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Azyrixworld:
Sure you can..

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Azyrixworld:
I have like 12 short dark stories..

I'm thinking of making them 25.. maybe put it on Amazon or just post them online.

The Main title is "The day before I die"

Okay, sounds good. Can I contribute too?

Azyrixworld:
Forever

Nina sat in the dimly lit apartment, her hands trembling as she cradled the glass of wine. The anniversary dinner was perfect, or so she'd thought. Candlelight flickered, reflecting off the ornate mirror that hung on the wall a wedding gift from Ethan.

She’d stumbled upon the text messages that afternoon. Ethan wasn’t working late as he’d claimed. He was with her. The one who always laughed too hard at his jokes.

The front door creaked open, and Ethan walked in, his smile faltering when he saw her. “Nina… why are you still up?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” she whispered, gesturing to the table. Two plates of untouched food sat between them.

Ethan hesitated. “Look, I can explain”

“Explain?” Nina interrupted, standing now, the glass still in her hand. “You love her, don’t you?”

His silence was deafening. That was all the answer she needed.

The glass shattered against his temple before he could react, blood mixing with spilled wine. Ethan crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, betrayal etched into his fading eyes.

Nina knelt beside him, her voice eerily calm. “You promised forever.”

She stood, walked to the kitchen, and turned on the gas. The faint hiss filled the silence as she picked up the flickering anniversary candle.

As flames consumed the room, Nina whispered to the fire, “Now, we’ll burn together.”

This literally gave me goosebumps “You promised forever. Now, we'll burn together” epic

Azyrixworld:
The Whistling Man

The villagers always warned against the old forest path at dusk. They whispered of The Whistling Man, a shadow that roamed when the sun dipped, his eerie tune chilling even the boldest souls.

Ada, stubborn and skeptical, dismissed the tales as mere folklore. On a bet, she chose to walk the path at sunset. As she ventured deeper into the woods, silence enveloped her. No birds sang, no leaves rustled. Then, it started.

A low, haunting whistle.

At first, it sounded far away, like a distant echo. But with each step she took, the melody grew louder, more menacing. Ada's heart raced as she quickened her pace, but the whistle matched her stride. When she stopped, it stopped.

"Who's there?" she yelled into the shadows. No reply came only the tune resuming, closer now.

She broke into a sprint, the haunting melody chasing her like a predator. The forest seemed endless, the trees closing in. Suddenly, the whistle stopped.

She turned. Silence. Relief washed over her.

But as she exhaled, a cold breath touched her ear.

"You shouldn’t have come," whispered a voice, before the whistle began again, inside her head.

Ada was never seen again.

Thank you

He who fails to listen must be prepared to dance to the consequences of his actions.

metalgear11:
Happy new year sochey.

This is based on a true-life event.

Happy new year, sir.

Much appreciated. Yes, I'm familiar with the story and I fully support her decision. What she did was the only way she could heal from all that hurting and betrayal.

Witches in white dresses

Saturday's are for owambes...

Cecilia called me two weeks ago. Her unusual chirpy voice was what peaked my interest. You see, Cecilia has never been one to show an iota of interest in anything, it was very hard to see her get excited over something.

But she called me, her laughter resounding from the connecting line and bouncing unto my delicate ears. I couldn't help but blush, what could be the reason she was so ecstatic and happy?

“Ruth...“ she purrs, dragging the syllables of my name and slapping her hand against her thighs in a somewhat amebo like manner.

“Guess what?”

“What is it?” I asked, impatient.

“Amanda is getting married in two weeks time” she laughs.

“Amanda?” I asked, flipping my mental pages of all the Amandas I knew. It wasn't clicking, the gist wasn't entering.

“Yes na. The same Amanda that said she'd forever remain a spinster”

“Oh, that Amanda” I reply. Jealousy coursing through my veins. For a millisecond, I hated the fact that she was getting married and I wasn't.

“Hello, Ruth are you hearing me?” her voice pulls me out of my misery.

“Yeah, you were saying?” I could feel her roll her eyes.

“Will you come for the wedding? It'd be fun“

“I'll think about it” I reply.

“Come on, what's there to think about? We're are all going and we wouldn't want you to be left out“ she coos.

“Okay, what's the colour of the day?” I give in. I mean, if Cecilia said it'd be fun, then, it most definitely will be fun.

