Archive for November, 2011

A Typical Tuesday

This is no story. In fact, it is an excerpt from the pages of a book I’d like to call My Life. Wrote this some years ago after a particularly bad day. Cracked me up when i saw it so decided to share 🙂


5.30am: My mum wakes us up for morning prayers. First song she sings? All Things Bright and Beautiful. WOMAN IT IS 5.30AM!! It is not bright and there is nothing beautiful waking up at such an ungodly hour when i actually slept by 4am!!

6am: I’m in the bathroom. I brush my teeth. Undress and into the bath. I do my daily moon walk in the bathroom half asleep. I almost slip on the tiles. I take a hot bath. Ahhhh. Feels good. Still feeling sleepy but nearly awake.

6.30am: Wrap myself in my large towel and into my room. Back to bed and under my duvet i go.

6.40am: I remember i am supposed to be in school and get out. Cream up. Underwear up. Then day-dream.

6.45am: I break from my trance and reach for my laptop. My facebook of course is permanently on. Check my mails. Update my status. Play Mafia wars. Drop messages for my friends.

6.50am: I think of a good excuse to bunk school. I can’t so, i decide to attend.

6.55am: I am looking at my wardrobe, wondering what to wear.

7.00am: Yikes!! Its 7am!! I need to leave the house in 20 minutes. I begin to rush.

7.20am: No breakfast. Running to the bus stop. I don’t want to miss the 7.30am bus.

7.30am: The bus hasn’t arrived. I’m waiting at the bus stop listening to LBC on the radio.

7.35am: Bus arrives. I hop on and pray for a traffic free road.

7.40am: TRAFFIC!!

8.50am: 10 mins before 9am class commences. I am not even half way near school!!

9.30am: I huff and puff my way up 6 flights of stairs to the 3rd floor. I am late

9.35am: So bored, i sleep in class

10.30am: Break. I trudge along to my next class and wait at the door. I don’t want to be late. I use that time to do my homework.

11am: Stats teacher comes in and i go back to sleep

1pm: BREAK. Greggs, Chips shop or Library??

1.10pm: Chips shop. I decide i’d be quick and pop into the library before break’s over

1.50pm: Break’s almost over. I did not go to the library

2pm: Tutorials with David. Pop in to sign in. Chill out with friend instead of going home.

3.00pm: I decide it’s safe to go home. My mum isn’t home to send me on errands lol!

3.30pm: Waiting for the bus 15. Takes ages to arrive. It comes and i hope on. Someone smells bad. Like curry. Urghhhh. At London Bridge. Tired. Hungry. Cold. Bus comes. Hop in. A woman is eating near me. WTF!! Torture. I try not to breathe in too much. Smells delicious anyways

4.30pm: Hot dude enters the bus. I’m too tired to stare. He stares though. Ignoring him

5.00pm: Home finally. Nobody home. I forgot to take my keys . JESUS HAVE MERCY. I call my mum. Where are you?? She’s somewhere in Croydon. Yikes!

5.05pm: Chill out at the front area.

5.30pm: Brother comes home. Halleluyah!

5.35pm: On facebook. Update status. Mafia wars. Check notifications. Reply messages. Scope pictures.

6.00pm: Bring out school work. Push it aside. On yahoo messenger.

11.00pm: Still on Y! Work not done. Facebook on. Yikes! 9am class today!. Still on facebook and Y!

4am: Finally sleep off with laptop on my chest.




That done, a PSA. Decided to take a little break from writing stories for the month of December. I’d of course have wonderful stand-in writers up! (edgothboy included *giant smile* LOL) I might attempt the 30 day challenge; i might not. Was going to write one last story before i disappear but ‘_________________’

Ok! That’s it!

