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Good morning everyone,

Please vote for me🙏 Competition ends on Monday, I need more votes🙏

https://billionmediaentertainment.com/book-competitions/?cid=6416&cac=submission&ctx=page&cm=0&sid=6711

This is my first time entering a writing competition, and it truly means a lot to me.

I poured my heart into this story. I carefully structured it, rewrote it multiple times, and gave it everything I had as a writer. To Love Again is a Christmas romance about grief, healing, betrayal, and finding love after loss.

The story is free to read, and voting is based on likes and engagement.

Hey NLanders,

I am a Nigerian writer and I recently entered a Christmas story competition organised by Billion Media Entertainment.

The story is titled To Love Again, a billionaire Christmas romance set in London. It follows Chuka Nwobi, a man who rose from the streets of Mushin to global success, lost his wife tragically, and finds himself fighting grief, betrayal, and love all over again.

The story is free to read and voting is based on likes and engagement.

I am humbly asking anyone who enjoys emotional romance, drama, or Christmas themed stories to please take a few minutes to read and vote for my story.

Here is the link:
https://billionmediaentertainment.com/book-competitions/?cid=6416&cac=submission&ctx=page&cm=0&sid=6711


Thank you so much for your time and support.
God bless you🙏

Hey NLanders,

I am a Nigerian writer and I recently entered a Christmas story competition organised by Billion Media Entertainment.

The story is titled To Love Again, a billionaire Christmas romance set in London. It follows Chuka Nwobi, a man who rose from the streets of Mushin to global success, lost his wife tragically, and finds himself fighting grief, betrayal, and love all over again.

The story is free to read and voting is based on likes and engagement.

I am humbly asking anyone who enjoys emotional romance, drama, or Christmas themed stories to please take a few minutes to read and vote for my story.

Here is the link:
https://billionmediaentertainment.com/book-competitions/?cid=6416&cac=submission&ctx=page&cm=0&sid=6711


Thank you so much for your time and support.
God bless you🙏

Sometimes, it wasn’t the heartbreak that broke her — it was the silence that followed.

Ebele thought Lagos would heal her. She thought Obinna would stay.
She thought David meant forever.

But it turns out… some battles aren’t about men.
They’re about bloodlines.
About the river.
About the dreams that return no matter how far you run.

The Simplest of Men is not just fiction — it’s what happens when trauma, spirituality, and womanhood collide.

💔 If you’ve ever been haunted by something you couldn’t name… this story might be for you.

📘 Read or download it here → https://selar.com/472341

Let me know what chapter breaks you first. I’ll be here to talk...🕯

I Wrote a Book About Spiritual Husbands, Family Curses & Redemption — Here's Why

I didn’t write The Simplest of Men just to tell a story.
I wrote it because I’ve seen what spiritual bondage looks like.

I’ve watched families fall apart, women break under unseen chains, and destinies get delayed by patterns that started long before we were born.

This novel is fiction — but every word is rooted in real pain, real deliverance, and real hope.

It's the story of Ebele.
A woman haunted by heartbreak, spiritual husbands, ancestral debts, and the unexplainable heaviness that follows her through life.

From Lagos traffic to her village in Udi, from the cold silence of a breakup to the violent cries of midnight dreams, she begins to fight — not just for herself, but for generations of women bound before her.

If you’ve ever:

Felt like something is blocking your success

Had repeated dreams that disturb your peace

Seen patterns in your family that look like curses

Or just want to read a gripping, spiritual, emotional story…


…then The Simplest of Men is for you.

📖 It's a spiritual fiction novel that blends African tradition, faith, healing, and truth.
💵 Price: ₦1,000
🔗 Instant download: https://selar.com/472341
🖋️ Written by: Ossai Sochima

I’ll be around to reply comments if you have questions or thoughts.
Thank you for supporting Nigerian stories that go deeper.

I didn’t write The Simplest of Men just to tell a story.
I wrote it because I’ve seen what spiritual bondage looks like.

I’ve watched families fall apart, women break under unseen chains, and destinies get delayed by patterns that started long before we were born.

This novel is fiction — but every word is rooted in real pain, real deliverance, and real hope.

It's the story of Ebele.
A woman haunted by heartbreak, spiritual husbands, ancestral debts, and the unexplainable heaviness that follows her through life.

From Lagos traffic to her village in Udi, from the cold silence of a breakup to the violent cries of midnight dreams, she begins to fight — not just for herself, but for generations of women bound before her.

If you’ve ever:

Felt like something is blocking your success

Had repeated dreams that disturb your peace

Seen patterns in your family that look like curses

Or just want to read a gripping, spiritual, emotional story…


…then The Simplest of Men is for you.

📖 It's a spiritual fiction novel that blends African tradition, faith, healing, and truth.
💵 Price: ₦1,000
🔗 Instant download: https://selar.com/472341
🖋️ Written by: Ossai Sochima

I’ll be around to reply comments if you have questions or thoughts.
Thank you for supporting Nigerian stories that go deeper.

Keep em coming....

Do not forget

These storms of life, this hardship, this pain, this sheer horror that's threatening to destroy my life. This heartbreak, this lovelessness, this feeling of loneliness, this feeling of not being enough, all these emotions entwining themselves, feeling funky and tearing me apart.

When will it end, when will I become free of them, when will the despair, the anxiety and the depression be put to rest?

My mother had just died, depression had become my forte, despair my solitude. My father is going insane from the absence of his wife and the trauma her death had caused. I'm forced to watch a man who was once high spirited become a shadow of himself.

As if loosing my mother wasn't enough, I'm also loosing relationships. The man that promised me forever has perhaps come to the realisation that forever is a mighty long time.

I sat in my empty apartment, feeling lost. My mother's passing still lingered, and now my relationship seemed to be falling apart.

He had promised me forever, but forever was a mighty long time. His phone calls became less frequent, his texts more brief.

I tried to brush it off, but deep down, I knew better. He was pulling away.

Just then, my phone buzzed. It was him. "Hey," he said, his voice low and husky.

"Hey," I replied, trying to sound casual.

But I knew what was coming. "I don't know if I can do this anymore," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

My heart sank. Forever, it seemed, was not as long as I thought.

After we broke apart, I started loosing business connections, his friends who invested called to pull out, in a few weeks, I became broker than I started.

Oh, was this it? Was this the end of it all? Was my mother's death the beginning of the end in our lives, what was happening?

And just when I let the cold shower water run down my spine, numbing the pains and somehow casting away the exhaustion. Just as the water mixes with my tears and flowing freely down the drain.

But then, I heard a voice in my spirit; inaudible, soft and peaceful. “Remember the daughter of who you are...” it said. I raised my head, almost choking on the water that slapped on my face.

