I saw her again few days ago, a long lost friend and all the childhood memories came back. I saw her as she was crossing the road outside the University gate. I screamed her name and she looked, ran back and hugged me while shouting. People stared but we didn’t care. We talked and laughed at all the memories we shared. It’d been ages. But I remember a particular event. One that brought tears to my eyes then, but fill my lungs with laughter when I remember it now.

Easter always came with its fun and vibe. After the supposed fasting and remembrance of death and resurrection of Christ, the eating and drinking that follows on the Easter day. That Easter was like the others but something made it exceptional.

I was in primary two, a bright student. That term I took first position as always and father bought Easter clothes plus other gifts for me. How could I have known that a little act of mine would jeopardize my ‘Easter enjoyment’. Mariah lived close to my compound, we attended the same primary school not far from home. She was my ride and die those days. We went everywhere together, to school, to church, to Block Rosary. We were always together and soon enough, people started calling us twins.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/10/memories-from-of-old/

I thought them to be faceless
Called them masochists and self anarchists
Thought them to live in an alien planet
Or exist somewhere in the moon
Thought I would never behold them
Queer and weird souls
Relatives to vampires and werewolves
Thought them to have wands and fangs too

I thought them faceless
Faceless and nameless as the gloom
Etched in their souls and lives
Where love is a crime and happiness a taboo
I thought them to be dark as dark
Haters of life who easily wield the noose
And let life seep in red on the floor

I thought them faceless
Quenchers of light, haters of laughter too
Thought them monsters who would never try
And wasters who would make us cry

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/09/faceless/

One…Two… Three… And he was gone. Dead like the silence. Gone like the day. It was a scary dark that clothed the earth when the cry rose like a warrior’s wail from the depths of the middle-aged woman’s womb. The very womb that had carried her children. The same children who were gripping unto their father praying that that last whiff of air he’d breathed wasn’t really his last.

No one ever believed that death would come to visit them someday. People died in their numbers daily, but, the reason it was easy to turn back and sigh and look straight ahead again and resume the smile was because it just never could be them or someone dear to them in that state. Maybe this unconscious belief was instilled by God so man wouldn’t be so conscious of death’s proximity until it was undeniably there. Maybe it was a foolish obstinacy of man to continue to live in a fantasy world belligerently refusing to acknowledge the Great Day always lounging near.

In this modern day family house, death had fallen in love. It had wooed and courted and when the day had gone asleep, had stolen its first kiss from the luscious lips of Ebere.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/09/gone-like-the-day/

“See Cynthia, this man has agreed to pay five hundred thousand naira for a night with you,” Linda started, “no one can ever pay you that much for a night.”

“I am just scared,” I said, “I haven’t done it before.”

“There is always a first time for everything,” Linda said.

“I never envisaged my first to be this way,” I snapped while letting a tear drop.

“I understand Cynthia, but think about your mother…” she went on and on while she drew me close to her.

Yes, my mum, the only person in my life. My only family. She was fighting brain tumour and needed a quick surgery.

Having nothing but a small shop which was almost out of stock, I went to Linda for help. Being just eighteen and faced with a lot of responsibilities, I quickly applied light makeup and boarded a taxi to the address of the hotel written for me by Linda on a piece of paper.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/08/momma-died-because-of-me/

My choice.

DrChukzy:


Can you please use your brain for once


why quote the whole article

Child abuse spans beyond mere sexual, physical and mental violation of a child. It goes beyond severe deprivation of a child’s primary needs. I have just discovered another type of child abuse commonly found amongst poor African parents, and this is usually seen in the way some parents give birth to children.

A couple who gives birth to more children than they can raise and nurture responsibly with the sole aim of having more children to take care of them in their old age or alleviate them from their poor background are involved in child abuse.

Emphatically, one major difference between we humans and ordinary animals as regards attitude to child bearing is that we can control our sexual desires and also manipulate copulation using different techniques to avoid conception.

I was filled with rage when I returned to this ghetto where I grew up only to find one woman pregnant again. She was already a mother of six and her last child was still a toddler.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/08/an-open-letter-to-every-african-parent/

“Who the hell did she think he was?” he thought angrily. He was done being Mr. Nice Guy. If she wanted to kill herself then, she was by all means free to do so.

