Archive for October, 2011


Halloween special.


Phantom: Hello. Once again, my mind’s as blank as it was when I entered this doomed world. Therefore, I’d be posting an old story of mine. About two years old i think. Anyway, hope you like it.

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Let me introduce you to Mrs Potter.
Friendly, lovely woman, always had a smile for everyone. Most people think she is senile or at least eccentric.
We don’t.
We, being residents of Pomeroy street.

We love our Mrs Potter.
I mean what harm could a middle-aged woman with a toothy smile do? Like a Susan Boyle or Mary Byrne if you will. We all loved her as we loved these women. She would bake cookies and invite the neighbourhood to tea. She’d make a casserole and with a smile on her face, knock at your door.
You can never refuse Mrs Potter. We aren’t sure why but we can’t. She lost her husband about 5 years ago to the cancer battle. She lost her two sons a year after to Afghanistan, fighting for the Queen
Sad times those were.
We rallied round her and as good neighbours, supported her.

Enough of the introduction.
Now to the story.

It was like every Halloween.
Kids trick or treating, we adults throwing costume parties. It was like every other Halloween…or so we thought. My twin boys, Olly and Callum went trick or treating like every other kid. Of course, I cautioned them.
Stick to our known neighbours! Dont collect things from strangers.
In their offhanded manner they chorused “Yeah, yeah!”
I wasnt worried anyway. Maybe I should have been.
Maybe we should have all been

I put on my cat suit and took a picture of myself, ready to party. (In your ex-husband!)
We gathered at Phillip’s house, the Engineer guy on the street, had drinks and loved every minute of it. As responsible parents, we decided to head out to our homes before we got too tipsy.
“I wonder what Mrs Potter’s gonna bake tomorrow. I love her Shepherd’s pies!” said Steve, the Real estates guy.
Cute as a button!
I went home and waited for the kids with their haul. Sweets of assorted variety. Of course  I would be keeping some and throwing the excess away
They looked alright, Olly and Callum. After a shower to remove the face make ups, we went to bed

You could hear music from the other streets but Pomeroy Street was relatively quiet. I am not sure what woke me up, but wake up, I did. I felt cold shivers travel down my spine.
I felt the sudden need to see my boys. I walked to their room, then I suddenly stopped.
I had identified the sound that woke me up.
Thump
Thump

It was coming from my boys’ room. My heart suddenly started racing. I ran.
Swung the door open.
My boys were on the floor, entwined; convulsing.
Olly’s leg was the alarm,hitting the dresser table.
Shock
Anxiety
Fear
Innumerable emotions rushed at me at once.
I ran to my boys, separating them with shaky hands.
I ran back to my room and got a hold of the landline.
As I called the ambulance, I heard a wail from Daisy’s house.
What was wrong with her?!

I ran back to check on my boys, palms sweaty, heart racing.
Prayers.
Tears.
Psalms.
The nursery rhymes they loved as children.
They all gushed out of me.

The ambulance came.
Several ambulances came in fact.
It seemed, as crazy as this sounds, that all the children on Pomeroy street were convulsing.

They all suffered together.
They were all in the Intensive Care Unit.

Cyanide Poisoning.
What psycho would poison treating sweets?
Did they go treating on another street contrary to our commands?
I was in shock.
My boys.
My darling boys.
Never been a crier.
At the hospital I heard this cry of anguish.
Struck a chord in my soul, then I realized it was me.
It was me wailing.
Bawling.
We wailed together.

The police began investigating immediately at the early hours of the morning.
3am
I was in my pyjamas with a cardigan to ward off the cold, getting questioned by the police.
Where did they go treating?
What houses did they visit?

HOW WOULD I KNOW!

When they finally left, we gathered at Mrs Potter’s house, knocking at her door.
“Come in! What is wrong dears?” she asked, taking in our sad faces.
We told her.
Her eyes said it all.