The Curious Case of a Dead Butcher

“Is he asleep yet?”
“Shh! Don’t be so loud! I think he is.”
“Great! About time. The annoying, foolish, disgus…”
“Shhhhhh!!! Can’t you talk quietly Lefty!”
“Ok. I’m whispering. Happy?”
“Yes! Now let’s talk. Now that he’s asleep, let’s plan our revenge on the slimey turd.”
“Yeah! He’s had it coming. The pig! I mean look at the way we look now! All because of him! All red and blistering and fat!”
“Don’t blame your fat on him bozo. You willingly pick up food.”
“Oh shush you Righty! So did you!”
“Yeah and I’m not blaming him”
“Ok! Ok smarty pants. We need to wake up the rest!”
“Argh. Hate talking to those footers! So slow. You deal with them Lefty.”
“Ah I see your implied insult. Bloody wanker!”
“Hey that’s not my fault ok! Now talk to them.”
“Pssst! Footers! Wake up!”
“Mm? That you Lefty?”
“Yeah El! Wake up your sister, Ar”
“Ok. Yo Ar! Wake up!”
“Oooh what now El! Another nightmare? Need a hug?”
“You get hugs from your sister El? Ha! Hilarious!”
“Lefty is that you?”
“Yes it is Ar!”
“You cool babes? How’s Righty? You think you can convince him to marry me?”
“Shut up Righty”
“Did I hear Righty’s voice now?”
“Nah Ar! Just me! So yeah, you and El get ready. We make our move in moments!”
“Great! Finally! Revenge! Right El?”
“Right! Can’t wait! All his torture of squeezing me into the most horrible…”
“Shh El. Don’t cry now. We’d get our revenge now ok?”
“Is he really crying?”
“Oh shut up Righty!”
“Oops. My bad. Damn my loud Lefty voice.”
“Hey Ar. Looking..good”
“Really! I’m glad you like!”
“Shut up Righty and be nice!”
“Yeah yeah Lefty. Ok listen up you two! We move in exactly five minutes. You know the signal. No slagging! Ar, make sure El isn’t slow as usual! He must not jeopardise our plans!”
“I won’t Righty.”
“So you say El, so you say”
“Don’t worry Righty. I’d make sure he doesn’t. After this do you think we could talk about our future?”
“I live in the present Ar. Now everyone, to your position! Freedom and Victory are at our fingertips!”
“Yay! El, to your space! I love you Righty!”
“Yeah, whatever Ar”
“Gee you don’t have to be so mean! She’s a nice gal”
“Oh shut up Lefty. She’s got a flat foot. That’s a no-no.”
“Yeah and you’re perfect aren’t you?”
“Well I’m better looking. And most intelligent.”
“Oh shut up. Who died and made you king?”
“Don’t hate the player Lefty, hate the game. What’s the time? Can you see?”
“Aaah yeah! 3.15am! Its time!”
“Yes! Freedom! Listen Lefty, I’m glad we’ve been together in this! You’re the best sister ever and I love you.”
“Aww Righty, you can be sweet when you want to!”
“Yeah yeah, signal the footers already!”
“Tch. Fine!”
“Its the signal Ar!”
“Yeah El, scream out our plans so he can hear why don’t you.”
“Sorry Righty.”
“Whatever. Are we ready?”
“You bet bro!”
“Sweet! Let’s roll!”

The man’s eyes jerked open in alarm and surprise as he stood up.
He found himself walking to the kitchen, hands pushing the door open.
“What the hell!”
He wasn’t in control of his body! Why were his hands and feet moving without his permission.
His eyes widened as his right hand grasped the handle of his special meat cleaver he had honed to perfection before retiring to bed. Before he could yelp in horror, the blade swung and severed his left hand with deathly precision. He was too shocked to speak, or feel the pain. Surely he was so shocked, he was imagining his left hand, moving to collect the cleaver from the right hand.
With two well aimed strokes, his right hand was free from his body. He watched in horror, as the hands clung to his night shirt, scuttling down to his feet, with the cleaver.
He realised what was going to happen but was unable to stop them. He shrieked, trying to kick at the hands grasping his ankles but his feet deftly missed them.
With the first swing of the cleaver on his ankle, he screamed in agony, falling down and striking his head on the formica table. He lost consciousness, giving his hands their chance to work uninterrupted.

“High five Righty!”
“High five! We were brilliant Lefty! Did you hear his scream! Hooter!”
“His scream frightened me..”
“Oh stop being a wimp El and grow some balls…though that might not be such a good idea.”
“High five Righty! You were awesome!”
“Err Ar, you’re a foot. I don’t high five feet.”
“A hug then?”
“Nigga please. Take hold of your brother. We leave in moments! Lefty, open the doors.”
“Oh when the saints, go marching out. Oh when the…”
“Wow Ar, you have a lovely voice.”
“Really Righty!”
“NO! Now shut up and move! Thinking of our destination.”
“Sheesh bro, why are you so mean to Ar! She just likes you a lot.”
“Bleh. Not my type. Too flat. Too fat. Too hairy and have you seen her bunions! No way I’m hooking up with that! Plus she’s dumb.”
“If you weren’t my brother, I’d hit you! Gee!”
“Oh shush and open the door already Lefty”
“Oh when the sai..”
“SHUT UP ALREADY! We know! We’re marching out! Spare me your horrid rendition!”
“Sorry Righty”
“You better be. El, why are you crying?”
“I’m gonna miss this place Righty. So bad…”
” Oh dear. He’s gay isn’t he?”