Fast forward two weeks later, the wedding is here and everyone is in a frenzy to get things done and quick. I caught glimpses of the bride but never had the courage to walk up to her. It was still surprising though, the woman that said she'd never marry is marrying?

Eight hours into the reception, a cry rang out, halting every activity and pulsating the heart rhythms of the entire guest.

“Someone is laying on the floor with a knife to the heart” a waiter cried out as she ran towards us, flailing her hands in the air and gasping for breath.

We all rushed to the scene, abandoning everything that seemed to be the order of the day.

“It's the groom” someone says, acknowledging the body on the ground.

“Someone call an ambulance, he might still be alive!”

“He isn't, I made sure of it” Amanda says, striding towards the scene with such malevolent evil.

“Son of a bitch cheated on me. There was no way I was gonna let him go scot-free free” she purrs.

I didn't know what I felt at that moment, the emotions that coursed through me was unexplainable. But somehow, deep inside my heart, I was glad of the event unfolding before me. Amanda isn't getting married and leaving us here; old and unmarried after all.

Divepen1:
Here...

Love it, thank you so much

To err is human.

My landlord said he'd see how I'll succeed in this compound. That he'd make sure I never amount to anything.

I laughed, showing all my thirty-two pairs of brown alcohol stained tooth and shook my head. At first, he thought it was the alcohol performing its usual wonders because to him, what could an alcoholic smoker like me do to stop him from dealing with my sorry self?

So, I entered into my chambers and consulted my god. I did my usual incantations and pouring of libations until my god coughed up smoke and whined and that's when I knew that my landlord has entered one chance.

The next morning, my landlord was the first to wake me up with a loud bang on my door. Almost ripping the ant infested wooden door from its hinges as he shouted my name.

I came out, thinking there was some kind of fire outbreak or the thieves has finally located this abandonment I call home. But no, it wasn't any of the aforementioned but my very own landlord shouting on top of his voice.

‘Ogunleye, what did I ever do to you? Why you come send fire all over me? I try return am but e no gree. Ha, you've put me to shame, you've shamed my god. Please, make it stop’ he said as he hopped on one foot and danced like a mad man.

I laughed, perceiving the stench of an unbrushed early morning mouth. When I think I've had enough of the drama in front of me and apparently my smelling mouth, I said to him;

‘No think say because you get small god wey dey run things for you na im you get guts to dey threaten everybody you see. Next time, respect everybody because you no know the kind oil wey dey for their head’ I slammed my door on his face and just then, the door gave way and broke off it's hinges, falling flat on the ground.

Prayers, sorrows.

I think one of the perks of being an introvert is being able to live a life free of troubles and unnecessary drama. I mean, you're cooped up in your room with your phone all day long or you're probably in your workplace praying and crying to God that your boss never calls you to send you on an errand.

So, it's all fun and games until you're called upon and asked to run some errands and at that point, you hate everything and anyone and all you want to do is look them dead in the eye and tell them to go bleep themselves but you won't do that because your livelihood depends on that damned job and any little mistake you make, you're out on the street. So you suck it all up and you walk out like your whole world had crumbled and all. IT. HAPPENS. TO. ME. EVERYDAY!!!

Anyways, that's not the reason I came here today. I was writing a scrIpt for someone and I realized how I'd always ask Google for every information on places and scenes. I realized that I don't know anywhere even if it was my community. I only actually know the road to my house and to work and it's environs. Mind you, I've lived in Lagos for over a decade and I don't really know anywhere. My point is, I don't know how other introvert writers do it but it's actually very challenging when writing not just places but curating scenes and everything.

Most of the club scenes I've written and wrote well was actually because I've read and watched enough club scenes to be able to write them in my own terms, you get what I'm saying?

If you're an introvert writer, share with me how you do. I'd like to know...

Ps. I actually lost interest in this thread, dreaded Nairaland for a couple of days because of this thread but here I am again moping it floors. I guess I won't be updating daily as I thought

‘I'll do it tomorrow’ she said.

‘ I'll take the dog for walk tomorrow’ he said.

‘Oh, this is my favourite dress, I'll wear it on my next birthday’ she says.

‘I've saved up millions that I'll use to take care of myself for the next fifty years’ he says.

In all the I'll do this, I'll do that, she died last night, with her head facing up, drooling from the corner of her mouth, her skirt hung open with everything she had hidden from the world now in display.