Impossible!
They came here for my home-baked sweets.
Ate them immediately too!
Saw them over at the Dover’s
Impossible!
Daisy perked up from her husband’s shoulder
“They ate your sweets here?”
“Why yes! I even have some left overs.”
For some odd reason, we wanted to see the left overs
“Made from bitter almonds. I was trying to get a different flavour from my usual.” Mrs Potter said bringing a tray containing a few sweets.
Paul’s head snapped up to Mrs Potter.
“Did you just say bitter almonds?”
She nodded, perplexed.
Paul picked up a sweet, sniffing and examining it like the doctor that he was.
“Just what quantity did you use? Please!”
He sounded so high-strung, we all tensed up.
9 people.
18 eyes.
Peering at the middle-aged lady we all loved.
“Well I did use a lot of them”

It was the wrong answer.

Paul jumped up suddenly, grabbing Mrs Potter’s cardigan.
“You! You poisoned them! You!”
We were shocked by his display and even more so, his accusation.
It took some minutes of calming down to get Paul in a conversational state.
He then explained it to us.
Mrs Potter.
Our dearly loved Mrs Potter.
Had unwittingly harmed our children.
Cyanide poisoning.
Bitter almonds had them.
Harmless when few, but in large quantities…

We were in shock
She was in shock
We went back to our homes, trying to decide what to do with our dear Mrs Potter.

Morning came.
The Police came back.
We told our story.
We went to Mrs Potter’s house.
Knocking, we received no answers.
The door was knocked down.
We searched for our old lady dearest and we found her, neatly hanging from a curtain cord.

Our dearly beloved Mrs Potter was no more.
Our children were still not out of danger.
So much for Halloween.

End.

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There you have it…i think.

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Nobody


For the thirteenth time, I replay the song, allowing the melody, wash over me like a refreshing shower of rain. With every high note the singer hits, my mind sways. It has to be done. Its my only way forward. My only way to break away.
She’s partly right.
I’m nobody.
I’m not free.

“You’re nobody and you’re not free, to sacrifice yourself to hope, to escape…”

I’ve tried.
My life so far has been nothing but a pawn in a badly played chess game in the incompetent hands of whatever Being bored enough to play with me.
My mother died birthing me.
I had no father; at least that was what my birth certificate said.
I was called Chioma. By whom, I have no idea.
Good God.
Was He? Was He really?
The only family I knew were other children, lost as I was in a world we had no business being in. Victims of circumstances. At least I was not abandoned in a bin. This I told myself, nights after the older children bullied me. I had someone. She only died. Ah. I was young then. I had nothing. She would have thrown me away like other young mothers, given the chance. I didn’t have a father after all. Who wants a child with no father in this society?
I was the quiet one. The weak one. The one that cried at every little thing. The ugly one. The slow one. The dumb one.  Our minders said it was a harsh world out there. It was hard to imagine then, considering the fact that life in the orphanage was terrible.
Harsh world out there. I had been thrown into that harsh world. I turned eighteen and was therefore an adult.
I cannot escape it.
Other younger ones envied me.
You’d be free.
No I wouldn’t.
I’m nobody.
I have no voice.
I’m a stranger in my own land.

“Nobody is your name, in an eternal search of a meaning that would fade soon…”

Have you any ambitions? What do you have in mind?
I stared at the Matron.
Yes, yes I do. I want to be a scholar. I want to get a degree. I want to be a historian. I want to be everything I read in books and see in the occasional movies.
Of course  I did not say it aloud.
I’d have been laughed at.
You barely passed JSCE. You have no WAEC result to speak of. A scholar? Pah! You’re not smart. An apprenticeship is what you should aim for.
I knew I wasn’t smart but she asked what I had in mind didn’t she?

“In a weird slavery, with a book in your hands and a lot of ideas in your head that you can shout in the wind but you’re Nobody and nobody will hear you…”

An apprentice at a hairdressing salon is what I’ve become. You’re lucky to be here. This is just a favour to your Matron. Watch and learn the trade, my Madam told me. I watch people with lives come in. They nag about jobs, school, husbands. I watch in my little corner,  in my old okirika clothes, hanging off my thin frame. No one pays me any attention. I’m not taught anything. The others are. I have no natural abilities like they do. Their hands can move at unnatural speeds while my hand works are sloppy at best. Nobody wants me near them. You smell.  They’d turn their nose up at me. I’m That girl. I have no name. I’m nobody.