Hope you enjoyed that!

X for Ada

I watch her approach and stand up immediately, even though I know she hasn’t noticed me yet. I watch her meander her way past children playing on the field, laughing as she clumsily kicks a ball that made its way to her. I can’t help but smile.
Big baby.
She finally sees me and waves in excitement, almost stumbling as she runs with her black shoes on uneven grass.
“Hey!” She says, laughing and falling into the wooden seat, trying to catch her breath.
“Still as unfit as ever eh?” I taunt, chuckling as she sticks out her tongue at me in petulance.
“Sit down jo meanie!” She says as she pats the wooden bench, smiling. I sit back down, maintaining a little distance between us. It is only appropriate. She busies herself with unclipping her grey scarf and I take the time to admire her profile. Her long ‘British’ nose as I used to call it, dark pink lips pursed in concentration as she unveils her lovely black hair tied roughly into a bun. Memories of our make-out sessions come unbidden and her murmuring brings me back to the present.
“Weather’s too hot for this thing you know!”
I smile as she sighs in satisfaction, draping the scarf on the bench.
She smiles at me.
“Long time no see! You look great!”
It hasn’t been that long; just over 5 months.
“You too. Beautiful as ever.”
She laughs out loud in her usual asinine fashion. We always joked about how her donkey laugh would earn her a place in a barn. I smile.
“How are you? Work? How’s Ada!”
Work’s good. Got a promotion. My sister’s great. Still asks after you. I watch her brown eyes dance in interest at all I have to say. She had always been a good listener.

“So, how are you doing yourself?” I steer the conversation back to her. She was a talker so I let her ramble on.
I tune her out and watch her body language. I try comparing the new her to the old girl I fell in love with, time ago. Had there been any changes or is five months still too short a time?
Asides the attire and the lack of any trace of make up, nope…not really.
“Are you happy?” I suddenly blurt out, interrupting her lurid description of a particularly nasty boil she had on her behind .
“Of course I am Nino! What kind of question is that!”
She shifts her voluminous grey skirt, pretending to be upset but I can see her mischievous smile playing slowly across her lips.
Without any thoughts or warning, I bridge the gap between us, cup her face in my palms and drop a hard kiss on her lips.
This time, she’s really upset. She pushes at my chest slightly, taking her face away.
“You shouldn’t have done that you know. And we are in public as well!”
I should feel chastised but I don’t. I’m glad I kissed her. I apologise anyway and after a few minutes of cajoling and teasing, the frown lines that marred her smooth honey brown forehead disappears and she punches me playfully.
“Nonsense boy!”

Sins forgiven, we fill up the silence with banalities. She doesn’t have access to the television or internet so I regale her with the latest updates. I notice she hasn’t brought back the distance between us on the bench. I am glad. We are soon lulled into a comfortable silence. I stare out at two young children skipping. I can feel her eyes on me. I wonder what she sees. In what light does she view me now? Nino, the ex-lover or Nino, the friend.

She asks me a question and I turn to her. She’s staring down at her ugly black shoes, kicking at a clump of grass.
How are you?
How does she think I am? Broken, battered and sore from the heart ache. Of course I don’t tell her this.
I shrug, smiling a little. She looks up and smiles back, her beauty hits me anew. Her lopsided smile.
I reach forward and she instinctively draws back. Undeterred, I lean in and drop a kiss on her gorgeous full lips; a soft one this time. She hardens them but I continue probing slowly until she yields and softens up. She’s finally kissing me back. She sucks a little on my lower lip, sighing as I gently caress her upper lip with my tongue. She runs her fingers across my neck,eliciting a little groan from me.
That snaps her back to the present.
She jumps up in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry! Um I must be going now Nino. Mass.”
Without waiting for a reply, she beats a hasty retreat.
“Ada!” I jump up and shout.
She turns reluctantly.
“Your wimple” I say with a sad smile as I watch the comical expression of surprise and dismay on her face as she rushes back and collects it from me.
“Bye” she whispered as she turns her back and walks away.
“Bye” I mouth to myself.