She also probably died a virgin, refusing the fantasies of the world, being too scared and timid to reply the ‘hey fine girl’ Ola sent her two months ago. Ola was probably her soul mate but she won't know now, would she? She allowed fear gnaw at her, ripping her off of the things she could have enjoyed, of the delicious evil things Ola could have done to her if she gave him a chance.

But in all these, at least she didn't die stupid.

If Brains Could Talk

Last month, Nkechi bought a phone worth 100,000 naira. She had been saving for five months, steadily stashing away money in her secret OPay account. Nkechi believed in herself, believing she didn't need to depend on a man to buy her phone or anything else. She believed she didn't need to compromise her values to afford the necessities in life.

Nkechi had worked hard, juggling two jobs at once, and blocking family members and friends who would call to ask for help. Her primary goal was to buy a new phone, a good phone. So, when she finally bought it, all her anxieties dissipated, replaced by a new concern – visiting her son from her previous marriage.

The memories of her past marriage still lingered, a painful reminder of the way it ended. Nkechi wasn't angry that the marriage ended, but she was angry about the way it happened – the hurtful words, the emotions, the betrayal, and the shame. She wished she had done something wrong to deserve such treatment, but how could she be judged for being human, navigating life one step at a time?

Nkechi carried the weight of that pain, anxiety, and unforgiveness, struggling to let go. Was she still hung up on the past? Was she terrified of the future? She swore she was fine, living her best life, surrounded by loving and caring people who wanted to see her happy. Yet, Nkechi couldn't shake off the feeling that she was still nursing the wounds of her past.

Just as she was lost in thought, Nkechi's phone rang. "Hello, Aunty," a voice said. "Nnenna has died. She passed away last night. They say it was depression."

In that moment, Nkechi realized she was stronger than she thought. She wasn't weak, like her husband had said. A surge of determination coursed through her veins as she whispered to herself, "I will not let the past break me."

metalgear11:
"Kom, kom, kom!" The person at the door mimicked the sound of their persistent knocking.

“Who be that?” Tunde yelled in response.

“Broda corper, na me oh!” came the reply.

“Who be me?” Tunde asked again as he rolled off the mattress and opened the door. “Oh Blessing! Na you I see for my dormont like this?” he replied pleasantly and stood at the doorway.

“Na me oh, broda corper.” Blessing responded, delicately balancing the tray she had with her on her head, “I come collect the money you dey owe from the market you collect since two days now.”

Tunde eyed the tray in which were a couple of freshly peeled oranges. “Na true oh. I neva pay you,” he replied. His eyes were drawn to the other pair of “oranges” that sat invitingly on her chest, moving freely in the short, armless gown she had on. He licked his lips and swallowed.

“This one wey you dey look me dey lick mouth, I sure I dey safe? Na money I come collect oh! Shuoo!!”

Tunde laughed. “No be so na, Blessing. I go give you your money, but you go follow me inside collect am.”

“Follow you inside as how?” Blessing fired back.

“Ehn now. Come inside make I find the money give you.”

“No oh. I no fit follow you inside. The kain eye you dey eye me, na the eye of pesin wey go nack person give am belle. I be small pikin oh.”

“How I go give you belle?” Tunde laughed again.

“You no see as your prick don hard?” Blessing replied with a scornful look.

Tunde glanced down at the wrapper he had tied around his loins. True to her words, he was already sporting a hard on.

“Abeg enter your house go bring my money. I still get market wey I wan sell.”

“You know wetin we go do?” he continued as he tried to hide his embarrassment, “if you follow me inside, I go buy the remaining market you wan sell.”

“Ehen?”

“I go even add money ontop join. That is apart from the one wey I owe you before.”

“How much you wan add?”

“How much be the rest of your market?”

Blessing lifted the tray off her head and placed it on the ground. In doing so, her gown fell open, and Tunde could now clearly see her breasts and their dark tips dangling freely without the confines of any form of support.

“All na six hundred naira,” Blessing stated after counting the remaining wares on her tray.

“Okay.”

“How much you wan add join?” she asked again.

“I go add two hundred.”

“And the money you dey owe before? That one na four hundred. Plus this six hundred and the two hundred, all na one thousand, two hundred.”

“All na one-two,” he replied.

“Okay, make we enter. But I no go tey for inside oh,” she stated as she picked her tray and stepped into the dark room.