“You’re nobody and you’ll be alone till your future won’t be written ’cause you smell of stranger in your own land”

It’s a Sunday and my Madam and her children are gone to church. I stumbled upon her son’s listening device. I press a random button and the song comes on.
I’ve been sitting here for a long while, on the floor of his dirty bedroom, listening to the woman speak to me.
I have done nothing today.
My madam would be vexed.
It wouldn’t matter anyway.
Slowly, I get up, shaking off the cramps in my legs.
She’s partly right.
I’m nobody but I will be free.

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Madam came home to meet their house help, Chioma, hanging from a badly tied noose in the living room. She let out a surprised yelp, quickly shepherding her children out of the house before they saw her. “Call the driver” she instructed her eldest son, going back to the living room.

She looked at the tongue protruding from an ugly face she had always tolerated barely. She sighed in revulsion

“Stupid girl”

End.

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Phantom: I had not planned on writing anything new for a while but this song (Nobody-Ravenscry) was driving me insane. I feared I’d do something stupid if I didn’t write something down. Pardon me if it is less than satisfactory. Therapeutic writing I’m afraid.

A Letter to my Unborn Child


I’ve seen a lot of people write theirs and i really couldn’t be bothered to try. Blog’s been quiet for a while so decided to prod my backside and add my own Epistle to the mix!

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(Hope you come out looking this cute! It’s an order-_-)

Dear Child,

This is your mother and she loves you.

Life is shit. Yes, i swore (but if you do, i’d maim you :|) Life is pointless really. It has always been. It will always be. It is up to you to make the most out of it. Nothing remains constant, nothing is permanent. Remember this when you’re going through difficult situations. Nothing is constant…except God. Yes, Him. Find Him Love Him, and He will love you.

Learn to love my child. Do not be like your mother. I pray I’d be there to teach you how to. Maybe by teaching you how to, I’d learn myself. Laugh with gusto; head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth wide open. Laugh! Smile all the time; even though you want to break down and scream or cry. Smile. Make friends. Do not be a recluse. I hope you do not inherit your mother’s agoraphobia. She cringes at the thought of getting to know people. Meet people! Shake hands! Hug! Talk! Laugh! There would always be that someone who you cannot help but dislike. When you meet such a person, be kind. Pay evil with good. Pay harsh words with politeness. Pay crass behaviours with manners. It would piss them off, and it would make you laugh. (if you have your mother’s sense of humour!) Learn how to cry, my love. Yes, cry! Do not keep things in for too long. Depression isn’t a happy place even though your mother enjoys wallowing there. Cry with gusto. Let your tears fall. Scream if you want to. Just cry and feel better, then move on.

Dream, mon cher. Think big. Dream big. Nothing is impossible until it has been tried. Do not let anyone tell you, you cannot do certain things. Mama would always be there to support you. Explore your talents. Try music. Be a dramatist. Run like a sportsman. Stick your head into a book like a Nerd. Mother would always be there to watch you sing, run, perform, debate. Keep your eyes on the stands! Mama is there watching her baby make her proud!

Do not be afraid of standing out or being different! (Sha don’t be gay! Your grandmother would just exorcise you and I’d be too busy laughing at you to help!) Be unique, but with purpose. A bent fork is unique, but useless. Remember that!

Money is just a means to an end. It is not the beginning and the end. Wealth is fickle; comes today, goes tomorrow. Do not depend on it. Be thrifty. You might end up a little stingy. (Your mother is part-Nnewi so…) Save for a rainy day. Do not put all your eggs in one basket! Let the book of Proverbs guide you my little one, and you will not be misguided.

Life is too short.

Always remember that.

Carpe diem.

Mama is no good at pouring out her heart so this is all she can manage without barfing in disgust.

She has a cruel sense of humour so you might have a  weird name. Just remember she chose it with love; whether you end up as Orochimaru or Draiman. You’d be that kid in class with the coolest name. Trust your Ma. 🙂

And with this, she says ” See you  9 after conception! And please don’t inherit your mother’s big head! She’s too lazy to push!”

Je t’aime

A huru m gi n’anya.

x0x0x0

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And there you have it! 😀

Why did the chicken cross the road?


Start.