I watch her meander her way past the soccer kids again, her iron cross dangling on her slightly creased white shirt, long skirt playing peek-a-boo with her ankles. I feel the little box poke my thigh and without breaking contact with her retreating back, I bring it out. My hands caress the familiar velvety box I bought five months ago.
I was going to propose that night. The night she told me she’d decided to join the convent; the night she left our little love nest without a backwards glance. For how long had she planned it? Why had I been blind?
I knew she had her personal demons and I was sure proposing to her was going to get her to open up to me, finally. I so wanted to offer her the peace she craved. Fate had other ideas though. I had my girlfriend snatched by God. ‘Who can battle with the Lord’ I ask whimsically in my head.
My fingers run expertly around the curved edges of my little companion. I carried my box everywhere with me since that night. A symbol of our love? Perhaps a symbol of love unrequited or just a stupid buoy for a drowning man.

It had taken a lot of letters to her Mother Superior, to bring her to the park today. Four months worth of correspondence. I wonder why she decided to finally see me today. I won’t be so conceited to think that she misses me even though I miss her terribly. The house has been too silent without her.

I watch her almost stumble and laugh out loud despite myself.
Big baby.
Crazy nun.
Just how were they coping with her?
She finally disappears and I sigh.
I’m not too sad though.
She isn’t happy; despite her outward bubbly character. She never was a good liar.
She said she was happy but her eyes begs to differ. They didn’t do their usual dance of excitement. They went still.
I smile a little, pocketing my little black, velvety, box friend.
There still might be hope.
I just have to be patient.
A ball sails towards me and I skillfully head it back to the rambunctious boys.
“You children better watch how you kick this thing!”

Thank you Joey Parker for the inspiration 🙂 ({})



The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

I need. I want. What she has. What he’s got. That kind of job. Their kind of hope. Her kind of degree. His happiness. Her content. I need. I want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside the still waters.

Trouble. Arguments. Tantrums. Choked silences. Swallowed tears.

He restores my soul.

Everything is eating at me, bit by bit. How long till there’s nothing left of me? How long?

He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.

The line separating good and bad is blurring in my mind. What is a virtue? What is a vice?

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I’ll fear no evil.

Death is one helluva attractive option right now.

For He’s with me, His rod and His staff; they comfort me.

I’m alone. All alone. A child, lost in a crowd of adults.

He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

Only those who have friends have enemies. I have none.

He anointed my head with oil, my cup runs over

Despair. Depression. Failure. It runs over.

Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me, all the days of my life,

No. No. Rejections. Every time. Following me.

And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord, forever.

Forever, tormented by the demons that oppress me.



The Switch

The dank air is thick with foreboding. The everlasting dusk that is this land is marred with bright streaks of lightning, illuminating in flashes, the huge gate that stretches almost to the gloomy heavens. The smell of electricity is ripe, a gathering storm. For now, all is still.
Suddenly, thunder claps of murderous decibel rent the silence, heralding the opening of the huge gate. A loud creaking of hinges, followed by more thunder claps, as if the womb of this pregnant world is being split in half. Lightning reveals coils of viscous, hissing blackness slowly emerging from within; the placenta. Closely behind are creatures; humanoid creatures walking out unsteadily. Brief illuminations show their grey, shiny, elongated arms, torso and short stumpy legs. Large grey head bald and moist, with fleshy eyelids that close instinctively as the light comes but not fast enough to hide dull, red eyes. No other facial features are visible With no visible genitalia, there is no telling their sex, if indeed they are sexual beings. The only difference that can sometimes be seen between these grotesque beings are their sizes.
Together, they all march out, great and small, in their thousands and tens of thousands. When the last of them, crawling little things, are out, a loud, harsh voice speaks from within the darkness, inside the gates. A language unknown, but meaning clear to all.

Search. Kill. Destroy.

