Archive for February, 2012

Musings of a Tired Somebody

Yes, it’s that time of the month again when I feel the need to chat shit and have you people read. AbI all na blogging no be so? At least I didn’t steal this post off a newspaper in a certain state…like say Delta. (Though why anyone would want to steal an article from Delta is in itself a dilemma worthy of prayers)
this is not a rant or even a rambling post. Ok maybe it is a bit of a rambler. I’ve got a lot on my mind so feel like sharing my burden.

1. Contracts cannot be spelt without Con. I’m actually vexed because the insurance contract company I use for my phone have tried to con me. I dey my house, jehjehly preparing for work and they called. Insurance this and that. The price was reasonable so me sef agree. The gay sounding dude  I spoke to even promised one free month.
10 days later , these earthly abominations went into my account to find money. Luckily for me, I used the cash in there. Now my bank have send me letter that I musto pay fee for overdraft.
It’s annoying sha and I plan on callimg them on Monday and asking if they left their mothers’ head inside my account that they’re going inside there.

2. What is this nonsense obsession with big D. (if you have no idea what a D is, come here and touch your toes so I show you.)
As I was saying, what’s so special? I just saw a tweet where one guy was making noise about his size 10.
10inches. 12inches. Hian!
Are you drilling a borehole inside? Are you pounding yam? Are you an alien?
Is it not a human being you will kpansh?? Are you fertilizing her womb or her gullet??
I’m not a big fan (pun dey here) of that Mandingo sHit ok? I’m very delicate…and stuff -.-

3. The third shit annoying me is this autocorrect. Yes, it just annoyed me…again! I need to program the shit to type swear words. Urgh.

4. I don’t know why this just came to mind but I will type it. An ex once called me fat. Not to my face o. Not on the phone. ON FACEBOOK.
WHY EVULS! I was…I was pleasantly chubby mehn! So yeah, I vexed, went all Sage mode and lost some of it.
You know when they said karma was a bitch, yeah no be joke!
As my God who never sleeps would have it, story began to filter. Apparently, the dude’s gf cleared his bank account.
He gave her his pin in the name of love.
Hahahaha! I might be big boned but I’m no thief! Just saying.
Plus why would you give someone your pin? So people still do mumu things like that?
Give your pin/password.
akuko! On top wetin? you follow me open the account? Please and please desist from such bushbaby behaviour thanks!
I don’t want to hear “It’s romantic.”
No it isn’t!
Sharing one lollipop/plate of rice is romantic.
Sharing pin/password? MBA. When we are not married.

look I’m tired. Tired of typing. I’m actually standing up for this. Smh. I do feel a lot better though.
If you don’t like this, kiss my sybian! Not that I have any *cough*

That is all.
Chairs to the frigging weekend. I’d sit to that yeah yeah yeah \_

Fatal Encounter: Finalé

The beginning of the end…


“Who’s she?”
“How am I supposed to know! Just…just found her here…”
“Well what?”
“Well we can’t just leave her out here can we?”
“Yes we can, Martha.”
“Don’t be a dolt Ralph! We can’t leave her here in the bushes! Foxes can take her for dead and bite you know?”
“How do you know she’s dead?”
“She is?”
“Well no. Her eyelashes flickered a little when I saw her…”
“More reason why we have to take her in!”
“Martha, this isn’t like your normal stray cat or dog you know. This is a human! We can’t just take her in!”
“Oh pish posh!”
Martha took the lady’s hands and tried dragging her.
Sighing, Ralph took hold of the lady’s dainty legs and together, they carried her into the house.

Voices. Male. Female.

Martha propped her on the largest sofa in the living room, covering the lady with quilts. Her skin felt too cold.
“Turn on the heating Ralph” she called from the living room.
She heard him mutter about bills as he switched the heating on. Martha shook her head.
He could get on her nerves sometimes.
Sighing, she straightened, bending her back to ease off the aches that came from lifting the lady. She wasn’t so young anymore. She ran a hand through her grey head of hair loosening the plait she wove to hold them together.
Noticing the disarray the lady’s back hair was in, she smoothed it, marvelling at its silky texture..
“One fine lady you are.” she murmured.
How had she gotten to the clump of trees near their apartment?
Martha could not deny, she was excited.
What was this fine lady’s story? What did she have to tell? What horrors?
Martha retired from journalism a few years ago and she missed her job; the search, the hunt for news.
Yes, she was itching to know what this lady had to say.
Humming, she left the living room to the kitchen. She had to prepare something for the lady when she eventually woke up.

Must. Tobacco. Pie?

“She hasn’t woken up yet. You sure we shouldn’t take her to the hospital?”
“Don’t be silly Ralph! I’m sure she would be fine. She just needs warming up. Did you feel her skin? Cold. Poor girl’s been exposed to the elements. Who knows what would have happened if we hadn’t taken her in.”
Ralph huffed in impatience.
“We are not doctors Martha. I say we take her to the clinic. It’s been almost an hour now..”
“Oh hush you worry wart…and don’t touch those pies just yet Mister!”
He muttered and went back to the living room to continue his vigil, watching the lady.

Must wake.

“Ralph? What is it? Are you ok?” She ran into the living room, looking at her husband anxiously.
He nodded and pointed at the lady.
“She moved. Her fingers. Twitched I think.”
Martha’s eyes shone in delight.
She went to the slumbering lady and peered into her face.
He was right. Her facial muscles were moving. Her lips twitched.
Her nostrils were flaring. Her eyeballs roved in their lids, restless.
“I think she’s waking” she murmured, not taking her eyes off her.
Suddenly, the eyelids peeled back and Martha shrieked in horror.

