a terrible risk revealing myself to you and you have been kind to a poor servant like me. Though I do love you, and I see clearly that you feel the same way for me, we were not meant to be together, and the union would be an abomination. Take heart in the truth that I will always watch over you and will guard you till the commencement of the new time. Then we will be together at last.”

She loves the way he talks, the way his words sound like he is from another age, which he is. She would do anything to listen to him talk all day. She would do anything to delay him, make him stay. She pulls herself back to him and holds on to him tightly once more.
“Stay…please,” she says. “I cannot bear to have you leave me again. I have been afraid that one day you would leave and never return, and now it seems that is what you want to do. Ever since when you revealed yourself to me a few months ago I have loved you. How will I live without you? Who will be my confidant, my adviser, my…my friend? Can’t you continue sneaking away like you have always done? They’ll never find out, I am sure of it!”
She hears him laugh quietly. His arms and wings encompass her again and for a brief, wild moment, she thinks he will indeed stay. But then he pulls her away from him again.
“You know you ask for that which is impossible, child of Eve. I cannot stay hence; I would not easily blend in. And even now Morgtomir my keeper grows suspicious of my weekly absences. It is only a matter of time before I get caught and punished.
“Then….then, I’ll go with you!” She whispers fiercely. “I won’t be a burden; I can take care of myself. My parents are both dead anyway and no one would really miss me. I could…”
“No!”
In the time she has known him, he has never raised his voice to her. The monosyllabled word echoes round the dusty room and as she watches his feathers glow a fiery red. Is this how he is when he is angry? She stands where she is and begins to weep. Immediately he kneels before her, imploring, trying to make her understand.
“I am but a low guardian angel, I couldn’t protect you from the horrors of our world, not all of them anyway. Please understand. I have to leave you be, at least for a time. I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you…”
“Stand, please.” She pulls him up to his feet. He looks endearingly into her eyes and she can see the depth of love within them; an all consuming love that would engulf and devour her if it had the chance. And he smiles at her and calls her his secret princess.
She lets more tears fall from her eyes as she gazes down at his feet, unable to meet his stare. But finally she looks up and he smiles again and wipes the tears from her cheeks. Suddenly he pulls her to him and kisses her and a million stars explode in her stomach as she experiences lightness and bliss beyond what few of her kind will ever experience in their lifetimes. As he lets her go, she remains in a realm of extreme peace and calm and her eyes remain closed even as she hears his voice for the last time, far away, like a whisper:
“Goodbye, beloved one.”
“Goodbye,” she says , eyes still closed but now slowly opening, knowing that he is already gone, no evidence that he was ever here. She looks out the window but there is no sign of him. She feels a mild regret but also an inner peace, assured that even now, his loving eyes remain fixed on her.
“Goodbye, my Angel.” she says.

“The Lagos settlement, of all places, and in a girl’s dormitory?” Morgtomir wrinkles up his bushy eye brows in amazement. He is a much older angel and his silver streaked feathers glow magnificently in the moonlight. “Honestly boy, I thought you had more experience under your belt than this.”
“She is special,” Theron replies, “I have cared for her since I found her abandoned in the bushes. I admit I have let my boundaries slip somewhat, but-”
“You know how this ends, boy.” Morgtomir rumbles, shaking his head in exasperation. “You know how it always ends.”
“I do, wise one. I promise you it ended tonight. When next she sees me, it will be at her eternal calling".
Morgtomir grunts in satisfaction and flies off into the night. Theron takes one more look at his secret princess in the window and whispers:
“But as for my love and protection, it will forever be with you. Do not forget me, princess. Do not forget your night visitor.”

The end

[quote author=Miss_Fibre]Lost for words to say, can't believe I got many likes. I have been following the whole analysis in the background and I dare say the judges did a pretty good job. There was a time I felt I was going to lose out but as the nominations kept coming out, I knew I stood a chance against the guys. Talk about keeping the killer blow till later.