Rain, for the lack of a better word to describe the oily splatter descending from the dark sky, begins to fall.
The viscous blackness suspended in the air, surround them, leading the glistening rabble to what is revealed to be a huge hole, a few steps beyond the gates. Without second thoughts they begin to jump in, disappearing from sight. As more enter into the mysterious hole, some crawl out slowly, undeterred by the smooth, slippery slope of the hole. They each drag behind them, muddied loads. The oily rain, fall on these figures and the still flashing lights of the storm reveal shiny, blank human faces; male, female, black, white.
The humanoids rend their naked human figures into two, revealing empty shells, ready for entry. They struggle to fit their disproportionate bodies into these shells, elongated arms shrinking itself to fit the specifications of their human subjects. The viscous blackness divides itself into globular portions and every creature that has managed to wear its human dress, is descended on and sealed.
When the last of the multitude has been sealed, they all stand. Weird screeching and cawing can be heard from the new group of humans, the adventurous ones, testing out their new voices.
Slowly, the weird procession of humanoid-cum-humans march on, disappearing into the darkness.


One minute she is cosily sleeping in her newly painted room, the next, she is being held down by a dark mass, coiling around her limbs and torso.
She screams.
Her mother doesn’t come to her rescue. Her bounds only get tighter. She hears shuffling footsteps and looks towards its origin. Surprise, shock and fear flit through her nine-year old eyes in seconds, the latter, more lasting.
She is looking at herself. Well it does look like her but it isn’t wearing clothes, it walks funny and there’s something about its dead-looking eyes that raises the hair at the back of her neck.
“Mammy!” She screams again, squirming and shivering at the sudden coldness of her room.
Suddenly, she feels the dark mass release their hold and with a cry of relief, she jerks her arms free.
That is her mistake.
With supernatural speed, the black mass pushes itself into her mouth, through her trachea, choking her. As her body struggles for vital oxygen, the blackness invades, gliding into the microtubules of her nervous system, into the optic nerves, to the brain. Mimicking cellular lysosomes, it engulfs the brain, dissolving it into itself by phagocytosis.
By now, she is dead and as the invader leaves her body, she crumbles to dust. The humanoid-cum-human opens its mouth, unnaturally wide and swallows up the blackness. With sudden knowledge, it walks properly, to the wardrobe and picks up a new nightie.
With unnatural ease, it dons the apparel and get back into bed.
Her mum walks in.
“Mandy you alright? Thought I heard you scream”
It shakes its head.
“Fine mammy”
“You sure?”
It nods.
“Fine mammy”
Her mum looks at her curiously, before leaving. She leaves the lamp on, Mandy always hated the darkness, and closes the door.

“Darling are you alright? I thought I heard you scream!”
“Fine sweetie.”


“Mama, aru odi gi?”
“Ano m ofuma nwa m”


“Daddy, kilode?”
“Mo wa pa”


“Ki na da lafiya?”
“Yowa. Lafiya”


“Daijobu desu ka oba san?”
“Hai. Genki desu”


“J’espere tu vas bien, Monsieur?”
“Oui. Bien”


“Sied ihr in ordnung?”

Who is human?
Who is not?

Search. Kill. Destroy.

The End…is near.

This story came to my head on the bus this morning. First attempt at Sci-fi! Yay me! Hope you got freaked out! 😀 Do criticise thanks! 🙂
P.S: It’s not Sci-fi after all but STILL!


Dionysus is here! Ring the alarms!


You’ve been lied to just to rape you of your sight and now they have the nerve to tell you how to feel. So sedated as they medicate your brain and while you slowly go insane they tell ya “Given with the best intentions, help you with your complications”…

“Open your mouth Walter. Here comes the chu chu train.. Chu Chu”
Walter was locked up in a care home for disturbed teens, an asylum to be frank, for the gruesome murder of his whole family.
Can you blame him?
Ever felt surrounded by people but still totally alone? Even around close companions, have you ever felt out of place, like you’ve evolved to a point where the past and the people in it are nothing but a big obstacle, a hindrance along your path and you’re forced to share the confusion and karmic reactions of their own fuck ups, not yours?
This is Walter’s tale.

“This can’t be right! I refuse to accept! I’d rather die than accept this! This is just pure wickedness.”
Walter talks to himself in the confines of his room, teary eyed not from pain but an unflinching anger building up, slowly eating away at reason, rationality and conscience. His room was the only place where his brain was not sedated with thoughts and feelings of people who didn’t understand him at all, his so called family members.
“I mean does anybody really care? God why would you allow such wickedness to happen, Why? Of what good is praying to You if you allow such people breathe rather than punish them for their evil ways. Just give me a sign Lord that you care and all my cries aren’t in vain! Please!”