Red eyes.
Martha stood up sharply, stumbling into Ralph who was had been behind her.
The lady looked at her naked self, and after a few seconds, cast her terrible gaze on the old couple.
Ralph’s mouth widened in shock as he watched her skin…disintergate? Fall away? Melt?
She was turning red.
Pulling Martha’s arm frantically, he made to run away.
Martha was frozen still with shock and refused to budge.
He shook her shoulders gruffly screaming in her ears to move it!
The few seconds he took to do that cost him his life.
He should have saved himself.

With inhuman speed, she knocked them down, decapitating them.
Zanda stared at the body-less faces frozen in horror.
Who were they?
Where was she?
She shouldn’t have killed them…at least she could have gotten some answers from them before doing the deed.
Too late.
She was hungry.
When was the last time she ate? She couldn’t remember.
“I almost thought I really died” she whispered sadly, before leaving the living room.
She climbed the stairs, hoping it would lead her to a room with clothes. She couldn’t leave naked.
In the room, she saw her reflection in the mirror and paused.
Memories slowly came back to her and her lips twisted into a smile.
“I really lost it eh? Falling in love with myself. Ha!”
She chuckled, eyes watching her reflection do the same.
Suddenly she stopped.
Turning, she picked up a perfume bottle and hauled it at the mirror, watching it shatter to numerous pieces.
“Now, you’ve stopped laughing eh? Silly bitch!”
Zanda paused.
Did she just call her reflection a bitch?
She chuckled.
“I think I’m losing my mind” she whispered sardonically, and got to the business of hunting for clothes.
Few minutes later, she came back down in clothes that sagged off her.
Martha had been a buxom woman.
Her nose twitched and she went into the kitchen.
Not her food.
She went back to the living room where the newly dead lay.
Now, that was a meal!
With hindsight, she began undressing again.
She couldn’t afford to stain the clothes she was wearing. They were the most presentable in the woman who was Martha’s wardrobe.
“I guess I’m back eh?”
She watched blood drip off her fingers and finding it absurdly funny, she began to laugh.
“Back and mad! Oh humanity’s in trouble!”
She threw her head back, shoulders shaking in mirth.
Back and mad.
Barking mad.

The End.


Well, we’ve finally come to the end of this one! My thanks to everyone who read, commented, liked, retweeted, tweeted and all. Thanks a lot. I might be having another series soon. How soon? You’d just have to stick around to find out! :p 😀 Really, thanks for reading!

Fatal Encounter 6

We’re almost done with this…sadly?



It gets lonely; boring.
Being what I am.
Of course I could choose to shack up with a male, be his woman and bear a child. But that would mean my dying.
You see, going through the human process of childbirth reverts something in us.
Not demons. Not humans. A blurry being in between.
It would cause me to die after a few years.
Nah, I’m too selfish. I don’t want a child. Or a man.
I’m free. Free and alone.

Well, not anymore.
It isn’t lust or hunger that has driven me to her.
It is love.
I think I’m in love with her.
Permanent, crazy love.
I can’t remember the last time I ate, yet I do not feel the gnawing of hunger. Not one bit! Not when I’m staring at her, basking in her gaze on me. I see the very feeling I have reflected in her eyes, shimmering black eyes.
Her face is so smooth, so pale, so flawless, so beautiful.
Her hands look soft, small, dainty.
I can’t keep away from her.
I dream of holding her in my arms.
Oh my fair lady!
I want to be with you, I want to be like you!

Alas, we’re not the same.
It’s complicated.
She doesn’t eat what I eat. Neither does she drink. It would be hard showing her the pleasures of being me.
Yet, we’re meant to be.
When we hold hands, the coolness of our contact brings shivers up my arms.
When our lips meet, the coolness delights me, driving me into moments of rapture.
You make me lose myself!
I cannot believe I’m saying this, but you do.
Zanda, the independent. Zanda, the fierce.
Brought to her knees, in surrender.
She makes me see the real me, I see what I have become better because of her.
She’s my confessor.
I tell her my deeds; the good, the bad and the bloody.
She never judges me. She never interrupts.
She just listens.
I don’t deserve you, my love; I don’t!
I move to push you away, but I can’t.
You’re everywhere I go.

How have you done this to me?
Tell me?
What do you see, that I can see, yet can’t see?
The cynical part of me wonders what she’d taste like.
I hope that doesn’t frighten her, not like I can bring myself to do the horrid deed. I’m just too curious sometimes.

It killed the cat. It died nine times.
Would you be scared if I squeezed your throat?
Would your eyes plead for mercy when I claw you?
Would you hate me?
Would you?
Answer me!
You refuse to speak.
See, she refuses to speak.

I can see the misery in her eyes.
Of course, she would hate me.
I wish I could hit her.
Not to kill her, just to make myself feel better.
I can’t.

I apologise profusely to her, and I see her lips move.
I cannot hear her. I move my ears closer to meet the divide separating us.
Cold divide.
Hard divide.
Glassy divide.

The object of my love, my affection
Narcissus, bear me witness.
I’m in love with the face in the mirror.
My reflection.