Guys, get ready to get blown off. I am winning this competition not for the money but for the women. Yes, the women folks.

Call me a feminist, I don't care. You are about to get served!![/quote]Hmmn.



Feminist.

@Efe or efemena or whatever, i have one word for you...

MAGNIFICENT
Do you get paid for this? I mean critiquing? If you don't you should. Your analyses remind me of my classes with my biology teacher, everything and i mean everything(word, sentence, paragraph, the whole body of each of the stories you are commenting on) has been properly dissected, labelled and tucked neatly away in wonderful categories! Wow! And even though you give off some harsh sounding judgements you still manage to line them with honeyed words that in my opinion should leave the writer wanting to improve on his/her skills.

In the words of Zoey-"I am so fabulously impressed". keep up the good work!

As for the other judges that have critiqued my work I want to say a very big Thank You! Its not easy reading another person's writeup especially if it doesn't fall into your line or style of writing. And seeing that my story bordered on fright and despair, I wasn't expecting to get so many good reviews. Romance and comedy i feel, sell better. I could be wrong though. I hope to impress you all even more in the next round. Kudos and a happy Sunday!

Hey, looks like I got some good reviews...cool!

*peeks in, sees the carnage, and quietly takes a seat at the back*

pls you people should allw mazi continue na...

1st october, 1st october, something important about this date, just cant put my finger on it...







shi-ii--tt!! she's gonna be so pissed...

Good one t-flow!

Larai Boluwaji: Lose, opportunity

And just FYI, I actually sing like a boy

Larai Boluwaji: Lose, opportunity

Your name is on the list....
And time is almost up.
What are you waiting for?
have you been intimidated by the judges?
Never mind them, it is their job to banter.
Perhaps you feel your story will not be good enough...
But how will you know if you don't post?
What is the good of having a story to tell if no one is ever going to hear it?
Why loose this one oppurtunity your talent, your muse has given you?
Tell your Story! Reveal your fantasies!
Unravel your thoughts! Or lose this chance for ever.
The greatest gift of an orator is his tongue.
A Writer's Treasure, her pen.
Submit your Story for goodness sakes...
And Stop hitting the refresh button!

continue...

@Divepen lol! no mind me, just becoming a full member of nairaland recently. Is the vacancy still available?

@All,
Editing? Why would you want to edit YOUR story, an original work of art? I thought the whole idea of this competition was to showcase YOUR writing skill, YOUR talent. I for one honestly feel writing rules are a writer's greatest limitations. Break out of the box! Show these judges what YOU can do!

[quote author=Foxy_Flow]Owk. I have forgiven you. I came here with the intention of spitting out my mind but since you have repented, no P.

I am using my phone right now, no time to highlight and start bolding it. Follow the other step too is stressful.

HBG. I will look forward to how you will run things here. Remember, I am your conscience. I know where it hurts the most cos our spirit thinks and feels the same way.

BTW... That guy story eh, I wanted to run to the ending. When no one followed the woman, I knew the guy had died. That's how imaginative I am. Always wanting to predict.

You got this idea from Mynd's story, the Tri-Paternal Son.


But wait o.. Why Mynd hate Yemi?[/quote]With all due respect foxy flow, this is an original story of mine. I like to believe i have my own writing style, mannerism and technique. Would like to know what the tri-paternal son was about though.

Whew! I'm glad you appreciated the story guys. I"m sorry for coming in a bit late, just realised they were commenting on the stories on this thread. I'm kinda new to nairaland and havent had anyone show me around yet