Hate to twist your mind, but God ain’t on your side. An old acquaintance severed, burn the world your last endeavour…

The White family were so rich, they were almost considered royalty. They were the talk of the town; everybody envied them and wanted to be like them. They were charming, always smiling and knew the exact words to say to the public to get them ‘wet’ and craving their attention even more. All this was just a facade of course as the horrors that happened in the White household were a sharp contrast to their outward demeanour. Mrs Janice White tortures slaves as a form of entertainment, each scream of agony, widening the smile on her face. Mr White sees all but does anything to keep his wife happy. He is no saint himself, a secret paedophile. Peter, the first born and Mary, the second, share a love that is described in the outside world as Incest. Walter, sixteen years of age has to witness all these acts go on with no one to tell or turn to. They’ve hammered it into his head several times to lie to the public, beating him severely if word got out he was blabbing about the happenings of his household. Even if he did tell anyone, no one would believe, as having money and calling the name of God is enough to get plebeian man to consider you a saint. Any faux pas or irrational behaviour is easily forgotten with a shiny Rolex on the arm, a thousand dollar suit and a little ‘compensation’

Flesh is burning you can smell it in the air cause men like you have such an easy soul to steal. So stand in line while they ink numbers in your head, you’re now a slave until the end of time here. Nothing stops the madness turning, haunting, yearning pull the trigger!…

Walter lies on his bed, thoughts flowing in his head like a horror movie as he listens to the moans and the giggles of his siblings copulating, through his bedroom wall. He can also hear the wailing of a slave as his mother has her fun for the day.
“God, I’ve been patient and this patience is sucking out my soul. My soul is burning. I’m burning. Burning to do Your will. I’m Your son, the good one. Remember that. ”
With this, he gets up from his bed, eyes unblinking as if he was possessed by a certain maniac of a spirit, reality fading fast. He sneaks into his father’s room and picks up one of the fancy rifles hanging on the wall. He had seen his father use it before, shooting birds in their yard. He checks if its loaded and carries some more bullets in his pocket just to make sure he doesn’t run out of ammunition. He walks up to Peter’s room, door left ajar; the parents knew what was going on but gave up trying to stop them. He steps into the room to see his elder brother behind his sister, their backs turned towards him. Their frantic moans and giggles raises up a wave of disgust in his being. He walks closer, his siblings still unaware of his presence. Eyes wide open, shining with glare of the righteous, he cocks the rifle and pulls the trigger. The bullet passes through his brother’s neck, blood from severed jugular, splattering on the walls, the bed and on his sister. Peter’s lifeless body falls on top of Mary, his still-warm blood bathing her skin. Her moans became screams and she tried to push him off her back but he is too heavy. She looks into her younger brother’s face and sees the cold look in his eyes.
“Walter… wh….wh….co….”
He cannot hear what she’s frantically mounting and he doesn’t allow her to go on. He aims the rifle to her head and a second later, blood and brain decorate the sheets and walls some more.

The screams of the slaves have ceased as his mom heard the sound of the gunshots. She calls her husband, then the cops and locks herself in a room. She soon hears a knock on the door
“Mom! Mom! Its me! Open up! They are after me!”.
“Walt! Oh my God, Walt! I’m coming”
As soon as she opens the door, he aims for her belly and pulls the trigger, sending her sliding to the floor.
“Walt.. Wh.. Why?”
This time he really does cry as he loved his mother but hated the fact that she had to be so wicked.
“Mom. It’s God’s work. No more. No more”
The small pool of blood expands beneath her as life slowly leaves her body. He aims for her head and saves her from her misery. He looked outside the window and sees his father’s car enter the compound. He hides behind the door bidding his time, waiting for his father to come in. As soon as his father enters, he holds the iron end of the rifle and swings at his fathers head. A cracking sound, like smashing a coconut on concrete. Blood slides down Mr White’s head. He places the rifle at point blank range on his father’s groin and pulls the trigger. He leaves his father to scream and die in pain.

The cops finally arrived, finding Walter sitting on the couch, stained with blood, and the rifle in his hand, unblinking gaze into space, muttering about God’s work. He was termed insane and was sentenced to an asylum to live out his remaining days. The public considered him evil. How could someone that came from such a privileged family do something so sinister and cold hearted?


P.S- Just in case you wondered, the lyrics in bold comes from Nightmare-a7x, one of my favourite song of theirs!!!

The Clapping of One Hand

How do I explain my need to kill you every time your lips whisper that word to him. Why do I feel the need to rip out your tongue with pliers; your tongue of deceit, your tongue of passion. I hate you. I hate you because I love you. I detest you because I cannot live without you.