Remember the daughter of who I am? Whose daughter am I, who am I? And then, it came; memories of how strong my mother was, how she fought, how she upheld our family, how she never gave up. Even on her sick bed, she kept on saying, ‘it is well with my soul’

So I stand, feeling a surge of strength and resilience flow through me. I squared my shoulders, feeling a newfound sense of determination. I would get through this, I'll rise above the pain and heartache, I'll start again even if it means starting from the beginning, I'll use the knowledge of the things I know to get the things I've been deprived.

It'll be easier now, much easier than when I started. There are people who are relying on me, who are waiting for me, even those who wants to see me fall will be shocked at how much I'd survive.

Enough of this! I turn off the shower, it's time to make my mother proud. She didn't raise me to wail at little challenges. She didn't raise me to give up, she didn't raise me to weep over some man that doesn't know the value of what he has.

I stepped out of the shower, dried up my body, got dressed in my most fanciful expensive attire, did my make up and stepped out of the house.

“I know exactly who to meet!” I say “This is just my awakening!...”

Geofavor:
Have we ever chatted?

I'm not sure. You might have commented on one of my threads before

Geofavor:
Hi

Heyyy

Consequences: Fate of the Known

20th June 2020

Court proceedings.

The court room, a grand high ceilinged chamber with dark wooden paneling and rows of worn, leather upholstered benches. The air was thick with tension as the guffy old judge sat upon his high mighty chair looking down on us like some God to his disciples.

“This court is now in session” he declared, adjusting the funny old wig on his head. His bored spectacles clad eyes scans through the papers in front of him, wrinkly hands working through it as he gets himself accustomed to the case in front of him.

He looked like he'd very much like to be anywhere else but here. Like he was tired of this repetition of things, the unending cases, the dramatic scenes of the court and perhaps that old wig that sat on his bald head; hanging for its dear life and pleading for mercy.

“The case before us today is that of the state versus Sir St. James, accused of murder in the first degree”

The prosecutor, a short but imposing man with a confident smile, stood up. “Your honour, the state is ready to proceed”

The old man nodded. “Very well then, the defence may proceed with their opening statement”

My lawyer stands, face rigid but fair, eyes focused on the man in front of him “Thank you, your honour.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the evidence will show that my client; Sir St. James is innocent of the crimes of which he is accused”

As the trail progressed, the courtroom is filled with the sound of testimony, the rustling of papers, and the occasional outburst from the gallery.

As all these where happening, my derriere was glued to my seat, unfazed, unmoving. Each proceedings a masterpiece to behold. Never in a million years did I think I'd be seated here one day, witnessing this sort of drama, my fate hanging on a thread in front of the judge. A slight edge of the scissors to it and my life comes crashing down.

The judge banged his gravel, calling the court to order, the prosecutor and the defence attorney sparred, each trying to sway the jury to their side.

The prosecutor is tough, adamant on the stories he believes, doing everything best to register it into the minds of the jury. But Mr. Mason - my lawyer - was a fierce and stubborn man. He'd never back down even if he was shouted down on by the judge.

“I've heard all that it is to this case, I'll ask the accused again. Guilty or not guilty?” he says, eyes piercing into mine. For a moment I had no idea I was being referred to, so I sat there, oblivious, like a junkie, allowing this melodic songs of praise that had somehow managed its way into my mind all morning.

The judge clears his throat, loudly. My eyes somehow darts towards him, the audacity of him to interrupt my bliss!

“Guilty or not guilty Sir St. James?” he thunders, impatient.

I stand, like the champion I am, eyes bold and stupid, heart racing like a lunatic, face firm and grim, I plead...

“Not guilty, your honour!”

Christ, you can imagine the absolute horror on his face as he looks down on me. If he were indeed God, I'd have sworn he'd strike me with thunder and light bolts right there and there. But he wasn't God, and he wouldn't force me to admit a crime I didn't commit.

“Not, guilty? Not guilty!” he laughs, it seemed by now he had fully grasped reality, the sheer horror of a man not admitting to his crimes even though his life was hanging on a balance.

“You'll rot in jail, James” he declares. He's taking this case too personal, very unprofessional for a man of his age on status.

“That's Sir St. James to you, your honour. And we'll see about that!” I conclude with a wink.

The thing is, I honestly don't know what's giving me the moral to talk or act like this. I mean, if it were some other guy, they'd probably be on their knees, begging for their lives, crying their hearts out in front of everyone, disgracing themselves.

But I wasn't some other guy, I am Sir St. James, the only one of my kind....

Hurry! It's about to close...

We're three friends in a clique. Each of us bold intelligent and independent women. We don't exactly care about no man, all we want to do is make more money and just right about live our best lives.

Natasha's a twenty-eight tall, slender woman with a fair skin and an even fairer heart. She's down to earth, really. But when her madness starts, the earth trembles at her existence.

Monique will be turning thirty in a few months. She's the best definition of a queen and more. Thick curves, slender waist, full Bossom and an even fuller lips. She isn't as tall as Natasha but she exudes and commands respect where she goes.

Then, there's me- Chloe - the shortest of us all. The number one person that wouldn't keep her mouth shut, the one that blabs and talks all day like there was some kind of trophy for talkatives. The only accountant who sits behind a desk all day doing numbers and wondering if the numbers had affected my sense of reasoning.

Well, my friends call me unique, said I should have been named Monique to suit the rhyme. But who cares about some name when I don't even look anything like Monique?

You get my aggression? Of course not! Well, I've blabbered about things that makes absolutely no sense, forgetting what exactly brought me here.

Natasha's a fashion designer, she makes very good clothes that even Fendi would be jealous off. She does most of her sales online, owns an online store where she posts most of her works. She does all these in her little apartment - the sewing of dresses and clothes - and posts it online. She's actually very successful in that and she makes more than I make a month sitting behind some desk doing numbers.

Monique was once a model. Succeeded in that until she had an accident that changed the course of her entire existence. No! She didn't have an air crash or motor crash that rendered her useless. She actually tripped and fell in one of her shows and decided modelling wasn't her calling.

You see, Monique is actually a very superstitious woman, believes in the existence of this unknown power that isn't exactly the alpha and omega we all know about. After her fall, she blabbered about how it wasn't what her CHI wanted her to do.

“Modelling isn't for me” she had told us one night “If it were for me I wouldn't have fallen like that in the presence of all those people. No, this isn't what my chi wants me to do” she had told us. I mean, while I loved Monique to pieces as a friend, sometimes I think she's actually very delusional. She's probably not right upstairs. Because who would quit a successful career in the name of that's not what her CHI wants for her?

Doesn't entirely make sense to me. But we were her friends and all we had to do is give emotional support.

Later on she ventured into this real estate business. Might I say that she was somehow right? Like this business opened her to a lot of opportunities and she's doing amazingly well now. Better than she ever did in that modelling career!