He couldn’t believe the man he had become this past few months all because of Chelsea. He literarily became a gentleman in every sense of the word. He was considerate for once in his life, caring, sensitive and he began opening the car door for her, like seriously? Who had he become?

The Jason of old was a thug, he gave no grounds, he had this physical intimidating appearance like Hymar and so fights broke out whenever he was around.

After his Mum’s death, he joined the streets and this toughened him up in more ways than he could imagine. Yet despite leaving all this for one lady, she had put him in a friend zone. Wow! He was so done with her.

He opened the car door angrily, jumped into the car and zoomed off into the night with his speed limit way past the normal level. The wild rush of wind past his ears, the thought of getting himself a girl for the night, made him to let out a loud whoop. He didn’t give a Bleep, he was back!

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/07/colour-me-red-for-i-love-the-wild-side/

The day I found out that I was pregnant was the day I felt my world crashing down at my feet. I felt like the most stupid person in the world. I could vividly remember the day I slept with Dave, my boyfriend. That day was a rainy day and I least expected to even be in his house. It was a Friday and everyone at school couldn’t wait to go home to enjoy the weekend.

I was with Dave when it started raining. He was supposed to go with his friends to their favourite hang-out, a restaurant. But he decided to take me home. We walked for a while but the rain became heavier. His house was close so we just went to his place. He took my bag and kept it on the table. I was dripping wet so I stood by the door.

“Aren’t you coming in?” he asked.

“I’m wet. I can’t,” I said, squeezing excess water from the bottom of my skirt.

He laughed it off. “Come on in. I’ll get something for you to wear.”

“Alright, thanks.” I followed him inside to his room. He let me take my bath in his bathroom and gave me one of his sister’s cloth to wear. The weather was cool and his home was quite warm. I had lunch with him while I waited for the rain to stop.

After lunch, we sat down in his room and I looked for a movie to watch.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/07/love-and-lies-part-1/

Look at those red shot eyes
Blinking blankly at the sky
With no tears left to cry

Look at those tiny arms
With no muscular charm
And protection from harm

Look at those stomach protrude
Due to hunger and lack of food
With all conditions bleak and crude

Look at those strengthless body
Living like a soul without a clean lobby
Oh poverty! I’m just a servant of God

Walking on the road with teared clothes
Without knowing what the future holds
Still praying to God with arm folds

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/07/poverty/

That day when I knew the tales of words,
I was dead to the world,
I was dead to my self,
I was compelled into a deep slumber
Where my spirit got sealed

I was buried in an inkless pen
And reborn again on blank pages,
And so my heart had no human fears,
Nor my soul travels with lifeless beings.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/05/my-funeral/

I still hear his footsteps trudging down the corridors, towards my room.
The truth I hold, may take me years to unfold.
But it’s funny how several reckless moments could redefine an adolescent.

I’m still left bewildered by how an hour could ruin a girl’s dreams.
My eyes are the only honest things about me but they grasp darker secrets.
I now tremble at sounds, shadows and even my own gory reflection.

Branded and bruised in my entirety; those familiar eyes are always distant.
I’ve tried to flee the epidemic scene, but mom never told me that my wings
were made from wax; too weak to flight the skies, made only to be pegged...

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/05/upon-my-honour/

I reluctantly took the phone from my teachers hand. Despite all my pleas not to call my mum, she clearly translated my words as gibberish and went to do so.

“Hello Mummy.”

“Hello Edima?”

“Yes Mummy.”

“Edima, what is it this time? Ehn… Nsutto mkpo? (what kind of thing is this?),” she said in her usual dramatic high-pitched tone. I could imagine her drawing attention to herself as she paced up and down in her shop, occasionally clapping the back of her palm on her hips.

“Mummy, it’s nothing… just malaria.”

“Atang ndiseme (you are saying nonsense). This is the third time you are fainting this month Edima. One… two… three ! And you say it is nothing ehn? Are you now a blood fountain? Is it only your blood that mosquitoes see to suck huh?”

“No, Mum… It…”

She cut me short and continued, “Aren’t you using the mosquito repellant I gave you? Don’t you sleep under net?” She paused, long enough for me to breathe. “This girl, you will not kill me. You must stay in that boarding house, you want to come and finish all my food.”