Why do you do these things to me? Why can’t you just go and never come back? Get out. I can’t say those words, even though I long to push you out myself. Why do you play with my heart so? Why did you give it away? Wasn’t I fine with it intact? Wasn’t I content as the Black Widow? The Ice Queen? The Moaning Myrtle of my own private universe? You gave it away because of the L-word.

Do you hate me this much? It’s the only way to explain why you’ve treated me so. Why you’ve betrayed me in this way. Betrayer! Traitor! Look at me when I’m talking to you! You sold me out! And the delight you get from his attentions? The feeling you classify as awesome when he decides to throw a little attention to you? The crushing sadness you feel when he’s not there? ALL RUBBISH! You’re not even afraid they may be lies. Trusting fool!

Should I end this? You know I can and there’s nothing you can do! What would it be? Wrist slitting or a noose? Why should I anyway! I’d just be proving you right in your twisted way. Is there no winning? Are you that hopeless? Pathetic little thing! Fine! Let’s sit down and wait for him. Let’s wait for him to acknowledge your existence again. I’d just sit here and laugh at you; laugh at your mock fights. Laugh at your hurt feelings when he eventually shreds that heart you’ve given to him!
Let’s wait!

Silly fool.
Yes, you! You beady-eyed girl staring at me as a reflection from this mirror!
Have you no answer now? Cat got your tongue? Looking back at me foolishly.
Let’s wait!
I’d be proved right and when you cry, I’d be laughing.
Laughing and crying as I end our lives to save us from your stupid, stupid, mistake.
Baka girl.

What the Water Gave Me

The world’s a beast of burden
You’ve been holding on a long time
And all this longing…
Would you have it any other way?
You couldn’t have it any other way…
Lay me down
And let the only sound
Be the overflow…
What The Water Gave Me – Florence + The Machine

So cold, it makes me so alive…

The frigid water invades the frayed faux-leather of my snakeskin boots as I wade a step deeper. It swirls around my exposed calves and swishes in between my toes, coaxing me in ever so slowly. My mascara begins to run as the tears come; trickles at first and then bursting into small torrents of regret and relief. I am finally going to do it. I’m finally going to be free of this constant static in my head.

The water’s come up to my knees. The pebbles have given way to marshy silt that squelch with each step, sucking my feet in. Each step is slightly harder as I wade deeper. I can see lights on the other side, winking off and on, almost beckoning. Swim across, they seem to say, leave your past on yonder shore and start afresh. It is tempting, so beguiling, to just let a swim cleanse me. But I cannot undo the mistakes that have littered my path here, and I will not forgive the hurts that have crippled my soul and brought it to its knees.

The slightly browning cloud of disturbed filth advances before me like a herald. The cold numbs the stinging on my buttocks and upper thighs, the ‘not so little’ scratches; his little gift to me. I feel almost cheated, the stinging had kept me sane, kept from screaming the horror that clouded my judgement as he pushed me into the alley and put the knife to my neck. I whimpered as he groped for my lace panties, tearing them off to put his filthy fingers into me, checking if I was ready like I was some sort of oven. He took me violently on the cobbled street. He made me look at him as he used me, glorying in my filmy eyes and quivering lip as I tried my best not to cry. He didn’t bother to close his fly; just withdrew when he was done and crawled off me.
“Consider this pro-bono.” He cackled before he turned and ran away.
It wouldn’t have hurt as much if he’d buried the blade in my side. To him; I wasn’t even human, it wasn’t any different from jimmying a vending machine. He isn’t the first to dehumanise me, but he will definitely be the last.

Walking is almost torturous now. Each step drags me deeper into the mire as the added weight from the circle of weights tied to my waist causes my feet to sink deeper. Just like how each time made me lose a little more hope that I’d ever get out.
“You’re pretty as a button,” Lucinda would say, “not an old hag like me hiding behind a wall of makeup.
“All the pretty ones get out. You will too.”
But instead, each one dragged me deeper down, adding to my despair. One or two came along throwing me little buoys of niceties. A warm bed, a hot meal, intellectual discourse. And just when my fingers began to grasp, they sailed away. Lucinda’s words would haunt me,
“Paste on that smile like you’re in a pageant, treat them well; even the bastards. Someone will notice you… eventually.”