Anyways, back to my main story. (Tucks an invisible hair behind my ear)

There's this new rule that Elon musk implemented. Everyone must strictly abide by that rule doesn't matter who you are, what race you are or what country you come from. And while I'm at my desk doing numbers, sweat dripping from my face with a velocity that can't be explained, my hands going over the keyboard in front of me with sweet frenzy.

Ever since this new rule, it has always being hard to keep up. We literally work from 9-5, how does he expect us to meet up, catch up with our friends and families? How does he expect Monique and Natasha whose businesses are mainly online to catch up with their clients? It's crazy right?

At exactly 4:39pm Natasha called me. Said I had to come online to check out the pictures of wears she had sent me. She wanted me to make a choice so she could make her final decision. I said okay, that I was a little busy at the moment and that I'd check it out later.

She became frantic. It was more like her anxiety skyrocketed through the roof. She bombarded my phone with calls and text messages begging me to check it out Now or else. Man, does she always have to be this dramatic? How hasn't she still grasped the fact that the world doesn't revolve around her? I have work to do, lady!

By 5:55pm my phone died down. Like the battery was drained out of it by force, sucked out by Natasha's ceaseless callings. Welp, I guess it wasn't my fault.

As I rose my head up from the computer in front of me, I'm caught by a sea of co-workers, phone in their faces as the light of the phone illuminate the contours of their features. Some were smiling, others were aggressively typing away. Just when I was about to hiss and judge them, my boss pokes his head from his office door and thunders...

“Amara! You better send in that chart now before the media closes or else!” I look over at Amara as she shudders, tears threatening to fall from her eyes. She types relentlessly on her keyboard, simultaneously checking her phone and looking over at the wall clock.

And then, it dawned on me. All social medias has been mandated to close at exactly 6pm. At this time, all social handles shuts down ranging from WhatsApp, Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, linkedin, YouTube, Tiktok and likes of it.

My breath catches in my throat as I swallow deeply. This only means one thing...

Just before I could fully grasp reality, Natasha is standing in front of me. Messy hair in an even messier bonnet, haggard looking clothing, bunny flipflops, an angry bird face and a dangling car key.

“You're such a bad friend!” she yells. “You know the rules, you and Monique picks and I make the final decision so I could send it to my client. Now the internet has closed! Why are so wicked like this, Chloe?”

“Oh my God, Natasha. I absolutely forgot and I was so busy..” I said.

“Busy? It only takes you a second to check and send and you get back to whatever you were doing! This is why mom said I shouldn't be friends with short people, they don't see above themselves!”

Flabbergasted!!

Who do me like this?

I woke up this morning feeling light headed. It felt as though all my energy was tapped and disconnected during the night. I shook off the feeling and braced the day like the man I am.

My masculinity didn't help, neither did the pep talks I constantly whispered in my spirit. I felt like my life was dancing a crazy tango on the brink of collapse, my bones rattled at every movement, my mind quaked at every turn.

What could be wrong? I wondered, it surely isn't the hunger pangs threatening to divide my stomach into two like Moses parted the red sea, now could it?

To avoid stories that touches the heart, I left the office and went straight to Iya Shukura kiosk and demanded a plate of Egusi soup and five raps of fufu. Abi the hunger want to disgrace me? Me sef go disgrace am.

Few minutes later, my stomach started wailing from excessive satisfaction. That's right! Now, I can get back the energy to continue my day.

An hour after, I almost fainted when my boss was handing a bunch of paper works to me to study. I was clearly standing straight, nodding at everything that came out of his mouth, taking in the bossy aura that emanated from him and wondering when I'd become like that. When all of a sudden, my bones rattled again, shaking my whole body and plummeting me to the cold hard ground.

Yes, a hard strong man as I fell to the ground; face first, with a loud resounding thud. GBA! I could imagine the shock and fear on my boss's face. But I didn't imagine, I was in so much pain to imagine anything right now.

What could be wrong? Who dey do me like this? It goes to show it wasn't hunger but something else. Something more sinister, something cold and menacing.

It couldn't be uncle Friday in the village that's trying to do this to me, right? Among all my uncles, uncle Friday is the only one who refused to leave the village in search of greener pasture. I had constantly sent him money on every payday. Not because I'm owing him or its my responsibility. But because I've always feared him and new the length in which he could go to bring a man down.

So my sending him money every month is more like a sacrifice I was doing to keep the gods in him away from my business. No, it couldn't be uncle Friday. I told uncle Friday to wait till Monday before I'll send him this month's sacrifice. Our paycheck didn't come in early.

After I was rushed and revived, my boss gave me the day off. Said I should go home and rest up before I die in his office. He even added until I have recovered, ha! You can't imagine my joy when I was wheeled out his office by his driver in his car.

As the driver stopped in front of my house, I alighted with the strength left in me and thanked the kind sir. Walking into the empty compound - which I was grateful for- I stepped onto the porch of my apartment.

Fumbling for my keys, I heard this strange noise coming from the next door. Ah ah, Okon didn't go to work today? Being the poke noser that I am, I moved from my side to his side and decided to eavesdrop on him.

Christ! Is he praying? Why would a grown man like Okon skip work on a day like this only to spend it in praying like that?

The prayer intensified. The words I could make out from what he said was - “Oh Lord, let every bad friend posing as a good friend in my life collapse and die!” just as the last word left his mouth, my bones rattled, my whole body shook and my legs gave way again.

I collapsed on his porch with a heavy thud. GBA!
His prayer seized almost immediately, I could imagine confusing, fear and curiosity peaking inside of him, each fighting for dominance.

He came out, sweat dripping from his body and letting his eyes roam, they landed on me.

“So na you dey pray that kind prayer since morning? Is it because I stole a bit of your fuel, tapped your current and diverted your girls affection towards me? You no be better person I swear, Okon!” I blurted without thinking.

“What?” he thundered. Oh, to think I did all that while I posed as a very good and trusted friend!

Wicked!

Heyyyyy!!!

I think I've come to the end of this thread, lol. I've had enough It was fun while it lasted But if anyone comes across it and wants to drop a short story or two, It'd be appreciated... To everyone who commented, liked, shared, mentioned and contributed, thank you and God bless...

@illicit
@metalgear11
@lordroman1346
@jack273
@kingkelvin2023
@Azyrixworld

Thank you so much guys

Is This Your Life?

Connected to an oxygen tank with a clear tube running from the tank to a nasal cannula under his nose. Ogbuefi lay in the hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and monitors. His eyes are closed and his chest rises and falls with each laboured breath.

His skin is pale and his hair had gone bald overnight, a hospital gown covers his frail body. He's only forty three; how did he get here? This wasn't the life he envisioned for himself, certainly not how he wanted to die. But he was here, on this sick hospital bed, unmovable and fighting for his life.