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/05/i-know-ana/

ZenPens (https://www.thezenpens.com) is a website created and committed to promoting writing, both Nigerian and foreign. We are different from other literature and writing blogs. This is because we’re a home for writers of all skill levels and readers of good works of literature and fiction. It is an avenue for readers and publishers to discover new authors of short stories and poems. Writers can also share their work, gain recognition, and connect with their audience and each other. Are you an enthusiastic, creative writer looking for the perfect place to store and display your writing online? Or a casual reader searching for good stories and poems? ZenPens is your website.

If you are interested in writing for us, chat with our administrator using this link:

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PS: We do not pay yet.

DCC Nnewi could boast of a good number of beggars, adults, children, Igbos, Hausas, Fulanis, even people from Chad with their lovely long hair. Each time someone walked pass, they would plead with outstretched hands for alms.

Sometimes, sympathetic passers-by would fling ₦20, ₦50 notes to them, while the less sympathetic ones would fling off the beggars’ hands off their clothes, shake off the dirt, mutter an acute curse and walk off.

It was a normal event till… Till…

It was a Saturday afternoon, the bike man I boarded his bike to drop me at New Age Computers had some ideas in his head, so I shouted at him to drop me at the Roundabout. I calmly deducted ₦50 from his money and gave him the rest. He made to complain but the look in my eyes told him clear enough to keep off. He grumbled loudly and took the money. It is not Viktoreeah that you will kill with neck-breaking speed.

“Aunty please give me money,” a child beggar said, tugging at my dress. Wait, did I say tug? She wanted to pull off the dress or tear it.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/04/big-sis/

As a child, there were some things I saw as rare privileges reserved only for the ‘rich’. Having access to eggs was one of them. Yes, eggs, those oval shaped foods. Did I just say food? Yes, food. The ones hens and other birds lay (hen’s eggs are the most common in Onitsha where we resided).

Where did I lose you? Back to the story. I have always held those who could afford eggs in very high esteem. To me, they are very rich!

Why this notion, one may ask. The simple truth is that poor mother could only afford to buy eggs on rare and special occasion or during the festive period so they were rare. On those days, she will cut the egg into four equal parts for me and my three siblings. And when a knife was too far, she used the spoon to do justice to the egg.

On the contrary, Somtoo my friend was more privileged than me. His father was the ‘landlord’ of the two-storey building directly opposite the ‘public yard’ bungalow where I stay in a one room with mother, father and my siblings. Though his father was not as wealthy as Dangote, they were living comfortably at the last floor of the building. Somtoo would, whenever he descends from their high and mighty throne to play with us, brag about his father’s wealth and tell us how stocked his mother’s refrigerator and kitchen was, how his father buy eggs in crates and how they eat eggs with bread and tea as breakfast most mornings. True to his words, I saw him countless times at their balcony eating one whole egg and came close to tears


Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/03/rare-privilege/

I threw up in the toilet for the third time; that had been my daily routine for the past two weeks. I guess the stress of work was telling on me. I took off my clothes and stood in front of the wide mirror above the bathroom sink. Why are my boobs so hard and big? It wasn’t like this before, and why was my skin so pale and my veins so visible and green? Something wasn’t right with my eyes either.

Today is 29th, and my monthly enemy ought to have been here since 26th. Wait o! I haven’t seen my period for five months now. I didn’t see it four months ago but tagged it as a missed period and when I didn’t see it the next month, I tagged it as nothing.



Virgins don’t get pregnant, right? I’m not Mary right? But when it got to the third month, I was worried and planned on going to a hospital before my boss went all “increase Kiki’s work so she won’t have time to go out because my brother likes her” on me.

I barely have enough time to wash my own butt; I only got out of her prison last week because I quit. I can’t be pregnant please, but I need confirmation. I dressed up after a hot bath and went out, on my way out I met Brandon, my bestie.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/03/who-the-hell-got-me-pregnant/

This black thing like darkness
That surrounds me.
It’s at every turn
and it lives
both within and without me
And it’s comfortable like mama’s womb

Black Thing Like Darkness ☛ https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/03/black-thing-like-darkness/

She woke up with a heavy headache. Her hands were tied to her back and she couldn’t recognise the surroundings. It was night already.



