demelza: Mr. Senb has gone rogue.
It truly is the end of the world.

So how did I meet my current boyfriend?

It was spontaneous and now I think of it, rather ridiculous and sometimes, I blush at the thought of that evening. I was at a friend’s birthday party, all alone, having sworn off men for what had to be the nineteenth time in my not so long life so far. Unfortunately, said party was on the fourteenth of February, and I quickly found myself surrounded by kissing, grinding bodies and fast reconsidering my stand on hating men for the rest of my life. Even my friend, Lola had her boyfriend held fast in one hand and, if she had her way, would have handcuffed his hand to hers for extra security. The loud music did nothing to raise my now downcasted mood (which was odd, as I’m a sucker for really loud music) and I quickly shuffled off the dance floor to the outer fringes of the party; the region of loners, losers and possible rapists.

And it was in the throes of this downcastedness that, while my eyes roamed the dance floor, in search of any possible companion for the night, that I locked stares with the most amazing pair of eyes I have ever seen in my life.

He was standing at the bar opposite from where I was seated, looking like he was waiting for someone to arrive. He was the most beautiful specimen of human anatomy I had ever set my eyes on and I began to wonder if my friend had any knowledge that she had invited a Greek god to her party. His lips were so full and sensuous that I licked mine and found them distinctly inadequate. And that shirt….a deep green shirt that hugged his torso so tight I was convinced his skin was probably green and made each muscle on his arms stand out and made me squeal a little inside. Then those pants…..they so accentuated the shape of his legs, I actually began to wonder what the legs would look like without them. Whoever it was he was waiting for, I began to subconsciously pray the person would be involved in some sort of accident.

For a few seconds, we stared into each other’s eyes, the annoying loud music dying out, all the people around us fading away and feeling like we were the only two beings left in the whole wide world. At least that was how I felt anyway and I fervently hoped inside me that he felt the same. I felt myself get up from where I was seated, walk over to where he stood still staring right into my eyes, and plant a kiss on those full, luscious lips without consciously willing myself to do so. His arms wrapped around me and I could feel the warmth from his body pervade mine and fill me with an intense desire that left my feelings of loneliness melting into steaming pools around my feet. I broke the kiss to look into his eyes and it struck me just how much more beautiful they were up close.

Then I felt something wet soak into my skin somewhere in my midsection and I gasped as reality kicked in again. Someone had spilt a drink on me, I was still seated where I was all along, he was still over there by the bar, my vow not to come within a metre of any guy’s lips was still unbroken (for all of two hours)and the loud music was still very, very annoying. But we were still staring into each other’s eyes and I sighed quietly to myself. I had not felt such an intense longing in a long time, a time frame that covers pretty much my entire life. I wanted him….I wanted him to……

Wait, did he just take a step towards me?

My heart raced as my eyes confirmed it. Yes, he was now closer than he was before, albeit still at the other end of the room. But he had not stopped at just the one step. He had taken another. Then another. And another…

At this point, the traditional yoke of shyness that strikes me whenever any good-looking guy glances in my general direction struck with full force, and I looked away, blushing terribly. But, of course, I couldn’t help stealing a glance now and again and each time, it confirmed my worst fear and greatest expectation; he was heading straight at me, his eyes seeking out mine as I kept blushing and looking away only to drag my eyes back to this wonder of God’s creation. He was only a few paces away……now just two steps away…..one……if he takes another, he and I would merge bodies physically – which was probably my dying wish that I made some time over the past ten seconds.

Without breaking step, he grabbed me in his arms and kissed me, deep and full, sending me into a world of undefined pleasure and causing my knees to buckle so badly that if he had not been holding me, I would have collapsed to the ground weeping silent tears of boundless joy and fulfilment.