To the side, a monitor displays his vital signs and an IV pole stands nearby, dripping fluids into his veins. His wife walks in with a black polythene bag. She sighs, evidence of the fact that she hasn't fully grasped reality visible on her face. She looked worn out, tired, bags underneath her eyes indicating sleepless nights.

Walking unto one of the tables, she offloads the content of the polythene bag; a blue big flask and another stainless small flask with a spoon. She had brought him food even though she knew he could only take liquid. But her intentions were pure, she was worried, she couldn't hide the pain in her eyes as she watched her husband lay flat on that bed, laboured breathing and still unaware of her presence.

Ogbuefi didn't entirely live a good life. He was stubborn, ruthless, psychotic at times and always took what doesn't belong to him. He was a man who didn't care about what others thought of him, his happiness was above every other thing.

Ogbuefi, killed a seasoned amount of cows in his home town, erupted a large mansion in his father's compound and stole lands from poor villagers who doesn't have a say and couldn't downright sue him.

It was his turn, his tenure - Emi Lokan - and he exhibited it quite well. People trembled at the mention of his name, roads were cleared to have him pass, security guarded him like he was Jesus Christ himself.

Ogbuefi maintained and enjoyed all these for years until one man, just one man stood up and decided to put him in his place.

Osondu pained and embittered of the fact that Ogbuefi stole from him, abused and took everything from him started going places to bring him down.

But Ogbuefi had power, he was adequately covered spiritually. The gods couldn't do anything to him. Any alters he brought his name to refused to assist him in taking down the powerful Ogbuefi.

Osondu never relented, never gave up. One thing must kill a man after all; he believed it with all his heart and soul. Well, there was only one thing left to do, one God left to table his name to.

Osondu, a renowned village atheist converted to Christianity. He'd heard so much about the God of the white men, the power it's followers claimed it wield. He took his time, slowly learned the ethics of the Christian faith, understood how it worked and gave his life entirely to its existence. And just when he felt like he knew enough; enough to say to this mountain move and it will be moved, enough to speak to an ocean to divide and it will path ways.

Osondu brought the name of Ogbuefi before the God of heaven and earth, the only one living God. The cries of the villagers and victims of Ogbuefi had reached the ears of God. Determined Osondu prayed, fasted calling upon his new found God to come to their rescue.

Psalm 35, psalm 91 fight against those that are fighting against us Lord, take hold of shield and buckler and come for our help. Suffer not a witch to live but to die. All these became Osondu's chants and prayers. One day, he heard a voice in his spirit; write his name on a piece of paper and insert it inside a powerful verse in the Bible.

12 midnight he arose, said his prayers, rebuked evil powers and operations and sat down. Writing Ogbuefi's names in elegant handwriting, he inserted it his newly purchased Bible.

Two weeks later, Ogbuefi fell sick. Everything started crumbling down, his business, his health. He became exposed, vulnerable even. The strongholds around him was broken, torn apart and the wrath of God started dealing with him.

Wiping a tear that carelessly rolled down her cheek, Ogbuefi's wife sighed and hissed.

“It's better you join your ancestors. The price to keep you alive is draining life from me instead. I've sold everything to see if you'd survive. I always tell you, the evil you do will come back haunting you. Now look at you, we spend 10,020 per hour on the oxygen that's keeping you alive and you take the oxygen for twenty four hours” she weeps “You took others lives as though you had power to give life”

Birthday Present

It'll be my man's birthday in a week time. For some odd reason, my mind seems unease, juggling gift ideas and what is best to get him for his special day.

One thing I love about Emeka is how incredibly straightforward and lovable he is. He makes loving him so easy. We've been together for two years and in those two years, he'd been the one getting me gifts on my birthday.

But this year, I wanted to get him something. I wanted to gift the love of my life something he'd never forget.

We were sat in his sitting room one fateful Saturday; watching Netflix and chewing on some Oreos when his phone dinged.

The first ding was ignored. I mean, we were chilling and engrossed in this ‘Silo’ series we were watching and a phone dinging wasn't something that should break this bond, right?

But his phone dinged again and again. It sounded more like a notification for a post or something. Gently patting me on the shoulder, I rise from his laps that cradled my head and sat up straight. He stands up, walk over to where the phone was plugged in and disconnected the charging. He came straight back to the couch and I for some unknown reasons lay my head on his shoulder.

He smiled, inputting his password- which of course I knew- and tapping on the notification.

Not to pry, I divert my eyes from the phone to the playing TV. The drama was getting intense, I didn't want to miss out on the important details of the series.

But you know how we could see things happening beside us even though we were looking at the front? Yes,my man got a notification from someone, logged into his tiktok account, inputted the name sent to him and followed the account.

It's a natural thing right, I've kind of done it several times; a situation where my friends talked about someone and how great or crazy they and their contents are and intrigued, I'd log into my account, search their names and follow them? Or not...

Well, I didn't exactly put mind to it, I kind of loved and trusted this big guy beside me, he's been my rock and everything for two or make it three years now.

His birthday was fast approaching and I still hadn't come up with a perfect gift. To me, there was nothing my man lacked, he's doing well for himself so what is it that I'd give him and it wouldn't end up being one of the many things he owned?

But then, I noticed something. My man suddenly developed the habit of watching tiktok like his life depended on it. It'd be the first thing he checks when he wakes up, the thing he watches while brushing his teeth and phone still cradled in his hand, it'd be the thing he watches while driving.

I know as a good girlfriend and well - wife to be- if I dared honour myself, I've tried on countless times to chastise him on countless occasions on the dangers of this new found habit. But guess what, everything I said fell on deaf ears.

Days passed and I felt like I was floating away from his memory. I was there with him but it seemed like I wasn't there at all. I'd talk to him and he'd reply halfheartedly. It pained me, it pained me so much.

So like every sane, normal, mature woman what did I do? I tried to talk it out. You know how you guys say conversation is paramount in a relationship? Abi how Una dey talk am?

Anyways, yes, I talked it out. I came out of my room one day bored to death and hugged him from behind. He was sitting on a stool in the kitchen island, bowl of neatly chopped watermelon sat on the island as he forked it and put into his mouth while momentarily watching the said tiktok video of this one particular person.

“Babe, can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm” he said, half nodding. Eyes still fixated on this video. For a moment, I took a second to watch this video and behold, it was a lady about my age, talking and showcasing whatever it is she's showcasing. Wireless Bluetooth earbuds were connected and plugged into his ears so I couldn't hear what she was saying.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked. Still watching this supposed girl talk and smile seductively at the camera.

“What?” he asked, this time dropping the hanging fork and looking at my face from the side.

“No, I just want to know. You've sort of ignored me and has dedicated all your time and focus in watching this...” I say, pouting and pointing at the phone in his hand.

“Why would you think that, babe? Nothing of the sort, you're mine and I'm yours. I'm just a little preoccupied at the moment”

“With watching tiktok reels?”

