₦airaland Forum

princesa: err... just seeing this.

The both form of stories are welcomed. If the short story writer has been consistent and is known on this board, then they can be voted.

Completed stories and story in progress (over 50%) are also welcomed. Don't matter if its their first or second.

The point is actually to celebrate writers via their efforts (story and all) on this board.

Any more question?

Thanks. No more questions.

******
Clara realized she had to get a grip when she switched from Discovery Channel to Al-Jazeera and to Cartoon Network in less than a minute. On any other day, Discovery Channel captured her interest. Today, she couldn’t decide on any station. She switched to MTV Base. A Nigerian Hip-Hop video was playing with the coming-in-vogue features: half-naked, flat-tummied, heavily painted girls swinging their hips to a horrid music. It immediately crossed her mind that the hopping hips might be responsible for the name of this genre of music. She switched off the TV.
It surprised her that she still managed to breathe with the burden in her heart. The truth is she hasn’t seen Obinna in over eight years and has no intention of infidelity.
Two weeks ago she had received a call from Obinna: His mother was very sick and needed urgent medical attention which he couldn’t provide. He had no one else to turn to and decided to ask her. She had refused to give him the money but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Since it had to do with human life, she had promised to help. She hadn’t informed her husband because he might feel she still has a thing for her ex, a deeply uncomfortable situation for any man.
She had been overwhelmed by family and work and hadn’t sent the money the day she’d promised, which had made Obinna call that dark day. Her reaction had obviously given her away, but her conscience was immaculate. She had tried to explain to her husband but he paid no attention to whatever she had to say.
Every day he floated around the house, wordless and unfeeling, giving a crooked smile or a few lips-deep words to any of the kids around him, stricken more with shock and bitterness than unbelief. Clara knew the man she married, and she was sure he’s slowly but surely drifting into a haunting limbo.
She blamed herself for not involving Maduka from the start. He was smart and should have understood her decision to inform him of Obinna’s request. Now she has effectively turned her husband into a room-mate of sort. More challenging is the fact that Maduka has never said anything to her since he suddenly stood from the dinning chair and walked away. Maybe he was still too shocked about the whole issue and would come back to her soon.
She exhaled heavily and decided to prepare lunch for her kids when she had knock on the door. She went to get the door and found the last person she wished to see at this period of her life: her mother-in-law. The look on her face made Clara’s heart sink. She knows!
Had Maduka told her already? No way! He might have been a ghost these past days, but she still believed him to be a very private person who would find it difficult to bring anyone into a family matter of this depth.
“Won’t you allow me enter my son’s house?” she barked, snapping her out of her momentary reverie. She stepped aside, holding the door open for her.
“Welcome, Mama.”
She ignored her and walked into the sitting room.”I can’t be Mama to a woman who wants to kill her husband and run with his money to another man.” She lowered her bags onto the tiled floor and made a small drama of sitting down.
Clara ignored her. “May I take your bags inside?” Clara asked, joining her in the sitting room. She was certain of her refusal – and maybe a caustic remark for good measure – but decided to ask all the same.
Akunne shook her head furiously. “No. my bags are safer with me.” She pulled her bags closer.
Clara offered the last carrot. “Would you like a glass of cold water? The weather is…”
“I can locate the fridge,” she cut in. “If I can’t, I’ll swallow my saliva and wait for my son.”
“That’s perfect,” Clara said, forcing a smile, unwilling to be boxed into a corner.
She switched on the television. MTV Base continued with the video of a current wave-making song. She immediately suspected that her mother-in-law might enjoy the video. A furtive glance at her confirmed it. She quickly changed the station to CNN. “Enjoy yourself,” she said indifferently and left the room, followed by Akunne’s protracted sigh of discontent.

SugaryBelle: Ok then,update soon.

Sure. Tonight.

SugaryBelle: Hmmmm! nawaooo. Lol,me likey shaa but i hope
we won't soon be flown to the sexuality section.

No honey, we won't.

kaydkay: Then just go to the site and click on any of the book links to download. I have Micheal Critchon and John Grisham's books presently there. Will be posting from more authors (known and unknwown) and also magazines atleast 3 times a week.

booksdownload247..cum

Stumbled on this today. Please do you still have the books?

Baddestguyp: James hadley chase - if you believe this, you'll believe believe anything
Mario puzo - the innocent man

Do you have or need them? If you have, kindly send to me.

Justeenaleo: Checked but can't find it

Me too.

Intellectual theft. This story made front page two weeks ago. Acknowledge the original writer.

macsika: Where the heart is
To kill amocking bird
The great gatsby
Last of the mohicans
Lord of the rings
The perks of being a wallflower
The da vinci codes


I have so much I can't name all. I will share it, just quote with the name and email. I also have ebooks and some textbooks for medicine, physiology, anatomy, pharmacy, english e.t.c


Does anyone have harry potter ebooks I mistakenly deleted mine pls send to...

DRMACSIKA@GMAIL.COM

Kindly send me To Kill a Mocking Bird and any other good novels you have (except Romance). I also need the e-book(s) on English language. Thanks.

The time was 7:15 am. Pastor Ken walked into his modestly furnished office. Sarah, his secretary, was cleaning the office, the air-conditioner chilled the office. She was in her early thirties and married to a member of his congregation. She was tall and dark, with big charming eyes and firm round breasts.
Sinach’s I Know Who I Am was playing a little too loudly from the Samsung home theatre, which was why she didn’t hear the pastor walk into her office and into his. She bent to clean the foot of a visitor’s chair, gently swinging her hips to the rhythm of the song. A gentle smack on her buttocks spurned her around.
The shocked look on her face was quickly replaced by that of recognition and even submission. She walked straight into the pastor’s spread arms. Pastor Ken held her tightly, squeezing her left shoulder with his left hand while working her lovely buttocks with his free hand. Sarah’s hands went berserk on the pastor’s back: clawing, scratching, rubbing and burrowing in no particular order.
The pastor expertly spurned her around, cupping her breasts in both hands while brushing his hostile crotch against her arched buttocks. She moaned, groping backward for his hardness. She found it, harassed it crazily and turned to give it some treatment when the pastor’s phone rang, interrupting their beautiful play.
The pastor fumbled in his pocket for his blackberry phone while Sarah worked his hastily worked the zip of his trousers. She found what she was looking for just as he found his.
“I have to take this,” he said breathlessly.
“Can’t it wait?” she pleaded, as if her life was in danger.
“I’ll be quick.”
She stood slowly, buttoned her blouse and started arranging the books on the table.
“But you didn’t tell me you were coming to Owerri today,” the pastor was saying to his blackberry. He sounded genuinely concerned. After about fifteen seconds, he continued: “But you should have waited a little, maybe three days or so. I have an appointment with him this morning.”
“Ok. No problem. We’ll talk later. Safe journey.” He ended the call.
Sarah didn’t wait to be called to resume duty. She advanced towards the pastor and was about to kneel when he held out his hand in a wait signal. She furrowed her brows, seeking explanation. He raised his hand slightly above his head, his index finger pointing down, and did a turn-around gesture. She smiled knowingly and whispered: “Better,” punctuating it with an inviting wink.
She adjusted a visitor’s chair, placed her arms on either of the elbow rests and spread her legs. The pastor walked up to her, unfastening his belt. He let his trousers slide down his legs and lifted her skirt, revealing her underwear.
The door bell rang.