Then he broke off the kiss and we stared into each other’s eyes, the longing so apparent that we didn’t need to speak. He swept me off my feet and carried me into and adjoining room which turned out to be the spacious kitchen and dumped me right on the centre counter, both of us panting and unable to wait any longer. Then he……he ….(my goodness!)…he……















The remaining part of this narrative is rated R, 18+, Mature, Containing Explicit Sexual Content, Not Safe For Work and Likely To Get You Fired For Reading It On Company Time. Getting caught reading this by your husband or wife may also mean you won’t see a naked person for a very long time.

Therefore, access to the rest of this story is strictly regulated and will only be granted on presentation of a permission slip signed by both your parents, your pastor/imam/chief priest and the president of your country. Failure to provide said permission slip will mean you will not have access to the rest of this narration.

Oh, and good luck with getting that signed permission slip. You will need all the luck you can get!

http://zakuraweekly.com/the-ravish-crusade-crazy-sexy-short-story/

You can subscribe to Zakura Weekly, the craziest weekly digimag by yours truly here: http://zakuraweekly.com/subscribe-to-zakura-weekly/. It won't take any of your time, trust me on that!

Mr Troll: Hi Zakura, why not make the two stories inside one thread? Instead of the readers shuffling between threads you can just put a caption of the particular character you want to focus on before you start. Think about it. . .

I did consider doing it that way but I didn't want a stuation where there would be confusion when someone just skips whose part s which and then gets confused when the story doesn't quite follow from where they thought they left off. Besides, I wanted both stories to be separate but interlinked.

Mynd_44:
It is a good idea. I think it is laudable and we can make it work .

But we should not start a new sub-section for series, we should start a sub-section for short stores and the mods here (Obinnau and I) will move the short stories from the main literature section there.

Much better then! Thanks for the response!

adebayo201: Waow!
Nice 1.
Thumbs up.
Okway then.

thanks!!!

Okay, no response from any quarters after several hours. Apparently, not enough people on this board are being affected by this to warrant a discussion. Mods, please close the thread.

I think I owe an apology to those who have been following this series since I started it. I have had to take a looong break from writing it because I had other things to handle (aand I still do!) but i will be updating it a bit more regularly from here on. Also, I would like to use this medium to let you guys know that i will be moving my blog from thegiddywriter. to senbon.zakuraweekly.com. The new blog is not live yet but will be from tuesday so that's where The Nightlies and the new series I would be starting (still hush hush; lemme not spoil the surprise!) will go. So once again, my apologies! Once the new blog is live, you guys will be the first to know. Thanks for reading!

I don't know if anyone has brought this up but I felt this is a suggestion that I had to make; mainly because it affects me but also because I've noticed it affects others too. I've noticed that quite a number of times, I post a story here and before I can say jack, it has gone down the board. Now for a story to come back up to the top where it is easily visible to board visitors, it needs comments and the only threads that get regular comments here are series because the authors update frequently. However, in the case of short story writers who have to post their story just once or poetry posts and the like, except someone comments on your thread pretty soon, it quickly gets sucked down by the mass of updated series.

Now while I have been extremely fortunate that on a number of occasions, some of my stories have made the front page (meaning more exposure and comments), not everybody else gets that lucky. And there are times I post stories and they don't make the front page. In such situation, it might not be because people are not interested in what we have written; it's just that the regularly updated series just drown out single posts for short stories, poetry and the likes.

So i'm suggesting that either the series be moved to a different board created under the literature board where they can compete for views against each other (and even in the process, motivate writers to update their stories much more regularly) or a different board be created for other types of posts while the series remain on the main literature board. There are now so many series on the main board that nearly everybody thinks any story posted on this board should have an update. I've posted stories here and i've been asked for updates and I don't know how to explain that there's where the story ended; no updates.

So mods, please and other board members, what do you guys think? Should there be a different board for series?

A moment of silence passed; short, yet intense enough for me to hear sound that came in from the open door. It took me a moment to notice that Mr. Ahmed had stopped short and was staring at the open cabinet, mouth agape. Apparently, he wasn’t expecting it to be open. Or empty.