Her kidnappers were not in sight and she wondered where they went to as she tried to untie herself. It was a futile effort, the ropes were as hard as the ones used by palm wine tappers. Her wrists were already red like the sparks of a burning charcoal.

She tried to get up but all her efforts proved abortive. She lay back and waited on her faith.

They stepped in just about the time her eyelids were trying so hard to fight nature’s call. From the darkness,she can only make out their shadows as they dragged another ‘victim’. There were three of them plus the victim.

Their leader flashed a torchlight at her. It took her a moment to adjust her eyes to the bright light. It was the boss’s wife that masterminded her kidnap and their second ‘victim’ was the boss.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/02/blackout-part-2/

The farmers had dug the earth and planted their beloved seeds,
It rained heavily and the sun when it came – blessed the expectant greens,
They tend and dressed the heaps off vampire weeds, while the narrow lanes of the yam heaps replicates the road to Paradise.

Days became months
And then; harvest came…


Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/01/harvest/

You’re Catholic
I’m a Methodist

She’s Pentecostal
He’s a Sabbatarian

But I tell you
We have only one God

And you tell me
There are three
Persons in one God

How can that be
You are saying
There is another equal to God?

She’s telling him
His church is a waste
That they observe no protocol

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/01/sunday-sunday-medicine/

Home,

I will protect like a seatbelt,
The essence of my life
Like the police dogs in my yard,
The sulky creamy orange masters bed
I will protect with my mind’s eye,
The smoky black grey kitchen wall
I long to see,
To reminisce about the length of my life,
The essence of my existence
The violence in my dual identity
Biafra. Nigeria

Home.
The undulating terrain of ‘Omagba’
The wooden kiosks along gutters smelling of decaying fish and shit in ‘Amazoba‘
The face-me-I-face- yous just before ‘mkpologwu’
The tarpaulin sheds and their bowls of rotten beans, local rice and rat-infested garri
The eroded roads along ‘Udodi’
Signs of back room deals
Signs of corruption, ‘godfatherism’ and political ‘iberiberism’

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/30/home/

I looked at the pills in my shivering hands. Everything I had worked for, everything I had achieved, now burnt down to the twelve pills that would decide my fate. I looked up and saw a woman in the mirror. A woman with perfect makeup, expensive weave-on that fell down loosely in waves, a shiny silver necklace, an emotionless face and cold, calculating eyes. I blinked, she also blinked.

Yes, that woman was me, Mrs. Ruth Udoji, owner and manager of the Salonica Fashionista, wife to the number one business tycoon in the country, the man who was known to be successful at anything he laid his hands on, Mr. George Udoji. I was famous, my husband was famous, even my children who were just in primary school were beginning to obtain a level of popularity in the country. I had practically everything I had ever wished for when I was young; a good job, a big and homely house, lots of cars lining the garage, a good family with a perfect husband and adorable kids.

Yet, why doesn’t it feels complete? Why has the gaping hole refused to disappear? It has been there for as long as I can remember. It had driven me to look for things that would fill it up with the feelings it sought. Yet why does it only gets wider with everything I achieve? After searching for forty-three years for something I didn’t understand, something that would finally ease the deep ache within me, I still felt the emptiness I had felt initially when I began to seek complete and utter happiness.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/30/nothing/

Yes!
You heard me right
I HATE to write

I hate spilling my thoughts
Intertwined in lines and lies that rhyme
I hate having to think and link
my sinking heart to every word I ink

I hate having to stare at the ceiling
For countless number of hours
When I should have been searching for healing
I should have known from the beginning
That writing this feeling doesn’t make it disappear
It just makes it plain and bare

I hate tear stained paper
Sweat stained paper
Blood stained paper
I was broke and my “most wanted” paper
Wasn’t to come until later
When I make my name and get the fame
I fear by then I might have been consumed in this flame

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/30/i-hate-writing/

Leah gave a start as the shrill sound of her phone cut into the air, interrupting the book she was trying to read and breaking her concentration. It was her boyfriend, Tobi. She involuntarily let out a smile as her initial feeling of irritation disappeared. She let it ring once and picked it up at the second ring.

“Ode, this is your 12 o’clock abi?” a smile was evident in her words.