I can’t take this anymore.
I should break the mirror, but i can’t.
I’ve tried covering her up but i end up going back.
I love you.
But i hate you for what you are; for what you’re not.
So long.
For how long?


It’s cold in here.
Trapped, unable to move.
I’ve watched her as she watched me.
I ache to touch that face but I can’t.
I haven’t seen her in a while.
I’m afraid.
Inanimate, non-existent, I might be.
After all, I’m just a reflection.
But a mirror is like a memory.
It saves every look of you.
A little of yourself is trapped inside a looking glass.
Just the way a little of herself is trapped.
I dream about getting out; a pipe dream perhaps but i can dream can’t I?
What is it like outside?
Can you tel me?
I want to know.
I want to live.
An odd request for one trapped inside a mirror isn’t it?

Is it possible to let me out?
No? Ohwell.
I’m not hopeful.
It is cold.
Look for Zanda.
I fear she’s in trouble.
Tell her i am here; here waiting.



The concluding part of this, tomorrow. Lucky number 7.

Fatal Encounter 5

Thanks for sticking around to continue this…weird journey.


My first solo hunt.

How can I forget them?
How can I forget eyes that first widened in disbelief; same eyes, later pleading mercy.
Mouths that first rounded in shock; same mouths later calling on the name of the prophet from Nazareth. The one that saw himself as the Son of God.
Well, he sure didn’t save them.

They were newly weds, these ones; got married that day. Sneaked into the garden where they were saying their vows, to watch. I was quite taken with the pretty flowers and dresses. That didn’t distract me from my plan. I was hungry after all and a gathering of people was like a buffet to me.
Pick what you want Zanda: the short, fat vicar? The crying mother? The jealous woman at the back? My mouth watered at the prime choices I had, spread before me.
I watched as the couple left the make-shift altar, beatific smiles.
They saw me where I was hidden, savage little me with my dirty dress and unkempt hair. I remember the bride, whispering to her husband and he too looked in my direction. I could read the look on his wife’s face.
“Who’s that filthy savage child?” it clearly said
That really annoyed me, and I decided they were going to be my choice. That vicar really should have gone on his knees at that moment at the altar, in thanks to his God. Fat ponce.

I slithered away and followed them, unseen.
I had to be patient though; I had to hold on till they were done with the wedding reception. It was late then; dusk. My element.
I merged with the darkness and watched them as they got down to their night business. Those two wasted no time I tell you.
It was obvious they were virgins; fumbling, nervous laughter, her cry of pain as she was deflowered.
They quickly got into the rhythm and soon, were moaning in what could have been joy…and release.
I got bored.
It’s funny how the act of copulation reduces you to mere lower animals.
Grunting like pigs, pumping like dogs.
And the shaking afterwards? Like a pigeon after being drenched in rain.
No wonder you’re an alternative food source.

I became brazen. I sat on their wedding bed as they were in the shower.
A cloud of steam announced their arrival and a shriek, the fact that they had seen me.
I smiled at them.

“How on God’s earth did she get here?” the wife screeched to her husband as they circled the bed, watching me warily.
I crouched on the bed, still smiling.
They were unnerved.
What was I about to do?
What was the savage wedding crasher about to do?
At that very moment, hunger pangs gnawed sharply.
I stopped thinking.

I left my human form and pounced, knocking them to the floor. I was so tempted to eat immediately but something stopped me.
No, not yet.
Their fall rendered them unconscious so I tied them up to their wedding bed.
I was a savage wasn’t I?
Well, I had to show them just how ‘savagery’ I could be.
I wanted to watch them suffer; wanted to see the look of resignation to death in their eyes.
You think you’re better than me huh? With your fancy clothes? Fancy airs?
Well who’s going to get eaten now!
Pain is pleasure
Heard that phrase from my master; I found out what it really meant that day. The stirring I felt in my loins as I butchered them.
Of course I destroyed their voice boxes first; couldn’t have them screaming.

Good time, that was.

I ate to my fill, tieing leftovers into the bed sheet.
Blood soaks quite fast you know.
I watched in fascination, the swirls of red on white.
I was enchanted.
It was like Art!

My first ones.
My first victims.
Not going to forget them in a hurry.


Our savage’s journey isn’t over yet. 6. 😉

Fatal Encounter 4

Yes, another instalment. Tuck in!



Am I real?
Is there more to me?
Are you wondering why I’m like this?
Did I choose to be me?
I didn’t. I was human like you; once.
A long time ago.
I looked like you.
I shared your emotions.
I had my mama and papa, siblings too. I was the apple of my family’s eye. The youngest and prettiest child. ‘My pretty’ my mama would say lovingly as she brushed my unruly black hair with her worn out thistle comb.
I was also the most foolhardy. I mean, who leads a stranger  to their abode?
I did.
You see I was traipsing through the woods, humming a merry tune as I picked up some mushrooms for lunch, putting them into my basket.
“Those are deadly.” A gravelly voice suddenly said, breaking my reverie.
I had jumped in fright, spilling most of my harvest. My eyes widened in dismay and I quickly scrambled after the rolling ‘shrooms. The stranger appeared before me, silently sliding down the tree trunk he was squatting on.
“Let me help you.” he said and before I could voice my objection, began picking. I stopped and watched, amazed at how good and strong he looked.
“All done!” he had said, smiling at me.
I coloured slightly and hid my face shyly behind my hair.
“Thanks” I mumbled, picking up my basket and getting ready to leave.
His hand stopped me by the shoulder.
“Wait” he murmured.
I turned.
“I’m a little hungry you see. Haven’t eaten in a really long while. Do you think your family would mind if I dined with them?”
I had paused, my childish brain, thinking. I knew we didn’t really have enough but he had helped me and if mama had taught me one thing, it was to repay good with good.
“Well…” I began looking down, suddenly ashamed. “We don’t really have much.”
I heard him sigh softly and my head quickly shot up.
“..B..ut I’m sure mama won’t mind when i tell her you were kind to me!”
He grinned, thanking me profusely; and so, hand in hand, I came home with Destruction.