Decided to walk on sunshine for this post, in lieu of the usual ‘doom and gloom’ ( 😦 ). This was something I wrote a long time ago (ok about three years old). Enjoy.

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I am sure you are all wondering why i am writing this ridiculous note with a ridiculous title.
“What a silly question!” some of you are already saying.
“To get to the other side” others are answering.

But are you right?
Is there more to that other side than what meets the eye?
Let me take you on a history roll; blast from the past if you like…

Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina
June 28, 1914

An odd flock of chickens were seen crossing the Latin Bridge. Minutes later, Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife, were assassinated. This led to a chain of events that brought about World War I.

Munich, Germany
February 27, 1925

A couple of our feathery friends escaped a cellar where a meeting was being held. This meeting was where Hitler, refounded the Nazi party. He then went on to build up the German army and take over Poland. In September 1939, World War II began when Britain and France declared war on the Germans. We know how it spirals down to the concentration camps and what’s not.

 

Hiroshima/Nagasaki, Japan
August 5, 1945

The Japs began to notice chickens crossing the road in groups.
The next day, A-BOMBs by the United States. This was the only time when nuclear weapons were used in a war to date. (Let’s pray it stays so.)

 

 

 

Dallas, Texas, USA
November 22, 1963

The driver of the presidential car noticed a strange phenomenon of chickens crossing the road.
Few minutes later J.F Kennedy was assassinated.

Newyork City, USA
February 21, 1965

Several people noticed some chickens escaping the kitchen adjacent to a ballroom in Washington heights with a cry of victory.
Minutes later, Malcolm X was assassinated.

South East, Nigeria
May 30, 1966

A cock, his hen and their chicks made their way out of Eastern Nigeria under the first glares of sunrise. Later that day, Colonel Odumegwu Ojukwu, declared the Eastern region of Nigeria, independent, forming The Republic of Biafra. Peace accords fell through, and as usual, things went south and on July 6, 1967, the Nigerian Civil War began.

Memphis, Tennessee USA
April 4, 1968

A black, mad man noticed chickens flying out of a balcony and landing like gymnasts. With unruffled feathers, they crossed the road. He crossed himself and muttered The Lord’s Prayer in Latin.
Few minutes later Martin Luther King Jr. was shot in the neck on that balcony.

Munich, SW Germany
September 5, 1972

A hen, meant to be breakfast for the athletes escaped and immediately it crossed, a group of men invaded and held the Israeli Olympic team hostage. These were a Palestinian group called Black September. Unfortunately, all of the Israelis were killed. Five of the kidnappers were killed as well and three were arrested and later released following the hijacking of a Lufthansa airline by the aforementioned group. (sigh)

Ok, bringing the time line closer

Newyork City USA
September 11, 2001

Couple of fat geezers noticed running chickens crossing the road just opposite the WTC. ‘Probably escaping from the nearest McDonald’ they thought aloud laughing. You all know what happened next…

What is the moral of this story? I have no idea!
I know the chickens did not cross the road just to get to the other side. Neither did they cross the road because it was December 25, a day of genocide for their ilk.
No, its more than that…

There is more to the “Joke”…
There is a sinister plot going on.
Do these chickens have a sixth sense?
Are they the real reason behind these events?
We’d never know.
Whatever the case may be, if you see chickens crossing the road, do not stop to look at them…

RUN.

(Lets be frank, humans are to be blamed for these issues. Why we choose the path of violence to bring peace is beyond me. Why we kill/main/destroy because a certain people do not fit our religions/social/racial group is beyond me. We can’t blame the Devil, or God. Humans are the reason humans suffer. These instances might look like Old history but the same thing is still happening around the world. *sigh* This wasn’t much of a ‘sunshine’ post right? A clear reflection of my true self I guess.)

P.S: Chicken is actually a wrong term to describe a live fowl. Chicken is what the feathery fiends are called when they are boiled, fried or whatever you do to yours. ‘Chickens’ is even more wrong but who cares.

Stop.