“I….I…I. …it was…..I…” he turned around to face me, his face a mask of unpleasant surprise. “It was right here just now…..it was…”

He turned back to the cabinet. Then back to me. Then back to the cabinet and in two swift step covered the distance separating him from it, crouching almost as he walked. He peered into the rather small cabinet. Then swung the door shut. Then pulled it open. It was still empty.

“There is no way…”

“Are you sure you didn’t put it elsewhere,” I asked.

“Elsewhere?” he squealed. “I couldn’t move the thing! That was why I came to fetch you, because I thought you might understand why it couldn’t be moved. And I clearly remember locking the cabinet before coming in search of you.”

“Does anyone else know the combination for the cabinet’s lock?” I asked, approaching.

“No.” He answered, lines of worry appearing on his forehead. “It is my personal safe. Nobody else has access to it, not even members of my family. It should not be open and the carving should not be missing!”

“Is anything else missing?” I asked. He got up from his squatting position and looked around him, before shaking his head slowly.

“Everything else looks exactly the way it was when I came in search of you. Of course, I would have to do a search to be sure but everything looks to be in place.” He scratched his head. “In all my time as curator of this museum, nothing has ever gone missing from this office!”

I considered that statement. So the first item to go missing from his office was a miniature of the Ainkhut. And only after the Ainkhut had gone missing. Was someone trying to remove all traces of the Ainkhut from the museum? Or….

The thought stuck in my head as the hair at the back of my neck began to bristle and a feeling of morbid fear began to well up in me. Something was wrong. I could feel a thudding at the back of my head and my heart began to race.

“Benneth.”

I was staring into the eyes of a stone statue.

I stepped back, stunned. Just a moment ago, I was looking into an empty cabinet in the curator’s office. But now….I was in what first appeared to be a large square room. All around me were doric columns, and I observed that each was at an equal distance from the other, all around me and so many, I couldn’t tell if there were walls at the end of them. All I could see was that they stretched into the darkness. I stood in a small square clearing at the center of this forest of columns devoid of anything else but the statue that now stood before me and a solitary torch with a bright flame firmly planted into the white stone floor. The flame cast long shadows that stretched into and merged with the darkness of the columns, giving the place a sinister tone. I shuddered.

“Benneth.”

This time, the voice had a direction to it and I turned. From the shadows, I first saw a bare foot. Then another. Then a woman robed in white emerged from among the stone columns. She had long flowing dark hair that stretched all the way down to her knees and was left to roam free, wild, down the side of her face and behind her, cascading down her skin that was so pale it was almost transparent. It was eerie and yet oddly beautiful. I couldn’t help noticing her eyes; dark with astonishingly white pupils. She walked towards me, staring deep into my eyes without blinking. The feeling of dread within rose to a crescendo then crashed to nothing. I felt no fear anymore. Which was odd, considering I still did not understand what was happening.

“Benneth.”

My eyes hadn’t left hers. Yet I saw her lips speaks my name. The movement of the lips didn’t form my name but I had heard it clearly. It looked more like she was mouthing what I supposed was "Rahom".

“You are wondering why you are here. And how.”

I swallowed, my throat dry and quite unable to answer.

“I have the answers to your questions. But I will not tell you because you will find out. Shortly.”

I still couldn’t speak. By this time, she was standing almost right in front of me and I felt sandwiched, between her and the statue behind me. It was only at this point that it struck me….the statue WAS her. Or her likeness, at any rate. I wanted to turn around to be sure but her gaze held me, almost magnetically and I found that I physically could not move.

“You are the Guardian Of The Wind. The wind goes where you go, and where you go it goes.”

I blinked. What was she talking about?

“The conclave of stone has your answers but you are not yet worthy to stand in it.”

I wanted to shake my head or pinch myself. Was I dreaming? Who was this woman? And how did I get here? My mind was a whirl. Of all the things that had happened to me since I left my hotel room this morning, this was by far the strangest. Or wait: was I still in the hotel room, dreaming all this up? Or was I really here in this place, with this woman?