The shock.
The horror.
I watched my family die before me.
I watched my mama get cruelly penetrated by the most vile of instruments, other worldly.
All I had, taken away from me because of an act of kindness; human kindness.
By a sordid stroke of luck, he took me away, instead of eating me.
Maybe he was full.
My small body had been rigid with shock and fear, broking no resistance as he lifted me on his shoulder.
He took me to his abode, an abandoned house that had fallen into disrepair. I had no idea where I was. I was left to the mercy of hunger for days. I only woke up to a bowl of water every morning.
I cannot remember how I managed to survive but I remember his smiling face as he brought me flesh some days later, my first real meal.
Of course I had no idea what it was, other than the fact that it was deliciously roasted.
“What is it?” I asked after I was sated, my first sentence since my kidnapping.
He smiled at me “Flesh”
I didn’t retch. I think some part of me knew already that it was something bad.
He liked me.
I think he did anyway, I mean I’m alive aren’t I?

He liked me enough to use me.
So, I wasn’t for food; for sexual gratification.
I should have contemplated suicide, but no, I wanted to live.
I don’t know why I did really. Nothing was worth living for at that moment after all.
I was glad when he changed me.
My eyes lit up when he said he wanted me to be special.
I think I had already lost my mind then.

I had become tired of being human.

And that is how I turned out to be what I am.
The eternal hunger for flesh.
There is no fighting it.
There is no starving it.
I did try to eat animals when I got old enough to leave, to explore the world on my own. (Did I mention I stopped aging once I hit 21? I’ve been 21 for a very long time. Cool eh?)
Horrible, the taste of animals I mean.
How you enjoy steak is beyond me.
But humans; oh humans.
How do I describe the taste? Like a virgin’s first kiss. Like the first orgasm. Like heady, fine wine.
All these talks of food has made me hungry.
Need to go get nourished.
Before I leave, let me say this:
I was only 10 when all these happened.
You see, I can’t be blamed for being what I am.
Do remember to forgive me if I ever decide to hunt you down for food.
It’s not my fault.


5..tomorrow. See you then 😉

Fatal Encounter 3

Ok, this time, if you haven’t read 2, You need to before you continue this. 3 is like a continuation. 

That being said, enjoy!


I stare at my reflection in my ornately carved mirror; sitting in my boudoir like the princess of a gothic fairy tale with nothing but a black silk negligee on.

With gentle strokes, i brush my jet-black hair slowly; thinking, counting.
Why did I leave her alive?
10 strokes.
She was going to be meal, hence the white sheets.
Why did I stop?
‘I love you.’
20 strokes.
Her soft voice still rings in my head even after a week.
How can you love what you do not know?
Do I believe her?
I don’t know.
She is fun; but then, humans are always fun until its feeding time.
30 strokes.
Do I love her?
Yes…in my own way.
Same way humans keep pets or rear farm animals for slaughter; nothing too personal.
‘I love you’
I mouth these words to myself watching my lips as the shape them. I look odd saying that.
40 strokes.
She has constantly thought about me since our parting; I know.
I know what she thinks now; what she feels.
That mark you see, isn’t an ordinary one.
A thread that holds her life in a delicate balance it is; and it is in my hands.
50 strokes.
I think its time i paid my beautiful flower a visit.

She looks surprised. She hasn’t seen me since I left her that night. Did she think I’d never come back?
She looks briefly behind me, as if searching the shadows for something.
Ah, yes. I forgot that little bit about myself.
I tend to ‘open’ the eyes of my paramours.
“Can i come in?” I ask quietly.
“Sure” she moves out of the way, holding the door for me.
We sit down in the living room on different seats.
I watch her twiddle her thumbs nervously, unsure what to do.
“Come here” i say suddenly and she bolts to my side, sobbing and hugging.
“Shhh. It’s ok.”
She mutters something that sounds like “I’ve missed you” into my shirt.
I cradle her like a child.
“Are you hungry?” I whisper into her ear and watch her body language change.
She drops soft kisses on my neck, nodding.
I think she’s read my question wrongly (the thirsty wench!), but I’ve made up my mind.
I’ve decided to make her one of us.