First Time


Dionysus: Ok, taking a slight break from the usual darkness in my writings. This is my first attempt at comedy. Enjoy!
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*Doorbell Rings*

He dropped his Xbox 360 console pad, and spoke into the intercom by his bedside.
“Who’s there ?”
“I’m looking for Johnny”, the person outside replied.
Butterflies in the stomach.
“OMG, she’s here! She’s here!” He picked up some clothes scattered on the bedroom floor, ran to check himself in the mirror adjusting the large frames on his face.
“Hello! Is Johnny there??”
“Yes, Coming!”
He descended the stairs and opened the door.
“Hi”
Johnny tried to reply but couldn’t, his mind racing.
“H.. Ha..Hi”.
His trouser started rising up so he stood at the back of the door trying to hide his reflex boner. Johnny was a Geek. He was the kid in school the jocks made fun of when they got bored, laughing as they came up with insults. He had just finished high school and was about turning 18. One of his nerdy friends told him about an online hookup site, ‘Onenitestand.com’. You search for a girl in their directory and if she’s near your location, you call for a shag as long as you agree with the terms & conditions. Johnny’s choice was a girl named Jenny. He was surprised; she was even hotter in real life than she looked online.

“Co.. Come in” He said adjusting the glasses on his face. She entered and perched herself on the couch in the living room.
“Are you gonna leave that door and get me a drink?” Johnny’s face turned deep red from the uncontrollable blushing.
“Just a minute”.
She sighed. “Listen, I know you’re hard, it’s nothing to be ashamed about. You said this is gonna be your first time right?”
“Yes” he whispered, still standing by the door.
“Ok, maybe this would make you feel better” She took her top off exposing a red silk bra and deep cleavage. Johnny’s eyes widened like a character in an anime. Sure, he had watched a lot of porn but he had never seen real tits before. His dick got harder leaving him feeling very embarrassed at this point. Jenny stood up and walked up to him, he, avoiding her gaze as she came closer.
“It’s ok Johnny, I’m gonna make you feel good. You have my money right?”

“Ye.. Yeah” he dipped his hands into his trouser pockets and gave her a wad of cash in a hurry like she was about to mug him. She carelessly dropped the money into the sling bag she was carrying. Holding his hand, she made him lead her to his bedroom. Video game posters decorated the walls, also, a pic of Giselle Bundchen in a white bikini on the beach.
“Take off your clothes.”
He hesitated. She took off her bra, her perfect dark pink nipples staring him in the eye. He was about to cum just for the sheer beauty before him.
“Just lay back”. She knelt down in front of him and pulled his pants down, exposing his erection. “Hmmmm, not bad” she muttered to herself. As soon as she started fondling him, she heard ‘Auuuugh!.. Auuugh!.. Auuuugh!’ semen spilling on her hand. She laughed uncontrollably.
“Whada fuck! I haven’t even done anything Johnny and you came!” She put on her bra and was getting ready to leave.

“Bu.. But, we haven’t done anything” Johnny said.
“Didn’t you read the terms dude? As soon as you cum, it’s over!”
“But… But… But.. But.. ”
“No buts sweet cheeks! Before you call me next time, make sure you jerk off the day before so you don’t come so quickly aite?” She counted her money, smiling. Satisfied, she left him without a good bye. He heard the door bang shut a minute later.

Johnny lay on his bed staring at the ceiling.

END.

Phantom: For some reason best known to me, I totally found the stereotyping in this story hilarious! 😀 Drop comments thanks 🙂

A Haunting


Presenting for the first time here, @NateOblivion!!!!! Do enjoy!

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Scratch.
Scratch.
*pause*
Scratch….

The infuriating sound had begun again. That incessant scratching that seemed to emanate from deep within the walls, deprived her of sleep and slowly hacked away at her sanity, piece by piece. She sat awake, head held between her arms, rocking back and forth on the white linen sheet. She’d fumigated the house three times in the past two months, but nothing seemed to stop the noise that had been keeping her awake since they had moved into this house in the more salubrious part of Victoria Island six months ago.