And what was Rahom?

Or who?

UPDATE!: SO the first issue of Zakura Weekly should have been out close to a month ago but due to quite a few unforseen stuff coming up, we had to postpone and postpone and postpone the launch till today. However, like Blackberry with BBM for Android and iOS, we have to hold it off a bit more. However, unlike them, we have an actual date for the release. New release date is October first, to coincide with Independence day. So if you're not subscribed yet to get it free on release day and subsequent releases, head out here: http://zakuraweekly.com/subscribe-to-zakura-weekly/ and subscribe now. Thanks and cheers!!!

ninja4life: Lmao cant stop laughing guy u too much 100000000000likes.best writer of short stories on nairaland.lol

lolz, abeg o! I don't deserve that one....not yet at the very least. My betters are here....i'm still a learner!

Royver: A DAY AT THE OFFICE.
So there you are sitting in your chair in a hot cubicle, a pen in your hand and the patient's file on the table. And you haven't had a good night's sleep in days. You just had an embarrassing moment when the last patient caught u nodding off while he was narrating his symptoms and you are determined that it shouldn't happen again. So just before the next patient comes in you stand up, jump around a bit, stretch out and give yourself a few firm slaps on the face. And then you turn around and find the next patient standing quietly at the door, watching you.

Two hours later. The last incident drove sleep away far more effectively than any cup of coffee would have. You are confidently seeing another patient and secretly thankful that the lady who caught you slapping yourself didn't film it on her android. Or did she? You anxiously hope not. The patient in front of you is fiddling with her phone and talking to you at the same time. Seems like a simple case of malaria to you but you don't want to interrupt and so you politely watch and nod interestedly as she drones out the symptoms...and then you wake up with a snort, your mouth wide open and your neck bent backwards in your chair and painful enough to let you realize you have been asleep for a while. You try to regain your composure as you notice your patient is still there. However she appears unconcerned and is in fact pinging away quietly. You are so embarrassed you don't know what to do. Fiinally you summon up the courage and ask the girl in a playful manner why she didn't wake you.
"Oh, the woman you saw earlier came out and told us how you were dosing on duty and when i came and saw you sleeping i decided to give you as much rest as i could even if it means using my own time. You have been sleeping..." and she checks her phone "...for about 5mins now. Hope you feel better?" she says and smiles in a friendly manner.
No way.

Now this was a pretty awesome read. En continue!!!

Leopantro: Once again, he has captured my visual imagination. Guy, you are good.
In your case it makes you laugh. In my case it's a struggle in self control before I become condescending

Now don't make a black man blush!

“Tolani! Tolani! Where are my husband?”

The corners of my lips twitched but for the sake of my job, I did not allow that twitch to develop into a smile because if it did, it would soon develop into full blown laughter. Then that one would develop into such a show of mirth that it would in turn would develop into a sack letter. I looked slightly to the left of my boss ‘wife’s round face to avoid looking into her serious face that bore no recognition of the minor explosion that had just occurred, courtesy her.

Look, I am no grammar nazi. People rarely are. But there is something about certain incorrect sentences that make me just want to pack my bags and move to another country so I wouldn’t die from extreme laughter. Unfortunately, it seems like all my life, I have been plagued with people who considered English a very immortal language that could mutilated, dragged on the floor, turned on its head and done so many unspeakable things to that the originators of the language must be turning in their graves somewhere in Europe. I have heard people who claim to be graduates speak such bad English, I’m convinced they were taught English in Yoruba.

Back in secondary school, we had this house mistress whose spoken English was always a source of amusement to us students because each time she spoke, our English text books seemed to grow older. And she always ALWAYS bragged about her university degree from Oxford University. Till each time she said it, someone would then whisper “Oxford in Ogbomosho” and a ripple of laughter would begin. Her yell of:

“Ehen? Is it laugh? Ehn? What are vunny?” (her f’s were always for some reason produced as v’s)

would leave each girl with a veritable struggle to keep her teeth from making a grand appearance and earning herself one hell of a thrashing for failing to explain why exactly she just started laughing after the house mistress said something about where she studied. The first time I was treated to her vocal assault rifle was during my first prep session at the school. My classmates were raising merry hell, still quite unfamiliar with the entire concept of an hour of just quiet studying and caught her attention from her office. She charged into the classroom, her face all fury and bellowed:

“Ehen? Why noise? Has prep over?”