I carried her up to her room and slowly undressed her in the dark, dropping tiny kisses on her skin.
I can feel her gaze, adoring.
I touch her forehead, and mutter a few words in the Olde Language.
She falls asleep.
I take a deep breath and shut my eyes, shedding my disguise and revealing my true self.
I open my eyes and touch her forehead, bringing her back to reality.
She opens her eyes slowly, uncertainly.
Then she sees me.
She pulls back in shock, covering her face.
I understand her fear.
My skin has shed its clothes, glowing red; my hair, a dark mass writhing with a life of its own.
My eyes, red like blood.
I probably look like the true depiction of the Devil right now.
I feel like laughing at her reaction.
Camon! I’m not that bad-looking.
I smile softly instead, pulling her hands away from her face, remembering to do it gently so i don’t break her bones.
“Look at me”
She stares eyes wide.
“Wha…t aare”
‘I wish you guys would stop asking me every time’ I think in my head.
“What you are about to become” I say instead, smiling.
Without a glance, I rip a portion of my skin out and present it to her.
She loves me, she will eat..wouldn’t she? This is the first true test of her love.
She stares at the steaming red flesh in horror, shaking her head.
“Eat!” I command a little forcefully.
She needs to do it quick!
She whimpers horribly, trying to get out of bed.
Just as I thought.
She didn’t love me.
The bitch!

Uncontrolled rage bubbles through me and with a swipe of my back hand at her neck, i decapitate her.
I maul her to pieces, every it of flesh, tearing into strips.
“You love me don’t you! Fickle human!”
I scream, vision tinged with blood as I turn muscles and bones to red pulp with my fists.
I cannot feed on her.
No, i would not feed on her.
She disgusts me.
I roll up her bit and pieces into the already bloodied sheet.
Bloody fickle human; no pun intended of course.

I calm down long enough to regain my earthly form.
I sigh as I rummage through her wardrobe for something to wear, in a haste to leave.
My clothes tend to melt off when i change form; not like I do it very often.
She would have been special, my green-eyed human.
I put the sheet containing her remains in a bag and haul it over my shoulder, an offering to the River Thames.
I slip out of her apartment quietly, blending into the shadows.
A sudden thought comes to mind.
What would her friends think?
Would she be missed?
They’d probably call the Police after they visit her apartment; her bed, stained with blood, a shocking sight.
I shrug.
She’s gone.
Many would take her place.
“Afterall, there are supposedly 7 billion of you on this planet.”
I grin fiercely, whistling a jaunty tune as I tread the shadows.


Fatal Encounter 2

Second instalment in the series. You don’t have to read the first to understand but if you haven’t, you just might want to.

Anyway, enjoy 🙂


Destinies are sometimes changed by those split-second decisions we take without thinking. Decisions that define life…or death. Running to the toilet to have a quick pee at the last-minute, missing your flight, and later finding out about the plane crash that could have taken you with it. Things like that. We never know what can come our way; we humans! We just allow these decisions shape th course of our existence.

How can i explain the split second decision i made?
Dear men, do not trust them; the beautiful ones!
She was a beautiful one; too beautiful.
Have you ever seen eyes so dark, so intense, you get lost staring into them? Those pupils with hidden depths that trap and swallow you once you dare look into them? Long, jet-black hair parted at the centre, framing that gorgeous face. Rosebud lips naturally pouted, made to be lusted after.
Porcelain doll.
So perfect; So fragile.
I was unable to breathe, afraid a little exhalation would break the trance and prove the image to be a mirage.
Oh! If i had left the grocery store earlier!
If I hadn’t missed the bus!
If the nasty old lady had moved her trolley faster on the pedestrian crossing.
If -so many Ifs- maybe we wouldn’t have met.
Maybe my mundane and vain existence would have remained the same.
“Hello” she had said in a friendly voice when she noticed my covert glances.
My mouth had gone dry.
‘She just spoke to me!’ My mind screamed excitedly.
We began talking.
Magic. I took her to my house and made mindless love to her.
A woman i just met!
She had me; hook, line and sinker.

Her name alone brings to mind that slender, flexible body; her heat.
Instant arousal.
She comes every night; same routine.
Mindless sex.
Then she’s gone like an imagined gust of wind.
She invades my day dreams; my dreams at night.
I imagine i see her everywhere.
Did i call my boss Zanda yesterday?
I think i did.
Yes, it is that bad.
Somewhere in my subconscious, i accept the fact that I’ve lost my soul.
I know she isn’t human; and this isn’t just a flight of fancy.
I know.
She has opened my eyes to another side of the world best left alone and I’m not sure if I’m ready to come to terms with it.
Suddenly the shadows aren’t merely shadows.
I think i see things.
She knows that I know. How many times have I asked her?
“Just what are you?”

She just smiles and replies “You don’t wanna know”

But I do.

This night, I wait for her.
I slipped a copied key of my apartment into her hands before she made her hasty retreat, telling her to come anytime she liked.
I hear the key rattle on the lock and my heart skips several beats in excitement. My mouth goes dry and I swallow a gob of saliva to moisten my patchy throat. I hear her light footsteps making her way to my bedroom.
I quickly remove my underwear and wait, naked.
She comes in and flicks the switch, bringing light to my dark room, and my world.
“Natalya.” she whispers, rolling her tongue over the ‘l-y‘ in that seductive way that makes me temporarily hot and insane.
Something’s different.
By now, we should be entangled in the sheets.
“Baby you ok?”
She doesn’t reply.
She just stands there, resting at the door, staring at me.
She throws a bag on the bed. I pick it up and look in. White sheet?
“Change the sheets sweetheart.”
I nod and get to work, suddenly excited about this new change. What does she have in mind? My naked body is flushed with excitement and arousal, breasts swinging like pendulums as i tuck in the last side.
“Lie down”
I obey.
The chill air in the room plays on my areola, making them pucker with goose bumps; nipples painfully erect. I see movements at the periphery of my vision and a second later, i feel a depression on the bed.
She stares at me with those liquid death eyes of hers, using the nail on her index finger to trace a light path around my body to my abdomen. I close my eyes in delight and squirm, eagerly waiting to feel that finger go lower…and deeper.