Tunde did a quick look around. Everyone seemed to be going about their day, minding their own business. He quickly picked up her worn slippers, shook the dirt off against the unplastered wall, and shut the door behind them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thirty-five minutes later, he lay sprawled on the mattress, trying to regain his breath as he watched her put her short gown back on. The succulent “oranges” he had been feasting on earlier while she rode him like a cowgirl soon disappeared into her flimsy dress, and she picked her now empty tray from where she had placed it behind the door.

“You no even get stamina. Where my money?” she frowned in disgust, her hand stretched out.

Tunde stood up and with the singlet he had on his only attire, rummaged in the pocket of his green khaki trousers and brought out a few crumpled notes. He handed them to her.

“Thank you,” she said. She quickly counted it and folded it away. “I will use the two hundred on top to by my medicine.”

“Which medicine?” Tunde asked.

“The medicine the doctor say make I use for my infection.”

Tunde’s heart skipped a beat. “Infection? Which kain infection be dat?” he asked, his heart beginning to beat fast in his chest.

“Syphillis. Abi shey na herpes, I no remember. Them say make I use some medicine wey I neva buy since last week.”

Tunde broke into a light sweat. “And you no fit tell me before we...I no wear condom na!”

“Dat on concer me? No be you say you no fit chop rice make you no chop meat?”

Tunde placed his hands on his head. “Blessing, you don finish me today!”

Blessing scoffed and opened the door. “Na you wan nack fine girl na. As you don nack now, you dey cry. Thank you for the money you give me, sha.”

I burst laugh for that infection part, lmao😂😂 Tunde never see anything.

Last week, I went to church after not going to church for two weeks straight because I was under the weather.

I usually sit at the front sit, I think by now everyone knows that the particular place is for me. After missing church for two weeks, the lady that usually sits beside me welcomed me with a smile, I managed one of my own. after service, she hugged me and told me how she had reserved that particular sit for me for those weeks i was absent. she said that she kept her bag there and even after the priest was halfway through the sermon, she refused to allow the usher to give out the seat to someone else. She said the usher had to convince her that I wasn't coming before she could give out the seat.

while she narrated this, I felt happy and seen. i was just smiling like a fool. I wanted to hug her so badly, thank her profusely for being so kind but I couldn't. i smiled, muttered thank you and left. At home, all the things I could have said and done played out in my head in 3D. But it was over, I wished I had done more, behaved in a way that will make her feel good perhaps give her a sense of belonging, and show he how much I appreciate her kindness.

I had this idea few weeks ago while in the bathroom taking a shower or was it taking a dung? I can't remember.

i spent the past weeks after that contemplating if this was a good idea, calculating the pros and cons and wondering if I've eventually lost it.

I'm always in my head, you see; I over think, overanalyze, calculate anything and everything. sometimes I'd just say Bleep that and just do whatever I wanted to do. Four days ago, I stumbled upon a book on Facebook from one of the writing groups I follow and after downloading and reading few pages of this supposed book, I decided to take action. I mean, what do I have to loose? everything still centres on trying to improve on my writing, so why would I care what anyone thinks? Anyways, the book is “The Subtle Art Of Not Giving A Bleep" few pages read and I'm impressed. Mark Manson's humorous, lighthearted and sarcastic tone of writing was what captivated me. i fell in love!

They say if you want to get better at writing you should read more and write more. I've being doing the reading part, getting good at my vocabulary, learning the act of simplicity and trying to know how to narrow everything down to a lay man's narrative

I think I've deviated from the purpose of this thread, lol. They say introverts are always in their heads and I can't help but to agree. i say and do everything in my head before I actually say or do them. It has somehow affected my way of living, especially my social life. I have being in situations where I truly want to speak or act in a certain way but I find myself being glued to a spot, unable to speak or move.

sometimes, I can read the disappointment in peoples face especially when the good vibe is there and I can't for the life of me speak or move. I've being with friends at a gathering and there's joy and celebration and everyone is dancing and cheering. meanwhile I'm stuck at a particular place, smiling like a she goat and worrying if I'm smiling right or sitting right. Christ, is my teeth brown, is there something stuck on my teeth, is my cloth okay, why do I feel like shit? all these thoughts are going through my head as I perspire; hot sweat trickling down my face and spinal cord and wondering the point of my existence. i truly want to dance, get off from that damned chair and take one step after another, allow the sweet melodious sound of the music wash over me, scream on top of my voice to the lyrics of Ozeba and not give a flying fig whether I'm dancing well or not.