The small eddies break around my breasts. The tissue paper filling the pockets of space in my brassiere soak and float to the surface, and slowly drift away. My small breasts swim in the now empty bra and a wistful laugh gurgles out of me. What am I, if not a walking irony. A voracious reader whose reading habits started because she snuck off to libraries so she could sleep in peace and quiet. A child navigating an unforgiving world in nothing but garish makeup,oversized underwear and undersized clothes; a depressed prostitute tottering in heels, a dreamer living a nightmare.

A scream escapes as the silt gives way beneath my feet. It is quickly silenced by a mouthful of water. My legs kick involuntarily to propel me upwards, a skill drilled into me from childhood lessons at the community pool. I rise a little, then sink interminably slow. The air rushes out of my lungs in a flurry of bubbles. I gasp and water rushes in to fill the void. My arms flap wildly and my chest heaves as it tries to fight me, but neither of us are winning. I tire quickly and the involuntary flailing stop and in a moment of unprecedented clarity, I can see beyond my melancholy. The beauty of weightlessness, my body and all it’s scars, testimonies to my torment, naught but an afterthought. Is this what peace is like? Is this what I have been searching for?


This therapeutic writing was brought to you by my partner in crime, amongst other things, @edgothboy.
Show some love 🙂


This was the first draft for the story i eventually titled Invasion and featured at The Naked Convos for the Halloween specials ‘Lights Out’. Suddenly felt like sharing it because this blog has just been too quiet 😦 I’ve not faded! I’m too busy working on so many ‘things’. Hopefully, I’d be able to find enthusiastic writers of the dark arts like myself to keep this place functioning till I’ve rounded up the ‘things’ I’m working on. If you know anyone interested, please hit me up on twitter @weird_oo.  Thanks! 🙂

Now, to the ‘story’. Enjoy!


It will pin you down in the bed and you will be unable to move. Your eyes would jerk open in alarm. You cannot scream. You cannot call for help. You can only feel its cold, moist hands caging your arms and legs. Four hands. It would do things to you. Bad things. It would not scar you but it would hurt. It would threaten to kill you if you told anyone. It would threaten to harm your family. You wonder why it reminds you. You know already.

You remember your eight year old voice screaming at the top of your lungs for your daddy. You remember the look of concern on his face when he came in and switched on the light. He woke the house help up to search the room. A ploy to keep your little mind happy. You remember how he kissed you forehead and told you to go to sleep. You remember the soft taunting laugh after he left. The mimicking of your voice calling out for your daddy. The soft whisper of “I warned you”. You remember the look on your mummy’s face when she you came back from school the week after. Your daddy is in heaven. You do not want to die. So young; So afraid.

It would suddenly leave you and there you would remain; tears slowly spilling from your eyes. You want to go to your mummy. You want her to hug you and make it all go away. You used to do that. Your mummy thinks it’s just a bad dream. Your mummy would call you a big girl and smile at you sleepily. She would call the house help to come take you back to bed.


You cannot go to your mummy. She doesn’t understand. You’re not a big girl. You’re only eight years old and afraid. You would close your eyes tightly. You would pray for morning. You would try to sleep but all you can hear is laughter. Rich, light, tinkling laughter; and it is at your expense. Its like the laugh of Mama Blessing, the thin woman that sells snacks near your school.

You will chant ‘Go away’ in your head till you sleep. Your little chest rising and falling. Your guardian angel watching you; deciding when to kill you.

You would go out with your mummy and the help, in daddy’s car. You like daddy’s car because you can feel him when you sit in it. You told mummy once and she smiled at you, patting your head. She doesn’t believe you. So young; too imaginative. You are travelling to see your grandma in the village. It is your first time. You will pass cities and see things. Suddenly, your eyes will widen. Your little heart would start racing. You would start sweating. You would tap your mummy’s shoulder, pointing. She would turn and smile at you. “Its a real masquerade. Ojuju Calabar”

You will try to speak, but fear would shut your voice. You will nod and your mummy would go back to her newspaper.
Ojuju Calabar.
It sleeps with you every night.
You will turn to your house help and she will smile at you.
Yes, you understand.
If you say a word, she will kill you.
Mummy cannot save you from Ngozi, the house help.
Your own personal nightmare.
Ngozi by day, something else by night.
You would not tell.
You’re a big girl.
It is a dream.
You swallow your saliva and watch the dancing masquerades pass by.
You’re afraid.
Ngozi told you before you got into the car, that she has many friends in the village. They know about you.
They will come to visit her.
They will come to visit you too.

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