Linda’s eyes were bloodshot for lack of sleep and her temper seemed to flare up at the slightest provocation nowadays. She’d already lost one job for yelling at her boss when he pushed her buttons too hard, and so far she’d been caught sleeping on the clock twice at the new one. The school grades of Jumoke, her teenage daughter, was abysmal; a sharp contrast from the straight A’s she’d so easily maintained. Her abusive husband had died (Thank God!) and she used the money he’d left them to buy their luxurious four bedroom house and since then, their lives slowly crumbled around them. Emmanuel, her new love and fiancé, had been there to support them throughout, but he was too caught up in planning their wedding, which was only weeks away.

It had seemed like such a wise decision that day. The house seemed to call out to her, like it had been waiting for her for so long, a haven free of the constant complaining, the blows that had rained on her since forever, a place where she could forget what had happened with David. A place where she and Jumoke could start a new life. Now their fortress had become a personal hell, a torture chamber. The scratching increased in intensity, resounding through the house. She rocked even faster, shaking her head and mumbling to herself. Unable to bear the noise any longer, she bolted from the bed and dashed to the wall and banged it fiercely like a woman deranged. She screamed as she thudded on it repeatedly, cursing loudly. Suddenly, everything went black.

It only took a few seconds to adjust to the vessel, for every part of It’s essence to diffuse through its entirety. Soon enough, it had full control and began to see through it’s eyes. It broke into a smile and began to march towards the other room as though entranced.
The child sat up at the sound of the door.
“Mummy?” she called, her voice tinged with apprehension. “The noise has started again, and it’s scaring me.”
“It’s okay, darling. It’s gone. I’m here now.” It said, in the woman’s light voice.
The child lay back down and turned away. It surveyed her petite frame. She looked so frail, so delicate. When the child had drifted off to sleep, It rose and grabbed the pillow and put it over her head, holding it in a vice like grip. It smothered her, delighting in her muffled screams. She kicked and writhed under the pillow, thrashing about wildly, but It held on till the kicking stopped and the body between its legs lay still. It looked into her cold dead eyes and with a contented grin, vacated the host.

Linda stared in horror at Jumoke’s lifeless body. She looked even more horrified at the pillow she grasped tightly in her hands which she dropped as if it were a poisonous snake. What had she done! She shook her violently and screamed her name at the top of her lungs, her voice choked with tears. Jumoke remained unresponsive, her frightened eyes, fixed with the glassy glare of death. She fell to the floor, rolling and wailing. There was no way to explain it. She must have finally snapped under the pressure and taken it out on her only daughter. She was a murderer, a heartless one at that! She’d killed her husband, and though it was in self defense, it was still murder. Now she had killed her daughter. Her only reason for living was gone. Numbed by grief, she walked down to the utility room, grabbed a rope and fashioned it into a noose as she walked back to her daughter’s room. She gazed into her dead girl’s eyes one more time, to remind herself the reason for her decision. Closing her eyes, she whispered a prayer she knew would not be accepted; not if everything she’d been taught was true. She hung the noose from the ceiling fan and placed a chair below it. She tightened the rope around her neck. With her eyes tightly shut, she thought about Emmanuel and how devastated he would be that about their death. He deserved an explanation. Linda started to loosen the knot on the noose when the chair was suddenly and forcibly kicked out from under her. She panicked and clawed at the rope around her neck. The pain compounded as her trachea closed off, vision swimming. She stretched her toes downwards but she was too short, she tried to swing towards Jumoke’s bed frame but each try only tightened the knot. On her fourth try, her neck snapped. A few wild twitches, and Linda knew no more.

David looked down on their bodies; his daughter’s on the bed, his wife’s dangling from the fan. Gratification flooded his ephemeral being at finally getting even with the worthless woman he’d called his wife, even though it was at the expense of his daughter’s life. She’d broken the blood oath they had undertaken so many years ago, when they were young and drunk on love; an oath to belong to no one but him. Oh how she tempted him sorely! With those slutty dresses she wore and how she blushed when men ogled her body. He made sure he punished her for every little betrayal. She thought he hated her but he loved her, more than she’d ever comprehend. She thought she’d escaped him but even death wasn’t enough to break their bond. Bound to the very blood that coursed her veins, he followed her to her new house, where he waited, hoping she would not go through with her proposed wedding. There was no way he would allow another man have his wife, his property or father his child. He would rather have them join him, where they could be a family again. He grinned. Family forever. But he knew there was a price to pay. He could already feel himself being pulled apart, the darkness rushing in, the glittering teeth of the demons that’d come to mete his eternal punishment.
He welcomed them in.

