Category: insight


The Incident with Segun


Preparing for class on Monday morning and suddenly, I remembered Segun, a classmate in Primary 6. It was at this point that it dawned on me that after over 12 years, I could still remember what happened…or what almost happened that afternoon.

It was another afternoon in class and our class teacher Mr Irabor was going through some Mathematics with us. I remember the sweltering room, windows open because for some odd reason, the A/C in class had refused to come on . And thank God for that! Who knows, we might not have been able to hear the screams that alerted all of us.
“Excuse me Sir, can I use the toilet?”
Those were not his exact words but they were something to that effect and with a nod of the head as approval, Segun left the class.
I will give the briefest history on Segun; he was the quiet one in class. I wasn’t exactly gregarious myself but at that age, I always tended to play and hang out more with the boys.
He never played football; or I never played football with him and that was saying something considerng the fact I’d played with almost all the boys in class.
At that age and at that point, if someone had asked me to tell them about a boy who was probably in my class from Primary 1 Yellow, I would have been stumped.
It was after the incident I learnt his full name which I’d leave out for confidential purposes.

Back to class, we were still trying to fan ourselves with our hands and papers when we heard a faint thud. We had no idea what had happened, too busy being bored.
What snapped our necks to attention was the scream of a woman; a scream that was echoed by screams of children.
Lesson forgotten, we all ran to the open window, the nearest people scanning for the source of the screams, the fartherst, struggling to make it near the window .
“Everybody sit down!” our tacher barked at us and we obeyed with alacrity. Huffing, I remember he dropped his book and walked out of the class, probably going to find out what was happening.
“Can you see anything?” I remember someone asking a student who sat by the window, the craned their necks and after a few seconds shook their heads.
We decided to wait for our teacher, the only person who’d be able to tell us what was happening.
We noticed other teachers leaving their classes, intent too to find out about the screams.
We waited.
The headmaster walked in a few minutes later with a stern expression on his face, threatning any student who thought about stepping out of cass with expulsion.
Worry mixed with curiosity, we talked in hushed tones, as if trying not to drag any unwanted attention to our class.
The tension built up, fidgeting eleven year olds in their seats.
Our teacher walked in later with an inscrutable expression on his face. Class continued as usual and no one dared to ask him just what had happened.
Minutes stretched to almost an hour and soon, we got tired of waiting to know what had happened. We’d know at the end of the day anyway.

New filtered in after class.
Segun had jumped from the window of the boy’s toilet. The toilet was on the third floor.
There was a hushed silence of disbelief and fear. I think someone actually cried.
“He is possessed” a girl murmured. Apparently, a rumour was going round that a voice had commanded him to jump.
The more creative minds painted a scenario where he was pushed out of the window by a cleaner for soiling the place. Better still, he was pushed out by another student after a fight. The accepted story was that he was trying to sneak out of school and didn’t know we were on the third floor. That seemed the most plausible.
What we didn’t think of or chose not to think about what the fact that maybe, just maybe Segun jumped out of that toilet window to kill himself.
You see, suicide was so unfathomable for a Nigerian and a youngster that I only got exposed to the idea from reading Western novels.

Killing ourselves was something we indulged in our thinking maybe after a particularly bad session of flogging from our parents. We’d imagine dying just as the final whip lash was administered, somehow dying and simultaenously enjoying the sight of shock on our parent’s faces when they realised the error of their discipline-friendly ways.
We imagined ourselves croning in delight, knowing they’d carry our lifeless body in their hands, weeping and promising never to flog us again
The idea was to suddenly come back to life and be treated like royals for the rest of our lives.
That was as far as we thought when it came to death.
But Segun didn’t go for the dramatic pose.
He wanted the real deal.
He wanted to die.
I remember how scared I was that evening and the next day, the hush that enveloped the whole of Primary 6.
Was there a special assembly the next morning? I cannot rememeber.
All we knew at that point was that he was alive.
He fell from the third floor and landed downstairs where the nursery classes were situated but he managed to survive.
We thanked God privately for that. He only suffered a broken arm.
Was the incident swept under the carpet? Most likely.
I vaguely remember Segun coming back to school with a cast on his broken arm.
It was then i tried to study and know him. All i could get out of him was his name.
Sadly, my memories after that are a bit hazy.
Did he graduate with us? I doubt it. I think he finally left the school.
Expulsion?

Monday morning, and suddenly Segun comes to mind.
Walking to the bus stop, a question springs to mind.
“Where is Segun?”
Is he still alive?
Or did he manage to complete the deed he tried to do?
Has he finally killed himself?

——————————————————————————

Based on a true story.


Video-Game-Fallout-2459

The world ended and we didn’t notice.

It wasn’t as the prophets had said; with trumpeting blasts and floating bodies in the skies, raptured.

If it had ended that way,  wouldn’t we have been better off?

Our world fell apart around our ears and we never noticed.

Earthquakes, droughts, famine and we never noticed.

It wasn’t happening to us; We forgot about it.

The Earth sagged in fatigue and yawned.

Her gaping mouth swallowed remote cities.

Sinkholes. Floods.

Japan was far away.  Apparently, ChristChurch wasn’t even a name of a church!

It didn’t matter anyway because they were far away.

Wars intensified;  tribal, religious.

We sat in our moral couches, condemning acts of violence;

Forgetting everything the next day.

It didn’t matter. What is Yemen anyway? An Asian cuisine?

The Earth’s knee got weak and she shook, unsteady.

Buildings collapsed in China; In Bangladesh.

They’re populous. They’d get by. Life moves on.

We woke up to news of tornadoes and tsunamis.