But no, I can't do that, I'm stuck, somehow glued to the chair, sweating like a Christmas ghost and my insides threatening to explode from anxiety.

But these days, I'm learning to talk while I feel like shit. i started with complementing people, telling them how fine or handsome they looked today. I once told a guy I kind of like how handsome he is, eating his money only him. I said it as my heart almost exploded from it's cage, almost tripping and falling into the puddle of water on the road. But I did it, I voiced out exactly what I felt at that moment; almost shitting my pant but it was the thought that matters or rather the action in this case.

well, I'd be writing about my craziest encounters and living as an introvert from now on. I'm not expecting anything though, only for the fun of it and the fact that it will perhaps enhance my expository side of writing and maybe one day, I'll eventually get to the point I want to be in life, living out the purpose of my existence.

Forever is a mighty long time.


Men are not bad people, but there are concepts that have turned men into beasts.


Kunle sits dejected, head hanging low, sweat dripping from every corner of his manly form. The belt he had just used a while ago dangled in front of him as he clutched unto it with all his might.

He could still hear whimpers at the corner, the sniffing of nose and the somewhat silent chatter of teeth. He wanted to feel satisfied, but something inside of him just couldn't savour in the glory in front of him.

He looks at her; the battered physique of his wife. She's alive, still nursing the bruises on her body. She was talking but he couldn't make meaning from the words that came out of her mouth. And just when he wanted to fall into the depths of regrets and sympathy. She speaks,

‘I wish I hadn't married you!' she says, spits out and withdraws like a tortoise going back into its shell.

‘I'm the best thing you've ever had, Lucille and you know it!' He thunders, he could feel his anger returning, the beast inside of him taking form.

‘I gave you everything; the life, the money, the fame, everything! How can you say you regret it?'

‘I don't want any of it anymore’ she says, each words choked by her cry and anger.

‘Well, too late. I'm your husband and that's how it's forever going to be till death do us part' he chides, standing from where he sat. He moves towards her like a predator would do to its prey, she cowers even more.

‘I'm your husband, Lucille and I have every right to do whatever I want to do with you. You don't get to have a choice' he drawls, each step calculated. He was finally basking in the glory, the sheer joy of having authority, of being in charge.

As he drew nearer, he could feel her burn from where she was. Christ, it was indeed a wonderful feeling, was this what his father felt each time he beats his mother, each time he laid his hands on her?

Two steps to her and the door bursts open. Men in black filled everywhere, guns pointing at him.

‘Police, freeze!. Mr Kunle, you're hereby arrested for battery, domestic violence and abuse of your wife and other subsequent women!'

He froze, belt clattering to the cold tiled ground, eyes searching the faces that has filled his mansion. His wife stands, a knowing smile etched at the corners of her lips.

‘Now, you have your evidence!' Lucille says to the officer. ‘Take him away, please'

metalgear11:
This is the conclusion.

Thank you. I'm reading your other stories and I'm hooked. You're a wonderful writer. How do you do it, I want to learn.

metalgear11:

Powerful!
Goes to show how fragile human life is. We think because we've attained a particular position, we feel in control, no one is above us, nothing can stop us but forgetting that the littlest things can actually bring us down, kill us and that will be the end of it all.

I remember King Joffrey in Game of thrones, the way he died. The littlest thing can break even the most powerful man!

Ok, thank you.

I have a story I've been working on.

Title: The dead tell no tales.
Authors name: Sochima Ossai

Synopsis: It's about a young boy who commits suicide in a Catholic church. The story is being told in the voice of this boy's best friend who tries to uncover the mysteries behind the boys sudden death. According to him, the boy was cheerful, spirited and full of life so he couldn't understand why his friend could do such thing. So him and a girl who's also their friend starts asking questions. In the story, I want to elaborate on the concept of child abuse, mental illness in a parent, depression, anxiety and a lot of things happening in a family. Eventually, this friends finds out the ungodly events happening in the house of God led by the priest which the boy who died uncovered months before his death and threatened to expose the priest. The priest who didn't want his secrets revealed warned the boy and asks him to discontinue. They uncover the priest having a hand in the boys death. In the end, it's just this friend who is telling the story that pushed the boy off the parish tower because of a girl whom the both of them had fallen in love with.

metalgear11:
I'll post it the way I post my stories in my threads. I don't know why it was removed. Maybe too long, too...dark? I have no idea.