The Haunted Road
(2,094 words)
By ROYVER

The old woman sat by the fire, watching the bean cakes fry. It was a particularly cold night and the warmth emanating from the flames was comforting to her frail and skinny body. She watched the akara as their edges began to turn brown then gently but deliberately turned them over so the uncooked side could fry in the oil. She looked up at the continuous stream of people passing to and fro in front of her kiosk. She had started her trade earlier in the evening and had drawn a considerable number of her usual customers and even a few new ones with the sweet aroma of her wares. Now, however, it was getting really dark and she hadn’t had a customer in an hour, a sure sign that it was time to close up for the night. Already the other shops around her had closed and the commercial buses that usually plied this part of town had started to dwindle. She sighed and inspected the bean cakes again. She decided that this would be the last batch. She brought them out of the fire and proceeded to scatter the firewood, allowing the flames to die slowly. She waited for the oil to cool then gently poured it into the container. A young man came up and asked for some bean-cakes. She sold to him and he paid her and left. She turned back to her wares and saw that the fire had all but died out, the ashes glowing a bright orange and yellow in the cold night.


Another half an hour passed by and the old woman began to feel sleepy. The ashes had cooled considerably and the number of people on the street had begun to thin out. As there were only a few more bean cakes left to sell anyway, she wrapped what was left and began to pack her utensils into the kiosk for the night. She put the firewood and ashes into a corner in her kiosk. Experience had taught her that leaving it outside would amount to losing it as the children that went to school in the mornings often times scattered and played with the ashes and firewood. If she had someone to help her gather firewood during the day, it wouldn’t have been so much of a nuisance to her, but she was all alone. Her only son had been killed in a motor accident a few years ago and her husband had not recovered from the shock. He died in the same year; the doctors had given his malady a fancy name “congestive cardiac failure”. She knew how much her husband had loved the boy and strongly believed he had died of a broken heart. She was more of a survivor and though these sad events in her life had brought her down, she kept an optimistic view of things and had resorted to selling akara, bean cakes to eke out a living. It had been so hard at first but then she had started saving small amounts of money and had stopped feeling sorry for herself.
She shut the kiosk door and picked up the left-over bean-cakes. She crossed the main road quite easily as the traffic had reduced. Most of the buildings around had their lights switched off and the town was slowly going to sleep. She trudged along the road, past the new generation bank building that was scheduled to open next week, past some of the old structures that had been in the town for as far as she could remember, past the old catholic church that had two towers, one housing a large ancient bell used to call people in for service and the other with a large mechanical clock that boldly declared the time as being some minutes past nine. The clock’s face had originally been ivory colored but had turned a dirty brown owing to lack of proper cleaning over the years. As she passed, a cold wind blew over and around her and she shivered violently. She wrapped her clothes more firmly around her to keep warm and held the bean-cakes firmly under her arm.