“I miss you too, big head,” came the deep, throaty voice that replied her. “I would have called earlier but there was no light all through the day and my power bank was dead as well.”

“It’s all right, I did not miss you anyway,” she responded, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “I had a lot to occupy me today so much that I hardly had time to notice you didn’t call”.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/30/color-me-a-thief/

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted.

“What! It couldn’t have happened,” he exclaimed.

“It could. I can’t believe I was this careless,” she said.

The shock on his face was terrible; he cursed and hit his fist on the wall. “My wife should not know about this, I need to think, clear my head and get back to you”, he said and left.

She banged the door after him and slid down slowly to the floor. She broke down in tears, disappointed for having led herself into this mess.

Mark was an old friend from Onitsha where she resided. He got transferred at work and he left. They were not an item then as he was much older than her. Though she admired him, he considered her as a little sister. She lost her phone and consequently lost his contact. But last month it happened, she bumped into him as she was rushing to the admin block at UNN where she recently got admitted. Her joy knew no bounds as they hugged, she was surprised at seeing him there. Both were in a hurry, so they exchanged contacts and left to their destinations.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/29/a-story-with-no-end/

The wild beast of brutality,
Lurking around the minds of revolutionists,
Lecturers hiding under the identity of students,
Rain of stones clashes on beautiful glasses
Making rhyming horrific song

Spirit of violence and revolution…

Women ran like earthworms in drainages
When the flood came with massive songs,
And the snails got the message
When horror matched on their gentle shells.


Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/29/the-school-clinic/

Grandma once told me the story
Of a fairy -like maiden envied
By every young arábìnrín in the village …
Àbèfé;
The reason ìfé was made scarce in the village,
The reason behind Charlie’s (the white man) refusal to

Àbèfé the Village Sunflower ☛ https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/28/abefe-the-village-sunflower/

She was amongst friends in choir rehearsals when he summoned her to his private corner.

Her shoulders dropped in defeat. She knew what was coming, still she went and locked the door behind her

The Shadow of Her Choirmaster ☛ https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/28/the-shadow-of-her-choirmaster/

I sat on my old foam in the single room apartment where I stayed, listening to her tale of woes. It has been a quiet evening until she came. She sat opposite me on the only chair in my room with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes were swollen and redder than blood, dark circles were round them, her braided hair had lost some strands and the aura round her was of bitterness.



I feared that soon her problems won’t be the only one at the moment because the old chair creaked whenever she bends her head, and supports her face with both palms while shaking her ‘crossed-legs’. Perhaps, it helps her to hold the tears.

“Buchi, you need to leave that monster, he will definitely kill you with the way he uses you as his punching bag,” I said.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/28/tuesday-like-tuesday/

Dear genotype

Do you know?
He was there, at the alter with another woman in my place?
Do you know how much I tried to fight it? My emotions, my tears?

Sitting amongst the congregation, you won! Thanks to you, I didn’t get to see them kiss.

This was Charles. My childhood sweetheart.
We were just kids when we fell in love without even knowing what it was!

I had only one knowledge of love and it was all because of Charles, my childhood sweetheart.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/26/love-without-hope/

His mind was never touched by age
Engraved in his heart were old books
Every word from every page
The lines on his wrinkled face explained time’s concept
His eyes, though dull, held mysteries in their depths

He communed with the wind; wisdom in insanity
To him, the eclipse was both hideous and pretty


Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/26/the-sage/

I was a boy, I was fifteen, I liked toys. Ceramic, delicate, breakable, pretty. I liked to play god with them. I would arrange them, in colors and sizes, at the edge of the table, shake the table and watch them cascade. The feeling was beautiful. I talked to them sometimes. I warned them. They should never frown at me, talk back at me, roll their eyes at me. Else off the table they were sent.

Mom bought a new one. It was a geisha. Blue head, white body, black dots for eyes. It was a pretty geisha. But there was an issue. She didn’t dance. Geishas were supposed to dance. But this one wouldn’t, and anger me it did.

Biodun came visiting, he asked that we played video games. I swear, I didn’t hear him come in. I was holding geisha, I was wondering how best to proceed with her recent insolence, she had an attitude.

Read more on:

https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/05/26/geisha/