The End.

And there you have it. Special thanks goes to @nateoblivion for sharing his story with me. You can read more of his works at PTS
Do leave your comments! Thanks!

River of Tuoni


‘Oh! heavy-hearted am i!
Tuoni has taken my son’ – River of Tuoni (Amberian Dawn)

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Kielo stood at the bank of the River Tuoni, uneven breaths expelling cold steam into the air. Behind her were dark trees, partially obscuring the moon. The full moon was a blessing as her lamp had extinguished when she fell on a root branch inside the forest. Her only source of illumination. She had come as far as the edges of the uncharted forest of Tuonela, searching for her son. How many times had she warned him? Do not venture out when its late. Why couldn’t he understand that he was her only child? She and Pasi had tried to have children for a very long time. And just as they were about to give up, he came into their lives. Olavi. Heir of his ancestors. She sighed. She was going to give him a good hiding with her belt when she found him. Eight year old boys shouldn’t give their parents grief!

Watching the still river in trepidation, she remembered the  rumours about this river. Those who went in never came out. Those who went in to swim always drowned.
What was she to do?
“Olavi!” she screamed into the unnaturally silent night.
The sound of wind picking up the haunting cry of a mother looking for her lost child, was her only answer.
Her eyes prickled with tears of frustration. She wiped her eyes angrily. Crying wasn’t going to solve anything. She needed her wit about her. The wind blew across her thin dress, causing her to shiver. She shouldn’t have been too hasty; at least she should have taken a cloak with her. With a wry smile, she imagined what Pasi would say should he see her state. ‘Hasty, impatient, stubborn woman!’ he would have huffed under his breath, removing his own cloak to cover her. She rubbed her bony arms quickly for warmth. Temporarily satisfied, she knotted her belt firmly across her waist. Pushing her blond hair off her face, she cupped her mouth.
“Olavi!!!!!!!!!!!!”
She waited for a few seconds and sighed.
She had no choice.

The fear for her child overshadowed her fear for Tuoni. She had to cross to the other side. No boats ever traipsed the river. “My rotten luck!” She tested the water with one foot. “Cold.” she muttered, mentally readying herself. She picked up a log of wood she had used on her way into the forest as defence and with the sense of false bravado, she waded into the black death-land river. Her chattering teeth and water parting, disturbed the silence. Suddenly, she wondered if any reptiles lives inside the river. She had never heard of any. ‘Well that doesn’t mean there isn’t any Kielo! If only Pasi was here..’ she mused. Occasionally wrenching her feet away from the clinging hands of underwater plants that wrapped themselves around her ankle, she trod on. What if a snake bit her? Or a man-eating fish? She shuddered. “Paska! You’re being silly Kielo. Come on, move! No time!”

She went on, stopping momentarily to catch her breath. Half way through and her belted waist was completely submerged.
Movement.
She heard something trouble the water. Her heart thumped, and slowly, she stopped, stick raised.
The moon barely illuminated the creature, preceded by its thrashing sounds, making a beeline towards her.  Her mind wildly grabbed at ideas, painting scary pictures of what animal was coming towards her. She was petrified.
The thudding of her heart was loud enough to burst her eardrums. Self preservation kicked in and in her haste to turn towards the shore, she tripped and the icy depths swallowed her.
“Ach! Hitto! Stupid! Clumsy Kielo! Typical!”
She regained her footing,  cursing and shaking, water dripping from hair matted to her face. Her stick! She slapped her head in disgust. Totally defenceless!

She wiped off water from her face quickly, turning to face the danger. It had been behind her, sitting quietly, watching her. A duck? No. Not a duck. She looked closer at the bird, amazed. A swan. A black swan. She had never seen one in all her two scores and ten years of living. “Watched me make a fool of myself didn’t you? Almost had a heart attack for a bird? Typical Kielo!” The bird was quiet. What did she expect? For it to talk to her? She hit her ears hard to unblock her ears..and perhaps, her brain. Expelling a shaky breath, she gently reached her hand to stroke its ebony feathers. It felt real enough. “I don’t suppose you know where Olavi went would you?” she said to it, smiling wryly. Her smile froze. Did the swan nod? “Did you nod?” she asked stupidly. She watched the long neck lower slightly. Her mouth hung open, the sudden ruffling of the swan’s wings bringing her back to the present. It turned away from her, its beak, pointing to the shore and without a pause, made its way off. She closely followed it, wondering if she was being silly or if she had lost her mind.