“Yeah. There's just something unique about this, I'm just exploring and trying to figure it out” he said, picking up the fork again.

“Hmmm.. that doesn't sound right babe. You're not giving me enough attention. You hardly talk to me in the morning and all the things we used to do, we no longer do them”

“Why are you always sounding so ungrateful, Nneka? I've given you everything you wanted for three years, been there for you and everything and you won't let me have my me time? Life doesn't revolve around you, I have a life too” he cried.

Well, let's just say I never expected the convo to go this way. Why can't men see from a woman's perspective? Looking at his phone, allowing my mind pick up the name of the tiktoker, I slide out of his shoulders and walked away.

Well, he didn't follow suit... Like he usually does.

Long story short, I searched up the name of this tiktoker, found out things about her that I shouldn't have known as a girlfriend, cried my eyes out when I heard things I still shouldn't have heard as a girlfriend and began planning my revenge.

For some unknown reasons, he changed the plans of his birthday. We wanted a reserved celebration between my friends and his but now he's talking about making it big and extravagant.

Who am I to question him? I would have said his soon to be wife but well, by now you would have figured it out...

The day is finally here, everyone's finally here and everything's going according to plan and purpose.

No, no, no! Did you think, I'd be seated in one corner looking depressed and sad? Of course not! I enjoyed myself, I danced more than the celebrant himself, helped him cut his cake and fed him romantically.

I mean on one or two occasions, I could see suspicion boldly visible in his eyes but I cared less. On one or two occasions I caught him looking into the crowd of people, searching their faces as if he was looking for someone in particular.

I could have asked like every normal girlfriend would but I didn't. I basked in the glory of his misery and partied even harder. Finally, the party ended, everyone had tendered their gifts and thanks and the house was finally empty leaving just the two of us alone, again. How intriguing is it to be surrounded by people and in a blink, they're gone, back to the respective places they crawled out from and you're left alone in your little world again.

My sweetheart was seated on one of the sofas, tiredness and exhaustion dripping from his features. He constantly dialed a particular number but the person wasn't answering. I hear him swearing under his breath but each time he sees me, he tries to hide his frustration.

“What a waste” he mouthed at his precious phone.

Well, time for the big reveal. Everyone had given him a gift except me. On on of the days before the party I had come up with an excellent gift. Throwing caution to the wind and making this all about me, I pick up my decorated box, walked over to him in my still well clasped heels and dress and gently placed the gift box on the table in front of him.

“Happy birthday baby, wishing you many more fruitful years in abundance and good health. I got you a little present” I say in the most girlie like voice I could muster.

“Uhm, thanks babe, you didn't have to”

“Oh please, you've been the one getting things for me all these years. Now, tables have turned, I want to appreciate you for being the most caring boyfriend and a loving partner. May our love never come to an end” I declared. He chuckles, his dimple clearly visible. Oh, how I loved this man!

“I hope so too, babe. Thank you” he replies.

“Oya, it's time to open it. Open and see what your understanding girlfriend bought you” I say, he laughs. His soft laugh bouncing off the parlour walls and resounding in my delicate ears.

“Okay, I mean, I'm curious to know what it is...” he drops his phone beside him (thank God) leans toward the table and allows his fingers to undo the strings and knots of the box.

1, 2, 3 the knots were off, taking off the lid, he shouted..

“Jesus Christ of Nazareth!” he jumps up and unto the chair that once harboured his derriere.

“Wtf (censored) is this, Nneka?”

“Oh, I can see you like it” I smiled. “I'm sure it's the greatest gift you were expecting”

“What is that?” he asked again, still unconvinced.

“its your gift babe, take a closer look” my smile still plastered on my face. Ah, perks of being an understanding girlfriend!

He gently steps down from the sofa and leans towards the box, again. This time, I could have sworn he was about to faint. This my gift is surely taking him to where he doesn't know oo. Chineke God!

“Is that...” he trails off.

“What you think it is? Of course my love. Happy birthday once again...”

Lying bloodily inside the box is the head of the girl he recently followed, the main cause of the ignorable attitude of my once lovable sweetheart towards me...

Psychotic!!

Naked Driver

I recently relocated to Lagos after years of living in the northern part of Nigeria. You can't imagine the wild things I've seen and experienced in this ‘Eko O ni baje’ state.

I mean, I've heard stories about Lagos but none was as wild as the one I encountered today.

Life in Lagos state is draining, I literally have to wake up by 4am prep and get ready for work. Living in satellite town, I work around that Oshodi side. So you can imagine the stress of waking up early every day just to not miss the bus.

Today, I awoke by 3:30am, went straight to the bathroom to do nature's call before I did my short morning prayer - it has become a habit - I went ahead to brush my teeth, take a shower and dressed up according to work etiquette.

I reached the bus stop at around 5am and everywhere was already crowded. Like plenty people were already waiting for the bus too. It was no longer a thing of surprise to me sha.

At 5:30am, a bus stopped in front of us and the only way to know if it were heading our direction is to hear what the driver or conductor will chant.

Surprisingly, no conductor, the driver himself seems to be glued to his seat. He started shouting from inside his bus “Oshodi, Berger... Oshodi, Berger...”

I immediately rushed to the front seat and sat down. Others entered as well. The bus filled up immediately and we were on transit.

You know, by 5:30am it was still dark but just as it was was getting to 6 - 6:30 the cloud started changing and the sun slowly starts rising illuminating the darkened sky.

I got tired of looking at the scenery, wondering what will become my fate today at work and casting anxiety aside. Just as I brought my focus back into the moving bus, I noticed something.

At first, I thought it was nothing, like I could be hallucinating or something like that when I dared to look again. Low and behold, our driver was stark naked.

“Jesus!” I screamed, almost jumping out of my own skin. The other passengers directed their gaze at me and traced my eyes to what was beside me.

One agbero looking boy with dreads and whatnots shouted...

“Driver, na naked you dey so abi na wetin?”

“Blood of Jesus Christ cover me and my family, I shall not die” one woman at the back kept clicking her fingers and praying in tongues.

“I hope this is not some kind of spiritual something? Are we safe?” a young girl asked, visibly horrified.

Driver burst laugh. He laughed so hard that the tiny voice inside of me kept admonishing ‘run’

“Relax...” he said “Una no see the rain wey fall yesterday? Rain beat my clothes last night. I'll get another one as soon as we get to Oshodi”

I literally almost ran mad....

Phone Attack

I and Shola were walking back home from campus, trying to escape the scorching sun that seemed to be judging us for our poor life choices. My beautiful braid hairstyle, which had been the envy of all the boys on campus, was now throbbing in pain. I mean, who needs beauty when you can have a headache, right?