Prep had not over, sorry, was not over at that point but once those words left her lips, it was for us. There was first a moment of silence that allowed each girl digest what she had just heard and verify with her brain and ears that she had heard correctly before a full on laughter campaign started to the rage of the already pissed off housemistress who didn’t know what she had said to make these lousy JSS1 students laugh and really couldn’t see the funny side of it at all. We ended up washing all the school toilets that night and doing the dishes at the school kitchen for a week.

Then there was resumption day in my third year at school. I had just turned up at her office with my mother to check in when she looked up from her writing and smiled:

“Ah, Tolani. Have you back?”

I stifled a giggle and tried to respond with as straight a face as I could construct:

“Yes ma. I have back.”

My mother smacked me at the back of my head but I spotted the inexplicably large grin on her face.

The girls once decided to start a book detailing every grammatical error she made and within days, half the exercise book had been used up. It ended up being titled: “The Unenviable Book Of Grammatical Ballistics”, an awesome name when you consider it was thought up by a bunch of JSS3 girls who would cringe to come up with words more complicated than “refrigerate” in an English essay writing test. Unfortunately, she spotted someone giggling while studying said book assiduously during morning assembly and, after deducing the contents with the help of another teacher, thrashed the girl till her back rivalled our exercise books for horizontal lines and burned the book in our presence. Unfortunately for her, she still decided to mark the solemn occasion of the grammatical blunder bible book burning by making a speech:

“You girls have no respect! No respect! You are write book on what I am say and you laugh……no, is not vunny, it is not……you! Come here!”

The laughter died out, but the giggling was eternal.

A further book was started on the girl underground though, this time named “The Complete Unenviable Book of Grammatical Ballistics of International Proportions: Volume 1” Readers were sworn to reading in secrecy. The book required an extra exercise book when the first one ran out.

So it felt more like a cross when I met my boss’ wife for the very first time only to realize that her English invalidated pretty much every rule of spoken (and written) English with nearly every sentence. Each time she came to check on her husband (and she insisted on coming every evening. Word around the block was that she suspected he had a roving eye and she claimed to be “checking on him” only to end up staying till close of work so they would head home together) felt like I was being interviewed for the job all over again but with someone tickling me at the same time. It was a struggle to keep a straight face while answering her questions so sometimes I had to think of the nastiest things to take my mind away from the fact that my body was trying not to explode, like the first time I stepped into a public toilet. Without positive results.

And this evening was no different.

“Good evening, madam. Mr Adeolu left a few minutes…”

“Where are he go?”

He are run away, I voiced in my head but said:

“He did not disclose…..”

“He did not close? Is it closing time yet?”

“No. madam. I mean he did not…”

“So where is he?”

“He left a few minutes ago but he did not tell me where he was going to.” I breathed, careful not to use any words that would set off confusion in her head and grateful that she had concluded the last statement without mishap because I was convinced my body was about undergoing a meltdown. She seemed to consider my answer carefully before asking:

“So when will he back?”

I couldn’t help myself.

“He will back soon.”

Maybe I should start looking for vacancies online.

http://zakuraweekly.com/grammar-nazi/

So the first issue of Zakura Weekly, Naija's craziest mag as edited by yours truly will be making its debut on Sunday. Y'all can subscribe to get it free when it drops. It is in soft format though, so if you'll need a pdf reader on your laptop/mobile phone to read it. To subscribe, just head on down to http://zakuraweekly.com/subscribe-to-zakura-weekly/ . Cheers!

Rap maestro: wetin? Kageyoshi warris it?

Interista