She didn’t notice the young man hiding in the shadows watching her, watching his prey. A tall and lanky fellow, this human predator of the night was out hunting for easy pickings. He saw the package under her arm and his eyes narrowed in greed. He looked left and right; there were still a few people on the streets, so he decided to follow her until his opportunity came. He walked a considerable distance behind her noticing her ragged appearance. The fabric she wore had since lost its color and was thoroughly faded. Her slippers were old and worn. He didn’t let that disturb him though. Experience had taught him that it was not necessarily those who were well dressed that carried the heavier purses. He fantasized about what could be inside; Money? Jewelry? He wouldn’t be surprised. Some of these old people carried strange and sometimes very valuable things on their persons. He had robbed an elderly man only a few weeks ago, a very unkempt and smelly old man. To his surprise, the man had not only had a large bundle of money under his wrappers, he was also carrying pure golden necklaces. The old man had tried raising an alarm but a heavy blow to the chest had silenced him. The necklaces had fetched him a handsome price at the black market but because he only knew how to spend money and not use it, the windfall was quickly exhausted. Looking at the woman’s physique, he surmised that she wouldn’t be too much of a problem. All he had to do was to sneak up on her when they were alone.
The old woman kept on walking, oblivious of the extreme belligerency that was now only a few meters away from her. She turned off the main road and into a street. The road here was untarred and a little narrow, just wide enough to allow two cars squeeze past each other. On either side of the road, tall bushes grew, interspersed with two or three mango trees. There were no street lights here or if there were they weren’t working and pockets of darkness could be found at various points at the side of the road. Places where unsavory characters and even unsavory creatures could lurk. Or maybe they were both one and the same thing. Nevertheless, the old woman knew this route very well and was not in the least bit uncomfortable. She always passed by this route on her way home and had never had an unpleasant incident. She began singing an old native song under her breath. The song, a little raspy from her lips, was nevertheless pleasant. The lyrics told of a little girl who had wandered deep into the forest and was asking the help of the spirits to guide her safely home.
She passed over the little stone bridge that was built over the stream that flowed through this way. No one had ever bothered to build a house along this stretch of road as the land had once been the abode of a powerful witch doctor and the indigenes were highly superstitious. A few people used it however as a shortcut to the other more remote side of town which happened to be where the old woman lived. At this time of the night it was completely deserted except for the old woman singing softly to herself carrying the left-over akara in a bag under her arm, with the profit of the day neatly tucked in her wrapper, and the young vagrant now catching up with her, a large stick in his hand.
She heard footsteps behind her but did not turn around. Instead, she stopped on her tracks and, with her back to the sound, listened closely. The footsteps also stopped. After a while she resumed her march and soon she heard footsteps behind her again. They were heavy footsteps and careless, kicking a stone here, stepping on dead leaves there. Her superstitious mind chided her for not taking the proper precautions before passing this bit of road, but it had been so long since she had needed to recite the incantation… probably she had disturbed one of the spirits in that area who was now trailing her home. She believed that turning around to face the spirit would be fatal. Instead she began to chant an old prayer of her people, apologizing to the spirit for disturbing it and pleading it to return to its rest. If that didn’t work, she could always light a match for she knew that the spirits were repelled by light. She heard a low laugh as the footsteps got closer. She stood still again and repeated the prayer more loudly as her free hand roamed in her bag for a box of matches. Suddenly the footsteps stopped. She moved forward a little and listened closely but there was no sound behind her now. She looked forward and saw that she was close to her exit. She quickened her pace and turned into a school field that led towards her compound. As she moved towards her house she was hailed by some of her neighbors, some of who had come out to enjoy the evening breeze. She answered their greeting and turned into her compound glad to have made it safely home.
And her would-be-assailant? He hadn’t made it very far. He had never taken this path before and it had spooked him a little. He had quickened his pace, accidentally kicking a stone which the old woman had apparently heard by the way she had cocked her head to one side to listen closely, but she never turned around. Instead, she had stopped to mutter a prayer, driving away spirits, declaring she hadn’t set her eyes on them and so could not be harmed. When he had realized what she was doing it was all he could do to stifle a laugh. They were all superstitious, these old people. He was just over the stone bridge and was about to strike when he heard footsteps behind him.

They were soft, even footsteps. Apparently the person (person?) wasn’t in a hurry. He lowered the stick he was holding in his hand, the stick he had planned to club the woman on the head with. Silently, he cursed his ill-luck that had made him delay in catching up to the old woman earlier and making his move. He was about turning around to see who was following him when the air around him became very still. It was true that the night was cold but something else was sending a chill down his spine. He could feel a presence. Not a nice presence either. All of a sudden he knew. He knew what he would see if he turned around. His rational mind told him this was absurd, this was purely superstition but in his heart he knew. His throat constricted and a funny noise escaped his esophagus. His was suddenly thrown into the very grip of terror. What was it the old woman had been muttering? He tried to recollect them and stumbled through the words even as he was rooted to the spot, and when that didn’t seem to work he tried crying out for help but no sound escaped his lips. His insides became cold and he actually felt himself ageing.

What had she said about spirits?

"Close your eyes...!"