I open my eyes sharply and watch as the skin of my abdomen breaks, leaving traces of blood in it wake. I look at her sharply and she stares back, daring me to scream.
I put my head back down, suddenly resigning myself to my fate.
Am i surprised?
I’m not sure.
Love is deadly, after all.
I’m absurdly willing to die, knowing she was the one that ended my life.
“I love you” i whisper as my last prayer.
She stops.
It takes me several seconds to realise i won’t be dying.
Without a word, she leaves me, door closing silently at her wake.
I sit up.
Was it what i said?
I know i should be happy for being spared.
What is this absurd feeling?
Anger? Abandonment?
Tears prick my eyes as i quickly don a shirt.
‘A bit too late for modesty’ a cynical part of me comments as I push my hands through the arm holes.
I walk to my bathroom to wash my face. Eyes red, like my hair. Green eyes watery and sad. I raise my shirt to look at the injury she inflicted on me.
It isn’t bleeding.
I probe the opening, gasping at how deep she cut me.
I should be bleeding profusely.
The cut seems to be darkening and clotting on its own.
By the time I’m done drying my face, i check my latest incision.
Later in the night, the meaning of the mark would dawn on me.
She has marked me as hers.
She has made me part of her; whatever she is.
I’m part of the dark.


Yes, tomorrow brings you 3. 🙂

Fatal Encounter- Premier

Hello! Yes, this is a story! Well not a story, but a series. I wrote this some years ago. It is a series that would run for a week…or so. Good luck with making any sense out of this.

Tip: For easier reading, see every part as a story on it’s own, and not a chronological continuation 😀

Well, here it is!


You bumped into me as you were rushing to beat the crowd to the train headed towards Bank Station.
“So sorry!” you said turning back to see if I was offended. I was not. Not many people apologise after brushing roughly against others. It was rush hour; minds are fixed homeward; nobody really cares. But you cared enough to turn and apologise. I smiled at you, mouthing the words, “It’s Ok” and i noticed your eyes stared at me in what seemed to be wonder.

You are jolted to your senses by an irate worker who isn’t taking kindly to your stopping in front of moving crowd. I wave and pass you by and I feel your stare at my back. The train arrives and I jump, using my slender frame as an advantage to get on the rapidly filling coach. I step on shoes with my stiletto and I turn to apologise with a chagrined look. It’s you. “Guess its my turn to say sorry”. You smile at me.
“It’s no problem. Crazy day. Seems everyone left work the same time”.
I nod non-committal, and plug on my headphones, clicking on Disturbed’s latest album Asylum. You stare at me and I stare right back at you. You want to ask my name but you’re not sure how to start. I don’t make it any easier for you, even though a little smile’s tugging at the side of my mouth. Your lips move and I pause Draiman to listen.
“I said, you’re smiling. What’s funny?”
I stay silent for a while, staring at you speculatively. Your pale cheeks turn slightly red, blushing at my intense scrutiny. Your grey eyes twinkle in mischief and you try to maintain a straight face, biting your cheeks to stop yourself from laughing..uncomfortably.
I like you; You’re a good-looking man.
“You’re funny”
Your eyebrows knit a little in confusion.
“I am? How?” I love your accent. South-east Midlands.
“You want to talk to me but have no idea how to start. I find that funny.” I smile widely revealing white teeth against my red-painted lips.
You run your hand through your mop of dark hair and smile guiltily.
“Right you are. So…Fancy a drink at the Pub or something? We can get to..umm..know each other…” you peter out, uncertain on how to continue.
I smile again and point at the display board on the coach.
“Next stop’s West Silvertown. My stop. A pub around the corner. Sure”. I watch your eye light up in surprise. You did not expect me to readily agree.
How cute.

We get off and i take you to my favorite pub. You hold the door for me as i come in. You even pull out a high-backed chair for me.
A gentleman to boot.
Two pints of Lager, and you’re freely talking about your job as a Consultant at a firm at Canary Wharf.
Your name is Albert Digby and you’re hot as hell. I nurse my pint of ale, watching your vivid facial expressions.
Fascinating man.
Time to make my move.
“Fancy some Moroccan coffee? Got them at home. Fresh brew.”
“Are you asking me to your home?”
You cute grin.
I nod smiling back and suddenly, i lean forward to peck you on the cheek.
“I like you” I whisper in my best husky voice and i feel your temperature rise. We quickly leave the pub and head to my house, a short walk.
“Come in.” Your eyes widen at the sight of my apartment.
“Wow! Nice place! Nice art! Your pay check must be fat!” You gush laughing.
Yes, it is.
Money tends to mount up when left long enough.
“You never mentioned where you work. Come to think of it, you havent really told me much about yourself except your name.”
I give you my rogue smile and usher you into the sitting room.
“We have all the night…don’t we?”
I watch you mentally cancel whatever plans you had before and relax
“Sure we do, Zanda”
I quickly make do my promise and minutes later, we are seating on my love seat, trying to keep a respectable distance.
I tell you little about myself, my work as a PR for a law firm. My recent trip to Nairobi. Soon, we fall under a spell. You drop your mug on the side table and draw closer, planting a kiss on my lips tentatively.
I do not draw away.
You take this as encouragement to continue and soon enough, expensive coffees forgotten, our lips are locked as our tongues play out a dance. I break the kiss and give you the ‘hold on’ sign as i rush upstairs.
I come down and I laugh in delight as your jaws drop. I’ve changed clothes and this time, I’m wearing a ‘barely there’ chemise. I know what you can see. That rouge smile again. I crook a finger at you and watch you get up, like a controlled robot.