Maybe too dark I can't wait to read it...

Who go dash me book make I read

metalgear11:
I tried uploading another one but the Spambot deleted the post and banned me for 24hrs.

Chai. Why na? Is there anyway it can be remedied?

metalgear11:
It just takes a creative mind, passion, and a lot of edits and structure. I usually give my characters life and personalities in my head before writing.

Alright, thank you

Mabelspen:
I have posted another 🤲🏾❤️.

Okay, I'll check it out.

metalgear11:
I don change am. @OP, apologies for making this longer than it should be. It's the writer in me.

I love it, thank you so much

I'm still learning how to write expressively like that.

metalgear11:
.

Talk your mind joor

To Love and to cherish.

She walks into the room smiling seductively. Flowery scented soap fills the air from the shower she just had. He loves the scent of her soap; he'd always loved everything about her.

She giggles, thoughts of the nasty things they were going to do together floating through her mind.

She walks towards him, each step calculated, her hands going over her body and stopping at the knot that held her white towel in place. She smiles, he watches.

She pulls the white towel away as it lands on the floor in a heap. She walks away from it, eyes on her target. This time he smiles, almost laughing from the tension that clouds the atmosphere.

This wasn't their first time, no. In fact, he'd always had her all to himself until the day she served him an invitation card to her wedding. But that's a story for another day.

As she walks towards him, he realised a lot of things; how shallow minded, naive and delusional she can be. He knew she was expecting him to roar, to demand, to command like he'd always done but those days were past and all he wanted was revenge. It was evident in his eyes, but she couldn't see it.

Immediately she got to the bed, he roars just to excite her. He gives her a flowery kiss, proceeds to touching, caressing and handling everything his hands could touch. She moans.

Yes, that's right, just how he wanted it. He spreads her legs apart, gently touching and caressing the flesh, he slides in; one finger, two finger. He stops, she quakes, lost of breath, her body pleading to continue. He continues, each thrust rising in tempo and just when she was about to wet the floor, he stops.

She sighs, looks up at him like he was a god and she could worship him if it meant for him to continue.

“Today, I'm going to take your life" he whispers.

“Yes, take me baby and please don't stop" she says, excited, eyes glinting. He kisses her again, pulls down his trousers and stretches his hand to the table beside the bed.

His hand touches the metal, he smiles. He pulls it to himself, and just before her mind could register what was going on. He digs the knife into her neck, blood rushes out. She chokes, eyes searching for answers.

She holds unto her neck, lips moving but not uttering a word. He smiles. “A taste of your own medicine, huh?" He says. He drives the knife deeper, making sure to finish what he had started. Just then, her hands drops, her body goes limb, her face motionless, her eyes void of life.

He stands up, cleans the knife on the sheets and sighs.

“Such a waste. You wanted to leave me and marry someone else? If I can't have you then no one else can"

The dead tell no tales.

Fatima died at age fifty six, in her bed at exactly 3am when the spirits were wandering. We were told that she bade everyone a goodnight, went to her room, locked herself up as usual and went to bed.

Nsikak managed to tell the story of how she had heard some struggles at around 2:30am and thought it would was just Fatima's usual bathroom breaks where she'd struggle to open the faulty bathroom door.

After some time past, I realized a lot of people had so many opinions about Fatima's life. Some hated her, called her cheap, talked about how she messed up her youthful years only to get married to Victor who made sure he let her know he was the man of the house.

Some said she could have done better, could have kept herself, could have built a career, could have bought a house. Some said her personality was absolutely horrifying, the disgust they felt each time she walked into a room, the absolute shame they felt on her behalf. Others called her a gentle soul, reminisced on her sense of humour and charitable nature. One went on to talk about how Fatima had owed her for years and had refused to pay, shaming her even when she was dead.

I felt Fatima was just there, was just living, was just a beautiful woman who didn't make good use of her youthful years. Some days I pitied her, envied her and other days I was just so distraught on how she could nag about the littlest things, quick to anger and slow to forgive.

But all these didn't matter when I saw her diary. I was cleaning up her room because no one else could do. So I stumbled upon her diary and read through them and that's when I realized the trauma, depression, self hate, self condemnation, anxieties that Fatima was going through even at that age.

Lord, did I break down and weep until my eyes were sore; yes! I broke down, cried till I could no longer hear my voice. But Fatima is no longer here to tell people the battles she waged against herself and the countless wars she fought and eventually when she couldn't take it anymore she took her own life.