But he couldn’t do it. Try as he might his eyes kept popping back open in fright. So instead he looked down at his feet. Two other feet slowly came into his field of vision. They were swollen, bloated, with some of the nails and toes decayed and falling off. He could feel it inspecting him, sniffing him out as if to catch the scent of inherent mischief. Suddenly there was a snarl and something gripped his arm. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He looked up.
The old woman never heard him scream. She couldn’t have. Even if she had turned around at that precise moment all she would have seen was a young man drop lifelessly to the floor. Even as his soul was being pulled away from his body by forces he couldn’t begin to comprehend, he continued to scream in terror, the loud wail of a tortured soul, inaudible to human ears.
The End

He sighed deeply. He knew they would come for him soon enough. He thought of all his family and friends that had been taken. He thought of how the earth once was, thriving, teeming with human life. Now it would finally be over. In this scenario, man had lost.

Another knock.
He stood up, adjusted his hair, and walked to the door. If he was going out like this he would go with dignity damnit!

This is the third time he's warned her. Its in her nature to be stubborn. She whisks her behind and fires a final salvo before walking away...
"Get angry all you like...I don't care!"
He watches her leave, perspiration drenching his face, his hands trembling in suppressed rage. He wrenches the thought of throwing the glass cup in his hand at her head away from his mind. He takes a few deep breaths and tries to calm down. His little girl, too small to understand what is going on between her parents, giggles and makes a grab for his phone. It's a Samsung galaxy s3 with HSDPA network, corning Gorilla glass touchscreen with an Exynos chip set. The pride of the family. And only 2days old. He yanks it away from her as she squeals in indignation and places it on his left. He remains calmly in his seat thinking of what to do next when his wife returns, a bowl of frozen porridge in her hand. She slams it down on the table.
"Eat sir! Eat your precious food and let me rest!"
He starts to say something, how he's had a hard day at work, how his boss has been haggling him, the new target he has to meet, anything to diffuse the situation, anything. She rolls her eyes in disdain and turns her back. He shouts at her to look at him...and neither of them notices that baby has gotten a hold of the phone.
Baby follows the normal baby rule. If it can't be eaten, it should be broken. As she smashes it on the concrete floor she gurgles in delight. The crunching noise isn't loud, but it cuts through the house like a gunshot. He jumps up and violently pulls the pieces away from baby, upsetting his lunch and staining his silk red tie in the process. She turns around and seeing the carnage, pulls the now crying baby into her arms. He's speechless with shock. He holds the phone in his hands, his mind in turmoil. From far away he hears her voice:
"It's just a stupid phone! I don't know why you cannot keep your things safely! Buy another..."
He doesn't remember screaming. He doesn't remember punching her hard in the face. He doesn't know how or when baby was thrown to the floor, if his wife ran into the kitchen to grab a knife or if she had been holding it in her hand the whole time. He vaguely remembers a scuffle, sustaining cuts on his arm, wrestling the knife from her hands and his wife falling to her knees, her chest stained with blood. Baby isn't even crying, just watching with a macabre interest as he plunges the knife deep into her chest again and again. He remembers holding his right hand with his left to finally stop that downward motion. It is as if the whole world has gone quiet. He sits on the floor and observes her body. She remains still and finally silent.
He sighs resignedly to himself and brings out the other phone from his pocket. Its an old reliable. A Nokia. He calls his brother.
"Hey. Would u mind taking care of baby? How long? I dunno, might be a while. Maybe forever. No I'm not joking...just promise me you'll take care of her...OK? Thanks bros. Yeah, everything is fine. Come over as soon as you can OK? No...no emergency. Just come over."
Baby has siddled up to him. She looks up at him and he smiles back. He notices blood gushing down his neck for the first time. He uses his last energy and credit to call the next door neighbor. He stays awake till he hears the neighbor opening the door. Then he slips into the void even as the last drops of blood oozes from his lacerated neck.
The demon turns to his apprentice. "And all I had to do was make sure she didn't prepare his meal on time! Ain't I a stinker?"

Points noted. Will do. Thanks!

Thanks fellas. Feel free to look up my short story titled "ALTERNATE NIGERIA: SWEARING IN DAY" and lemme know what you think. Thanks again.

i would like to take part in this competition pls. Where do I sign in?

sorry mod...am kinda new on nairaland. I'm not sure if i posted this twice... if i do, kindly note it was done in error. thanks.