“Come into my arms” i whisper as i slowly allow one strap of my shift to slip, revealing the contour of my left breast. You have this smile on you face that speaks fo itself: Bingo.
You meet me on the stairs and I lean in to kiss you.
I let my teeth graze you and you take my lips between your dentures, pulling softly. Your hands rove greedily, uncertain of what to do first: strip me or feel me.
Your body heat is so distracting; i can’t resist anymore.
I take my first bite off your cheek.
It takes a few seconds for my action to register somewhere in your brain.
You stop kissing me in shock.
You see the piece of flesh i have, dangling your eyes widen in terror.
I lift you suddenly on my shoulder and make my way to the bedroom; Amazonian Queen and her Prize.
You squirm and scream, trying to get out of my unnaturally strong grasp.
You’re too weak; too human.
I dump you unceremoniously on the bed, cuffing your limbs. I smile at you and for the first time, you notice that the slightly crazy eyes i had aren’t looking so cute anymore. I take my long dark hair and weave it to a plait, getting it out of my way.
Your eyes watch my every movement, like a cornered rabbit; whimpering from pain and fear.
I lick my red lips slowly and watch you watch me.
“What are you?? Vampire?”
Your accent sounds even sexier when you’re afraid.
“Nah. I’m too cute.” i quip smiling. I see you don’t like my sense of humour. I can’t help the laughter bubbling through me and i let it out.
Sighing in relief, I strip you down to the last, complimenting you on your choice of underwear as an after thought.
Emporio Armani.
Looks better on you than it did on Beckham, i say.
Despite your fear, you do have an impressive erection.
Naughty little boy.
No distractions.
I kneel, keeping your torso between my legs, and close my eyes.
“Wh..what are doing?”
“Saying my prayers” i reply, eyes still closed.
I open them and with relish i carve my first chunk of flesh.
“As the Japanese would say, Itadakimasu!”
You scream mindlessly in pain.
I can’t help but get terribly aroused.
Focus Zanda.
I make sure you watch me eat you alive…until you lose consciousness.
Huge appetite.
I haven’t eaten in a while.
I stare unseeingly at my blood stained white sheet, picking strips of muscle off bones.
Is it too early to wonder when I’d be having my next meal?


The second instalment would be coming out tomorrow. 🙂

The Woman in Black: a review?


This is not a story! Hold on…am I saying this too often? 😥 This isn’t a funny post either. Let’s just say this is a sort of Movie Review. Never done any before so I might be VERY unconventional in my approach.

The movie in question is : The Woman in Black.

Watched it yesterday with my brother, who by the way was watching his first horror movie in a cinema. Wimp. -_-. Before yesterday, we checked the reviews for the movie, and frankly, they were bleak. Many criticised the lead actor Daniel Radcliffe, saying things like “The role was to big for him”. I was really reluctant to see the movie but my brother who owns the only mumu button I have, pressed and pressed it. It worked when he said the magic words; “I will pay for my own ticket popcorn and drink”. Yes, I shouted a loud Hurrah and agreed to go.

Fast forward to yesterday. We were late. Movie was to start 4.30pm and we were just getting on the bus by 4.30pm. We were almost running to the cinema when we alighted from the bus. We purchased our tickets and all and ran into the screen room 2. Movie had already started so it was dark. I tripped and fell down. -_-. I picked up what was left of my dignity and sat down. Brought out my drink from my bag (because I refuse to waste £4.60 buying a drink at the box office when a can of coke is £0.60p. I’m Igbo mehn. That is a Yoruba behaviour -_-) and settled down to watch the movie.

That is the background. Now, the movie.

I would not reveal any spoilers (go and watch it!).

First thing I’d say is, the critics were not fair to Daniel Radcliffe. (For those who don’t know, he is The One Who Lived. The Chosen One. Harry Potter in the Harry Potter movies (which I must add, were horrible compared to the books. Why was Voldemort looking overfed in the last installment??). So yeah, you know the guy. The truth is, he didn’t really have much to say in the movie. The movie was more of the sound effects, smokes and shadows. Judging him therefore as wooden, was unfair. I’d have to admit his ‘I’m scared!’ face looked more like ‘I’m scared?’. Yes, there is a difference you donuts. His delivery may have been stronger perhaps but I really think he was ok. There were times I found myself wondering when he’d wave a wand and do some magic; then I remembered I wasn’t watching him as Potter but as a guy named Arthur. If i was to rate his acting out of 10, I’d give him a 6. Ok I’d be kind and add a 0.5 for being cute.

The plot: When my brother told me the movie was adapted from a book, first thing that came to mind was ‘BULLSHIT’. Movie adaptations suck (apart from Lord of The Rings. Reading the whole series in one go gave me a headache. At one point, I had no idea WTF Tolkein was on about). Because I have not read the book, I cannot say if this was another run-of-the-mill-bullshit adaptation. Because I’m kind, I’d give a very brief preview. Arthur (Radcliffe) basically got this house he has to sell and stuff in some village.The village people are superstitious folks (like my village people. I can write this because they can’t read. :D). The house’s got bad history so they begged him not to go there an all. They won’t say why. Arthur did strong-head and remained. Then he saw the Woman in Black and things began to happen. Children dying. blahblah. It’s some guy who’s son died that helped him. His wife claimed that her dead son was inside her and her husband thought she was crazy. The wife then explains, in the boy’s voice, what was happening. blahblah. Go watch the movie jo!