They got to shore safely and she crawled to solid ground, glad to be out. “So what next?” she asked the swan, wringing water off her dress as she got to her feet. She started in shock, fear in her eyes as she watched the swan morph. Its feet stretched and feathers molted, falling off to reveal white skin. Horror further twisted her face as she saw the new form of the swan.
It was a human child in a foetal position.
He got up, shaking its head to remove water out of blond hair and she caught a glimpse of his face.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Olavi!”
He turned at the mention of his name, his eyes dancing merrily. He ran to meet her, throwing his arms around her waist.
She whimpered, tears spilling from her eyes as she gathered him into her arms.
“Mama”
“Olavi…”

———————————————————————

Pasi held the damp cloth to her head, cooling her off as she writhed on the bed, eyeballs roving wildly in closed eyelids.
“Kielo…” he whispered gently, baritone shaky with tears.
She had been like this for almost an hour.
He had come back from work to see her lying on the kitchen floor, unconscious. Dropping his bag of tools, he carried her into their room. She was burning up with fever, thin limbs writhing on the sheets. He wondered at her roving eyeballs. What was she seeing? Where was she? Would she come back? He held her hand and kissed it.
“God, please help her” he whispered. He sighed, wondering how long before the doctor came. He had sent someone to fetch him. He checked the clock on the wall. 9.16pm. Ten minutes had passed already. “Please hurry Dr. Pekke” he murmured to himself. His eyes caught his reflection in their bedroom mirror that was lined with pictures. An old, weak man stared back at him. The whole of his sixty-years, showing in the dull yellow lighted room. With a heavy sigh, he looked back at his wife of thirty years. They’ve been together for so long; through good and bad times. He couldn’t lose her; not after Olavi.

He was watching President  Mauno Koivisto debate on the idea of European Union membership in the living room when he heard Kielo’s scream. He jumped off the sofa, spilling his lager in his haste. “Kielo! Mikä on se! What is it?” He ran  out to the front yard where she was talking to the neighbour’s kids. 
“Kielo! What happened?” she turned and the lost look in her eyes chilled him. Olavi. He quickly locked the doors, hurrying up to catch up with her as she ran. The closer they got to Laajoki, the more he became afraid. He couldn’t think it.  There was a crowd gathered at the bank of the river and instincts directed her towards them. “Move!” she shrilled in a high voice, trying to get through. He didn’t follow her. Something had caught his eye. A rubber toy, lying discarded. Olavi’s rubber white swan. Ignoring the heart wrenching cries from Kielo’s direction, he picked up it up, tears obscuring his vision. He felt an arm pat his back and looked up into the eyes of his friend Janus. “Hän hukkua.”  He drowned. He walked up to his wife, bent over the body of Olly. He pulled her up gently, ignoring her struggles to pull free. “Kielo” he whispered. She lost her will to fight. She collected the toy he handed her, drawing it to her breast. Head bowed, He lifted his son to his chest…

Had it really been a year since it happened? He sighed. She had taken the death harder. Sorrow ate at her core, till she looked like the shadow of her former self; frail, sickly. He nursed and showed her love, but it just wasn’t enough. He wasn’t Olly.

Her breathing changed; became faster.
“Kielo?”
With a sudden movement, as if jolted, she jerked from the bed, eyes open, arms outstretched. A single cry emanated from her lips before she slowly faded.
He checked her pulse.
Nothing.
She was dead.
He fell to his knees, cupping the face of his wife and without restraint, let out a huge wail, her last words ringing in his ears.
“Olavi…”

Lopussa.

*In Finnish mythology, Tuoni was the god of the Tuonela (Underworld).*
This post was inspired by a song, River of Tuorin by Amberian Dawn. People unafraid of Metal can check it out! 🙂

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