She wrote at the very last page of the diary.

24th June 2029.

Time 2:30am

Dear diary,
Today, I'm going to take my own life, for I've had enough!

Mabelspen:
MY FAULT

"Zamani, don't you ever try that nonsense with me again! The matter of fact we are married doesn't mean I should be tied to you forever. "

With outburst of anger zamani, punched Neleti so hard that her the skin on her face had a deep cut from the effect of his punch. He couldn't compress his anger anymore as he have already had enough of his mannerless wife.

"Look woman! If you don't control your blabbing tongue, I will cut them off. Is it my fault that I couldn't secure the contract and earn us a good life. Is it? "

Tears trickling down her face, sobbing and sniffing. Neleti cried like a new born baby as it was the first time ever her husband has ever laid his hands on her.

"Mani, you slapped me. You bas*tard, retarded fool! I don't blame you, you've now gotten wings and temerity to raise your hands at me. Gosh. I regret marrying you, you've made life a living hell for me. Look at me now, my mates makes mockery of me like I'm not even married at all. If I wasn't married I'd be happy atleast I know I'll marry a rich man. "

Zamani walked out in anger, saying nothing. Neleti on the other hand, was cursing under her breath.

Days of frustration turned into months of having to deal with a devilish woman. Neleti became promiscuous, she no longer cares about her family anymore. All she does is.....wake up go out with her friends to the club, dining and whining with top men. It's no longer a thing to hide.

Staggering and wrecking or alcohol, with the smell of weed all over her body. Pacing back and forth, pulling her skimpy shining blue dress and talking gibberish. Neleti scattered whatever thing that came her way in her home. Zamani seated on the lilac couch didn't flinch at the sight of everything.

"You fool, calling yourself a husband. Who do you think you are huh? Making me feel guilty for all this. " She sobbed as she spoke.

"Pfft...... Neleti is this woman I married? Is this the woman that looked all sweet, caring and loving? What happened to all the vows? My goodness what's have I gotten myself into, all because I'm not financially stable."

"Ahhhh! Please stop those sermons and ranting. Look hubby, I'm sick and tired of your low life. Go to hell slowpoke."

Neleti repeated the same habit again, this time she brought two men to the house and had an intercourse right in her matrimonial bed. Oh! Heart broken zamani stood in tears as he watched everything that transpired.

"Neleti!!! How could you, my God you have no fear anymore. You now sleep with men to the extent of bringing them to our home.''

"Shut it Mr man, who's your wife please please don't spoil my joy. Guess what, I'm now rich yes more than you can imagine.'' Zamani left in deep worries and tears, he had called her mother but she didn't show concern about her daughter neither her sisters.

One faithful Friday, at their house. Feeling nauseous and dizzy, she sprang up to the bathroom and threw up continuously. Lost in thoughts she racked her head, trying to figure out what's going on. Could it be she's pregnant? No no she said to herself. Who would she say is responsible. As crafty and devilish she decided to put it on zamani but luck wasn't on her side this time.

"Scoffs.... Who do you is a fool and a baby here? Can you remember when last we copulated? Oh c'mon woman, go meet your baby daddies."

"Mani, it's your child I promise, you know I love you and wouldn't want to hurt you."

" Coming from someone who has jeopardized my life, putting me in shambles. Get out loosed idiot."

Zamani left the house, packing his load and ending the marriage right there. Three months later he got a text from an unknown number which was an apology text he knew who it was.

The last he heard from her was, none of her rich men could succumb to being responsible for her pregnancy due to that she aborted her pregnancy which led to cutting her life short.
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Our (teacher) just died.


Today, half of the girls in Maryhill Girls Secondary school will die. On the inside, that is.

We were all seated in our classrooms, few minutes before lunch break was over, our foods eaten and lunch bags discarded. I'm sitting with Adufe as I watch her rave and rant about the promiscuous behaviours of Shola. I'd always known that Adufe was a self righteous daughter of a gun who only saw the bad in others. She's only my friend for the benefits and only thing I needed to do was nod, look pitiful and watch her speak.

Just when she was about to describe how Shola had had unprotected sex with this new guy around the block, there's a heavy loud thud from outside, like the sound of a heavy bag of rice being dropped without caution.

Intrigued, we all rushed to the window to see what's going on. And there it was, the lifeless body of Mr. Samuel.