It was very Victorian. I loved the picture quality. Very dark and dreary. The scenery was very apt. Sound effects were on-point. People kept screaming in the cinema hall (and i kept laughing. :’D). Shadows. Lots of shadows. Your mind is kind of forced to complete the picture which is what contributed to its ‘Scare factor’. I can’t help but feel that without the tricks of lights and all, the movie would have fallen flat. Not sure if this is a good or bad thing. One of the scariest moments was when Arthur spends the night at the house. The scene of the rocking chair..Lawdy, that was freaky I wouldn’t lie. There was something I loved at that point. The room had loads of stuffed toys in it; monkeys, hares,etc. When Arthur was passing them with the candle, the light was reflected in their black eyes and as he moved, it almost looked like the dolls were alive, with yellow pupils moving. I almost got up from my seat and started clapping but since I’m not Nigerian (-__-), I stuck to nodding in approval. That was just too cool!

Overrall, I did enjoy the movie! Wasn’t horrific but yeah, it had its creepy moments. Plus, watching my brother freaked out was just too hilarious! }:D

Out of 10, I’d give the movie a 7!

Ok, my boss just asked me what I was typing….and I said i was finishing my course work. x_x

This is where I draw my curtain but before I leave, I want to say I’ve taken up a lil Photography (I’m an amateur o!) and I’m not using one of those fancy things awon boys and gehs are hanging on their necks. Oh no. I’m using my Samsung Galaxy S2 camera (don’t laugh at me 😦 ). I’m still trying to work on a story for the blog. If it takes any longer, I’d just put up some of my snapshots for washing. (Notice i didn’t say criticisms. :P)

That is all!

So long!

Musings of a Bored Somebody

Let me start by saying, THIS IS NOT A STORY.
Ok it is a story but not fiction.
Argh! Whatever!

Anyway, I just felt like writing something very akin to blogposts about lifestyle and all.
I was washing plates and pots on Friday (as usual, slave things :'() and I remembered a story my friend told me. Hilarious something. Decided I’d share as God loves a cheerful giver (I have a Charity btw…only £s thanks).

So, here it goes.
My friend, I’d call K. had this friend; a guy. They were pretty close and there was the ‘chemistry’ a.k.a sexual tension between them.
One day he texts her, saying his grandma died and he needed comforting. K is a really really kind girl (which is why she’s my friend) and she sensed his loneliness and sadness. She went to his house to lend him a shoulder to cry on.
She went into his room because he was on the bed weeping and they cuddled..and you know how cuddles progress (sometimes). From hugs to rubbing noses to ‘mwah’ then ‘mweeh’ then ‘mmmmweeeh’.
Whatever, you get my drift.
So yeah, they were wrapped up in their passion. Bra aka brezzie (Igbo kwenu!) came off and before the adoration of my friend’s awesome E-cup boobs could begin, her phone rang.
(Somebody shout HALLELUYAH!)
Yeah, it was her father and he needed her at home so she apologised to him for the whole ‘shenanigan’ and left.
Some days later, the dude called her, sounding like the world has ended. Dude really loved his granny sha!
K as usual went to his rescue.
On her way to his house, she meets his sister and K being K, hugged her, giving her condolences.
That was when the sister said, and I quote:
“Umm…my grandma died 10years ago”

K was baffled and told her about her brother.
The sister confirmed his stupidity by saying, and I quote:
“Don’t mind him. The boy’s stupid”

Then K pieced the jigsaw puzzle in her head.
The boy only wanted the sympathy so that the empathy derived from the sympathy would bring about a synchronisation of the flesh.
A.k.a, he just wanted to set P and his dead grandmother was just the perfect excuse.

Of course, K felt like her kindness was used against her and got angry. She didn’t go back home.
Nooo…that would make the story boring.
She went to his house and his room.
She kept quiet as he was going on and on.
Then he started kissing her.

That was when K gave him a slap to rival that of the HolySpirit.
The shock of the slap of course destroyed every kind of konji in his system.
He was vexed and was raking.
“Why did you slap me!”
Then K revealed the truth to the nigga. Seeing as his lie was exposed, he apologised shamefaced.
Said he liked her but didn’t know how to tell her.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
K, being K, forgave him but they sure didn’t synchronise any flesh.

And that was where the story was cut short because I was dying of laughter and we got sent out of the library for noise-making (by a librarian whom we believed was racist because she always sent out the black people for noise making…even though we made the most noise -_-)
Ladies and gentlemen, Konji na confam baskard.
So, yeah…guys…just how far will you go to set that P?
Why evuls??
Why? Why? Why?

As the critically-acclaimed ‘Valentine’s day’ approaches, many okunrins and obinrins (boys and girls) are booking for their dose of sexual healing and sanctification.
To those who can’t afford the new Blackberry Porsche, 50k dinner and other expensive ‘leg-opening’ gifts, what would be your excuse to set that P?
If you have used an excuse to set any game, what was it?
Please share in the comment section.
I’m bored and I need a laugh.

Tee Hee!

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