As we passed the popular mango tree, where lovers usually go to gaze into each other's eyes, a guy approached me. "Hey, sorry to bother you, but I must confess that you're very beautiful," he said, his voice dripping with cheesiness.

I looked him up and down, and I mean, he was...short. Like, Wattpad-romance-novel short. I could almost hear the sound of my eyes rolling.

"Thank you," I managed, trying to hide my amusement. I dragged my feet, beckoning Shola to continue walking, but the guy followed us.

"Do you mind giving me your number?" he asked, his voice trembling with hope.

I exchanged a glance with Shola, who was trying her best not to burst out laughing. "You want my number?" I asked, just to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

"Yes, if you don't mind," he replied, his face lighting up with excitement.

I raised an eyebrow. "Why?" I asked, my tone dripping with sarcasm.

The guy launched into a speech about how he'd been admiring me from afar and wanted to get to know me better. I tuned him out, my eyes scanning the surrounding area for an escape route.

That's when I spotted it – the perfect opportunity to have some fun. I collected his phone, pretending to type in my number. But instead, I took off running, the phone clutched tightly in my hands.

Shola was right behind me, laughing her head off. The guy was hot on our heels, screaming at the top of his lungs. "Thief! Ole! That girl stole my phone! Make una help me ooo!"

I couldn't help but giggle as we ran. The look on the guy's face was priceless. Finally, I stopped, held my chest, and took deep breaths. Shola caught up with me, still laughing.

"You're crazy, Funke!" she exclaimed, wiping tears from her eyes.

The guy eventually caught up with us, his face thunderous. "You're a thief! You're not normal at all! Give me back my phone, jare!"

I handed over the phone, trying to stifle a grin. The guy snatched it from me, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Werey, winch! In fact, I've lost interest. I can never date a thief like you!" he exclaimed, storming off.

Shola and I burst out laughing. "You're really not normal, Funke," she chuckled. "What gave you the nerve to do something like that?"

I shrugged, still grinning. "He wanted my number, na..."

PASS THROUGH ME

Today's the day I'll be going to see my therapist...

You know how life is like a rollercoaster ride of do and die emotions, and how people be contributing to your pain?

I sit at the waiting room waiting for them to page my name. It's past three in the afternoon, my appointment was supposed to start at exactly 3pm. Twenty minutes past three and I am still glued to the steel chair, waiting my turn.

“Derrick Johnson..” Doc. Anita calls.

“Yep, that's me” I answer, forcing myself on my feet. At first, my legs felt stiff and wobbly due to the fact I've been sitting for a very long time.

“So how are you doing today?” she asked, flipping through the papers on her neatly arranged desk.

“Not so good, I guess. I mean, if I felt good, I wouldn't be here, don't you think?” she smiles, pulls her focus from the papers she was going through and looks at me.

“Always with the snarky comments, yeah?”

“Sorry,I went overboard”

“No, it's fine. Most of my patients are uptight and wouldn't willingly give out information to me. But you're different, you have a big heart and you always say things just the way it is in a heart beat. So do tell, what's going on?” she asked, leaning forward on her chair.

“Well, I've had a crazy week. I feel like people are constantly antagonizing me and making things difficult for me. Everyone seems to know what's best for me and makes sure to tell me as such. I always get hurt by people's words and their ridiculous ways of approach”

“Hmmm, I see. Well, if you don't like getting hurt, let things pass through you!”

“That's just all I need to do?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, that's the secret to life. If you don't like getting hurt, let things pass through you”

Thirty minutes later and I'm home. The words of doc. Anita keeps repeating in my head. “If you don't like getting hurt, let things pass through you”

Well, standing on my feet, there was only one way to find out if she's right. I walk into the kitchen, pulls out the butcher knife dad had purchased a few months ago. Sitting comfortably on the sofa I begin to do what the doctor said, inexperienced, the best way I could do it.

Twenty minutes later, there sat a big hole on my chest, blood was everywhere but it didn't matter. Now, my mother's and everyone's annoying words and comments will just pass through me. Just like my therapist said.

WET FLOOR

The police arrived...

Sirens blaring, the police cruiser screeched to a halt outside the house, it’s lights flashing brightly as officers jumped out to surround the property.

“What are we dealing with here?” asked Inspector Khalid.

“A twenty eight year old woman shot her husband in cold blood” Detective Gbenga replied.

“Why?”

“You’d be surprised as to the reason, sir” Inspector Khalid halts in his tracks, takes a long hard look at the house in front of them, he sighs.

“I hope it’s not what I’m thinking?” he inquired, exhaustion clouding his features.

“what are you thinking, sir?”

“He cheated, right? He must have broken her poor heart”

Detective Gbenga burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that fear began to creep into the mind of the old Inspector in front of him.

“I wish that was the case, sir. It would have been interesting to unravel that mystery”

“Out with it, you nitwit! What happened, why did she shoot him?”

Composing himself, he replies...

“The twenty eight year old Hannah shot her husband because he stepped on her freshly mopped floor”

“What? I don’t exactly understand what you’re saying detective. Is this some kind of joke, does this job look like a joke to you?” Khalid asked frustrated.

“Not at all, sir. Apparently, Hannah had been up and about, taking care of household chores and their three-year-old toddler. And remarkably, she managed all this while six months pregnant. What’s more, her husband Matthew seemed to be doing very little to support her.”

“So?” Khalid asked impatient.

“As she mopped the floor, her husband walked through the kitchen, carelessly stepping on the still-wet surface.”

“Wait, let me get this straight. She shot him because he stepped on the floor she mopped?”

“Yes, apparently Hannah was already exhausted and overstimulated, and the thought of her husband’s careless behaviour was the final straw, sending her into a frenzy”

“Jesus! What’s this world coming to? So has the woman been arrested?”

“No... Not exactly sir” he says, suddenly avoiding eye contact.

“Why not?”

“Well, the floor is still wet, sir and she’s still wielding the gun”

“What? What does that supposed to mean?”

“I’m sure you’re not too old to understand this, Inspector. The floor is still wet, once it dries, we’ll move in immediately and have her apprehended!”

Wicked!!

Quote:
While my fellow lady friends collect pictures of hair styles, wigs, shoes, crushes, clothes and designs in their phones... I, in my magnifying glory, collect memes!

No hard feelings...

Okay, no problem. Thanks for your contribution

kingkelvin2033:
I guess I was sticking to the 200 word limit. I could continue it sometime as a series. There's always more to the story

kingkelvin2033:
"Madam, calm down", said the young man at the gate counter, frantically trying to douse the tension, without success. "What do you mean I should calm down? I said I need a refund! Give me my money now or all hell will be let loose here today!", said Mrs Amadi, the 45 year old wife of Professor Amadi.

She is 5ft 6 and light in complexion, a bit plump but not overweight, she kept to a very strict regimen she had gotten from a Dr Chen she met during an International Law Conference in Singapore where she was the keynote speaker.