Mr. Samuel; the only man that made us feel special in many ways and also the only man in this girls secondary school that every girl was willing to sacrifice her virginity for.

I rub my belle, maybe I won't keep this one after all. I wouldn't want to bring a fatherless child into this world...

To Forget

Any day I walk into Abike's salon, I'm being reminded of the very act that tore our friendship apart. I mean, it's being years since that ugly incident happened but each day always seemed like yesterday. Even after our friendship is restored, our lives going amazingly according to plan and purpose, and Abike marrying the most eligible bachelor in town. I could always tell the slight change in atmosphere whenever I stepped into the same room with Abike. Her face contouring into a slight frown even when it's obvious she was smiling a moment ago, her defensive body language and a somewhat unreadable expression on her face. Is it disgust, I can't tell.

It's been twelve years since her boyfriend left her for me. We were young then, in secondary school; young, dumb and broke. But even after graduating from secondary school and university, serving in the same state and being by each other side. I can't help but feel that Abike might have said she had forgiven me and there's no way she'd hold grudges over some dumb choices we made in secondary school, she has somehow not forgotten that very act.

After all, the name 'boyfriend snatcher' became so popular that I might have believed somehow; that I truly did steal Abike's boyfriend back then in secondary school.

Well, he came to me first...

Harlotry

Two weeks after Bisola came back to Lagos; she developed an illness. At first, it were minor symptoms which were overlooked and tagged as ‘it will get better' but being in the medical field for over eight years, I took a close look at her, ran series of tests - without her knowledge, of course and the results always said the same thing.

Bisola has HIV!

You know, for someone who has loved and cherished this beautiful woman and trusted her with everything in me, it was heartbreaking and unbelievable. How on earth, could a woman I've been with for the past three years develop such life threatening disease. When we first met, I made sure to run some tests on her without her consent just to confirm if I'm on the safe side before having anything to do with her. I've always been one to look before I leap. She didn't have any illness that might jeopardize my love for her or terminate our contact so we continued with our lovey dovey escapades until I eventually asked her to be my woman.

Apparently, she was head over heals with this young doctor - me - that she agreed immediately. Our love knew no bounds, we explored each other like a scientist will explore his lab rat. Two weeks ago, Bisola woke up one morning to tell me while I was in the shower; that she'll be traveling to Abuja that morning for an urgent matter and will return the next day.

I mean, it was somewhat traumatizing to hear, what was more traumatizing was the realization of her absence from my home for just a day. But i wasn't going to let her know that I couldn't live without her, so I agreed to her ridiculous impromptu excuse and wished her all the best.

The next day, Bisola didn't return. Her number wasn't going through, my heart was threatening to burst open from the anxiety and fear I was feeling all at once. You can't imagine the number of ridiculous taunting thoughts that ran through my mind. But Bisola was an adult and she could take care of herself.

Now, she returned looking like the nightmare version of herself that tormented me these past week of her disappearance. She lamented a very touching story but being a man of foresight, I knew immediately that she wasn't entirely telling the truth. A sedative in her meal to calm her down, I had proceeded to draw out her blood for the test and immediately sent it to the lab and a few hours later, I'm informed that my dearest Bisola is HIV positive with other anomalies that are existing in her system.

Well, I honestly didn't expect anything different from a woman that once sold her body for money.

This turned out longer than I anticipated, sorry

Jack273:
What's the point?

I didn't go to church last Sunday, because I went home. I always love it when I go home. Family is everything after all but it is just too expensive to go home even though home is just a few kilometres away. Well, now I am back and I get to see my latest crush in church.

I have missed her so much but I didn't reach out. I didn't want to appear too interested. Now she is no longer replying my messages. I am not quite sure if it is on purpose or not. The more reason I needed to get to church as soon as possible.

I have had so many crushes before but this one felt different. In my heart, I am almost convinced that she is the one. The perfect one for me. I asked her for her number three Sundays ago and she gave me two. If that is not greenlight, then I don't know what is.

While I hurried to catch a bus to church, I entered the back row with my music playing way too loud in my ears. I would have reduced it but I loved the song playing. I tried to look for my money to pay the driver and I noticed the guy beside me mouthing something. I wasn't quite sure what he was saying but I didn't care.

Then I felt the presence of the girl to my left also trying to get my attention. I raised my head and there she was, a perfect being. I paused my music to hear what she was saying and then collect her number. But then I thought, "what's the point?"

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