Professor Amadi had been waiting for her in an hotel in Zambia, where they have a meeting with a group of young and vibrant entrepreneurs who wanted to make a change in their country who felt and were convinced the professor and his amiable but intelligent wife would help make their vision a reality. It was a 3 day business summit.

The couple were keynote speakers including Professor Boateng from Ghana. Mrs Amadi was to speak on International Law and Ethics in Building Global Businesses. Professor Amadi was slated to speak on his 100% Indigenously built Hydroponics System and its Impact on Africa's Drive towards Food Security and Economic Independence.

"I am going to sue everyone of you", swore Mrs Amadi, "How can you people do this to me? After all I did to make sure I did not miss this flight, you people are now telling me that it left in the morning. How? Look! look here...", she rants loudly holding up the ticket to the ticket agent, who apparently is even more confused than she is, "It reads 12:30pm! This is 11:00am for crying out loud! How come the flight was rescheduled for 7:00am without my notice? No notification. Not anything..."

Erm, sorry, is this the end of this story?

Thank you for this, was very captivating till the very end...

Azyrixworld:
Title: The List (Sochi's POV)

It was Nkemjika who gave me the nickname. "Isidore," he called me one evening as we chatted. He said it sounded mysterious, like a character straight out of one of my stories. I smiled at that. He had no idea how fitting the name was. I my pseudo name was Sochi. That’s what I used for my stories, my craft, my real self. But Isidore? It worked too. It made me feel… human.

Nkem was different. Not like the others. Most people who followed my work only skimmed the surface, but Nkem read every word, peeled back every layer. He understood me or so he thought. And because of that, I let him in. Not completely, of course. Never completely. But just enough.

“You write so vividly,” he told me once. “It’s like you’ve been in the mind of a killer.”

I remember laughing at that. If only he knew. But I liked him, in my own way. He didn’t recoil when I said dark things. Didn’t flinch when I joked about death or loss. Instead, he leaned in, fascinated, as if my darkness was a puzzle he could solve.

I decided to test him one night. I told him about my list.

“You know, I keep a list of people who’ve wronged me,” I said casually, letting my words hang in the air. “Helps me write better. Gives me… inspiration.”

He laughed, just like I thought he would. “You must have some imagination. What kind of wrongs are we talking about?”

His curiosity pleased me. He wasn’t running, wasn’t calling me crazy. He stayed. That was his first mistake.


The list isn’t just words. It’s art. Every name, every person, is a story waiting to be written. Some I finish quickly a single, sharp moment, like slicing through paper. Others I savor, letting the tension build until the climax is inevitable.

Nkem fascinated me from the start. He was so eager to connect, to be seen. I knew he would be on the list the moment he messaged me. But I didn’t want to rush it. That was the mistake I’d made with others giving in too soon, ending their stories before I’d fully explored them.

No, with Nkem, I wanted to take my time.


One night, I let my guard down. It was late, and I’d been drinking just enough to feel the edges blur. The messages I sent him grew darker, more intimate. I told him things I’d never told anyone else not even the others before him.

“You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he said. “You’re just… intense.”

Intense. The word lingered in my mind long after our conversation ended. He didn’t call me insane. Didn’t pull away. Instead, he stayed.

That was when I knew. He belonged to me now.



The night I visited him was perfect. I’d been planning it for weeks, watching him, learning his routines. I stood outside his window, just out of sight, and watched the glow of his phone light up his face. He looked confused, frightened, vulnerable.

I tapped on the glass, just lightly, a sound that could easily be dismissed as the wind. He didn’t look, but I could see his breathing quicken. My phone buzzed in my hand as I typed the message.

“Don’t look outside. Not yet. Let me savor this moment.”

I watched him freeze, the phone slipping from his hand. The fear radiated off him, thick and intoxicating. I stayed there for a while, watching as he paced the room, his movements frantic and aimless.

When I finally left, I made sure to leave the list on his desk. His name was at the top, crossed out in bold red ink.

The next morning, when they found him, they’d know he wasn’t just another name. He was the masterpiece.

He was unforgettable. Just like I promised.

©Voice of Dora
#azyrixworld

His ghosted ghost.

3. INT. Omotola's Apartment - Night.

Omotola: (clicks her laptop shut)
Christ! (Smacks forehead) I'm slowly losing my sanity. For days I've being trying to get back to my normal life; I didn't kill him. I don't have a hand in what happened to him. Christ knows that I loved him with every fiber in my body. (Walks into the kitchen)

Omotola: (grabs a bottled water from the fridge and downs it's content)
This detectives will soon find out that I had visited him that morning, that's if Helen hasn't told them yet with that porous mouth of hers. (she hears a sound) this rat infested house, I really need to make out time to eliminate all of them before they finally eat my certificate.

She walks into her sitting room and sits down, grabs the remote and flicks through channels, looking for something to get her mind off the situation at hand.


Omotola:
Anything funny should do. (She hears another sound. This time, it's coming from the connecting door to the parlour) what's going on? That doesn't sound like some careless rats, now does it?
(She turns and behold. There he stood, in his bloodied glory; Festus)

Omotola: (screams)
Jesus Christ of Nazareth! (Jumps out of the chair and closes her eyes momentarily) oh God, oh God... This isn't real, this isn't real, blood of Jesus, blood of Jesus!

Festus:
You lying piece of shit, you dare do this to me? What did I ever do to you to deserve this?

Omotola: (opens her eyes)
Oh my God! I cast and bind every evil spirit assigned against my life. I plead the blood of Jesus over this house.

Festus: (voice cold and menacing, full of rage)
You're the evil that has being fashioned against yourself. You knew all along that this was going to happen, yet you didn't stop it.

Omotola: (fires back)
I didn't know anything, I'm innocent. I don't have a hand in what happened to you. Why are you tormenting me? Be gone, you evil spirit from the pit of hell!

Festus: (laughs)
The nerve of you to cast me away when all you ever did was want me. Confess, unravel the truth or you could just be next... (He disappears)

Omotola: (trembles)
Confess to what.... I didn't kill you... (breaks down in tears) Why did you have to die like that? Why was I the last person that was seen in your house? My life is ruined, my entire life is ruined. (Picks up phone, dials Helen's number)

Helen: (picks on second ring)
What is it?

Omotola:
I want to see you in my house first thing tomorrow morning or you're screwed! (Hangs up)

His ghosted ghost 2

Fade in:

2. INT. Police Station - Day.

Officer Ogidi:
Please sit, miss Helen.

Helen:
I still don't understand why I'm here and Tola isn't.

Officer Ogidi:
We have some questions for you, if you don't mind. You were so eager to help me the previous time, I think I'll need that help now.

Helen:
Okay, shoot.

Officer Ogidi:
How long have you known Tola?

Helen:
Four years. She isn't exactly my friend sha oo. We don't usually hang out like that.

Officer Ogidi:
I see you're always quick to voice out your emotions?

Helen: (scoffs)
I'm like an open book,you won't find secrets with me.

Officer Ogidi:
Okay. Do you mind telling me how the both of them met? I mean, Festus and Tola.

Helen:
I actually introduced her to him. I've been friends with Festus before I became friends with Tola. Shey you get?

Officer Ogidi:
Okay, so you introduced Tola to Festus? Why?

Helen:
Hmm, well, Tola always says she wanted a boyfriend, wanted a man to take care of her. You know, she was very desperate to date someone. So I helped her.

Officer Ogidi:
This Festus, what does he do for a living?

Helen:
He actually works remotely. He's into this tech design thing.

Officer Ogidi:
Tech design thing? His job doesn't have a name or what?

Helen:
Wo, oga oo. You know you men don't usually say what exactly you people do (chuckles) he said he was into designing.

Officer Ogidi:
But you've known him longer than Tola?

Helen: (nods)
Yes sir. In fact, he loves Tola more than anything. I don't know if she used JuJu on him, because I can't understand how a man will love a woman that much.

Officer Ogidi:
I see. Do you think Tola visited him before the incident?

Helen:
Officer, let me tell you the truth; Tola is lying, she went to his house that day. You know that I told you that I and Festus were friends, immediately she left, Festus called me. He said, Tola was threatening him and vowed to deal with him.

Officer Ogidi:
He called you to tell you that after she left his house?

Helen:
Yes, officer. I believe she came back again to do what she promised.

Officer Ogidi:
Doesn't make sense to me, to be honest. I mean, by th look of the man even in that grotesque state, he was very manly. How could a skinny woman as Tola overtake him and stab him to death five times?

Helen:
Don't judge Tola based on her looks. She can do unimaginable things.

Officer Ogidi:
I feel like you're not being honest with me. You're probably speaking from a jealous state. What I'm deducing from your act yesterday and the things you're saying now, I think you might have loved Festus so much that you were jealous he loved Tola and not you. Now,I know I shouldn't say this but it's paramount to our investigation.

Helen: (shocked)
I warned him to let go of her, I warned him to stay away from her (sobs) he didn't listen, now look at his fate.

Officer Ogidi: (sighs)
This is going to be a very long case.

Fade out.

Officer Ogidi: (to his colleagues)
I think there's something sinister brewing amongst the women. Could it be that Helen killed him out of jealousy?

Officer 2:
Well, let's not come to conclusions yet. We should dig deeper into this case. I trust we'd eventually uncover the truth.

His ghosted ghost

Fade in:

1. INT. Omotola's Apartment - Day.

Serene and peaceful environment. Only the noise from the television is heard and perhaps, the anxious breathing of Omotola as she watches the news.

News Presenter:
We're coming to you live from the scene of a tragic incident on Shogbo Street in Surulere, Lagos. A man, identified as 30-year-old Mr. Festus, was fatally stabbed five times inside his home. Authorities are currently investigating the circumstances surrounding this tragic incident.

Omotola: (Pacing back and forth)
I didn't kill him, I couldn't have done it. (Sobs) I just went there to confront him and that was all.

(There's a sudden knock on the door)

Omotola: (startled)
Who could it be, is it the police? They couldn't have traced that I was his girlfriend right? It's not like we're in the US or something, this is Nigeria na?

(Knocking continues. Opens the door)

Helen: (out of breath)
My god, Tola. I've been knocking for ages. Have you seen the news?

Omotola: (feigns ignorance)
What news?

Helen:
Festus, he was stabbed to death in his own home.

Omotola:
What, what do you mean?

Helen:
It's all over social media and I went there to confirm it myself. You need to see the way they bastardised his body.

Omotola: (fakes cry)
My god! It's a lie, what're you talking about?

Helen:
Come on, let's go there. They're asking for who knew him well and I mentioned your name.

Omotola: (flabbergasted)
What? Why would you say something like that?

Helen: (eyes her suspiciously)
Weren't you his girlfriend? His one and only?

Omotola:
Yeah, but... You shouldn't have rattled me out like that.

Helen:
Let's just go na. You need to see the place and identify his body.

Omotola:
You know what, I'll be right behind you. Let me just go grab my jacket. (Closes the door on her face)

Helen: (shouts from outside)
Am I not allowed into your house anymore? I thought we were friends. You acting like this makes it more suspicious.

Omotola: (devastated)
God, what am I going to do, what kind of temptation is this? (Puts on her jacket) I need to go there to prove my innocence.


A few moments later.

Officer:
You say you were his girlfriend?

Omotola:
Yes sir.

Helen: (chips in)
His one and only...

Officer:
According to our source, the incident happened at exactly 12:45pm. Do you mind telling me where you were at that time?

Omotola: (stutters)
I... Well... You see, officer. I was actually...

Officer:
Where?

Omotola:
In my house, sir.

Helen:
Are you sure?

Omotola:
What do you mean if I'm sure? Wasn't I in the house when you came looking for me?

Helen:
Well that's true but...

Officer:
Young woman, are you the investigator here? What's your problem?

Helen:
Ejo sir. I'm sorry, I was just trying to help you.

Officer:
Help who? If you know any information that could lead us to the root cause of this then kindly say it or remain silent.

Helen:
Erm, sorry sir. Please continue.

Officer: (to Omotola)
You say you were in your house at that period of time?

Omotola: (scratches neck)
Yes sir. I was in my house.

Officer:
Okay. We'll run further investigations and will let you know the outcome. How long did you say you two were together?

Omotola: (scratches head)
I didn't say, sir.

Officer:
Okay, smart. How long, then?

Omotola:
Two years.

Officer:
Okay, I'll get back to you. You may leave now.

Helen:
She can leave, why? Is that how you people conduct your investigations here?

Officer:
Young woman, if I didn't know better I'd say you're trying to make us believe that your ‘friend’ was behind all these.

Helen:
Did you hear it from my mouth? I was just voicing out my concerns. Anyways, since we can leave, it's good. Tola, let's.... Ah! she don leave me. Hmmm, officer, conduct your research well oo. Festus was such a fine, young and very rich man. He didn't deserve to die like that.

Meanwhile

Officer 1:
This is a particularly heinous crime. A man stabbed to death five times in his own home... it's gruesome and disturbing. In my entire career, I've never seen anything this brutal.

Officer 2:
That his girlfriend sounds very suspicious. In my experience, it sounds as though she was there when it happened. I could see her hesitation and anxiety to answer Ogidi's questions.

Ogidi:
His girlfriend might sound suspicious but I'm beginning to think her friend knows more than meets the eye. I think we should call the friend in and ask her some questions and see where this leads.