We did our Samaritan duties and donated.

We thank whatever deity we wanted for our safety.

We forgot about it.

The Earth was weak and her waters were poisoned.

Some drank and died inside; moral decadence

School shootings; Drive-by shootings; Cinema hall shootings.

We watched on tv, from the safety of our homes,

The wide, deranged eyes of the deadened.

Their frothing mouths as they spewed hate.

We blamed it on Something; Race. Religion. Video Games.

We forgot about it.

Then it came to our streets.

Our neighbor was shot by a man who didn’t like Pakistanis.

We were shocked.

The next day saw revenge butcherings in broad daylight light.

We stood outside for the first time and gazed at ourselves in dismay.

“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned”

The world ended a long time ago and we never noticed.

We hid our heads in sand, believing ourselves to be safe.

The Earth died and is decaying.

She falls apart piece by piece and more cities disappear.

The wonders of our modern worlds are going.

The Leaning Tower at Pisa finally fell.

The Pyramids disappeared.

Whatever happened to our Lady Liberty?

The World ended long ago; how come we never noticed?

The Earth is dead and with her, we die.

Now, we wait for our turn on the guillotine.

“Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned”

*********************************

(Image culled from The Princess In Another Castle)

—————————————–

This strayed into my head some hours ago, due to recent events.
Decided to write as the words came so pardon the rambling.
I’ve always loved the poem The Second Coming by WB Yeats so couldn’t resist throwing it in.
Wanna know something funny?
I think the World ended a long time ago.

 

Stakes


Hey!
Dionysus is here to take us all on a ride.
Sit tight!
————————————————————-

STAKES

Tell me what it means to die, for I cannot tell if I am alive. The wind glides through the hair on my skin and massages my pores.
The streets are never quiet; vehicles always screaming at the top of their lungs.
I smell the litter of waste and I taste the numbness of my soul. I got my last cash and I’m going in for a gamble.
Life is all about choices …or is it?
Is life not better if there was no such thing as having to choose? In between the alternatives, I see no light, no breath of fresh air.
Both paths ultimately lead to my misery
I change my last cash to coins and I am ready for my last encounter with ‘Chance’.
I see 3 slot machines right in front of me. Written on the first one..‘FAME WITH PAIN’..
Written on the second one.. ‘ALONE WITH PLEASURE’..
Written on the third one.. ‘PERFECTLY MEDIOCRE’..
I look at the 3 options and a plethora of thoughts flood my head. I look at the coins in my hand and not only do I have to make this difficult decision, I also have to gamble. This means that even after I choose to follow 1 out of these 3 fucked up choices, I am not still sure of getting there.
I insert a chip into ‘FAME WITH PAIN’.. I pull the lever and the apparatus in the machine starts to roll.
The first one shows a bag of money, the second one shows legs and red high heels, the third one shows a skull with two bones underneath..
5 coins left.. I insert another coin inside FAME WITH PAIN, Yacht/ Yacht / Cuban Cigar..
4 coins left.. I tell myself maybe FAME WITH PAIN isn’t for me or is it? What if I had more coins and kept playing? I used to have a lot more coins before but I gambled and lost it all. What if I just focused all my coins on 1 machine instead? Would I have gotten it? I guess I will never know
I insert a coin into ALONE WITH PLEASURE.. The apparatus rolls and the first thing that comes up is a Book. The second thing that shows is XXX. The third thing that shows is Drugs.
3 coins left… Damn.. I try again with ALONE WITH PLEASURE.. Facebook / Headphones / Food
I’m running out of coins and I’m getting anxious.
I wasn’t this anxious and restless when I had 6 coins.
I feel uneasy and tense, like karma is against me.
I feel I should take my last 2 coins and fade away into oblivion but again, that voice keeps telling me, “THis is the One, This is the One”..
PERFECTLY MEDIOCRE is the last machine I am left with and another voice tells me “Do I really want this”.
Still another voice tells me “If you don’t try, you can never win”.
Why should I try to be something less than the nothing that I am?
Fuck it..
*Inserts Coin into PERFECTLY MEDIOCRE*
Office / Marriage / School
*Inserts Last Coin into PERFECTLY MEDIOCRE*
Golf / Golf / Television
NO! I’m out of coins!.. I don’t fit into FAME WITH PAIN, neither do I fit in to ALONE WITH PLEASURE OR PERFECTLY MEDIOCRE.. I’m lost, an outcast, ostracized..
 NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!..
But wait…. I look at the casino and then a sudden flash of truth hits me right in the middle of my forehead; An epiphany!
I see the slot machines standing on the Casino floor. I see other people gambling. I see them smiling even though I cannot hear what they are saying. I am alone, no one notices me.
I see all these things and they exist in this big nothingness inside the casino. The people are there because of the big nothing that surrounds the place.
I am nothing therefore I am bigger than something.
I live underground and like a thief, I come out only when I need something from society. When I’m done, I go back underground, to my state of nothingness.
I smash the 3 slot machines with my fist and everybody pauses to offer me ‘the stare’.
Ever done something bad and then people stand still and look at you without blinking? What is the aim of that?
Am I meant to feel threatened by your glance?
I zip down and start peeing on the slot machines and they start to look away as if in shame before security comes to throw me out.
As I sit on the floor outside the casino, I realise something very profound. All those people who saw me break the slot machines and pee on them, what do you think they’d talk about when they leave the casino?
I stimulate their boring lives.
I’d be that ‘crazy guy that peed on the floor’ and they would all label me crazy but deep down inside, covered under layers and layers of repression, they all wished they were as free as me to do what I just did.
I am not free but they think I am.
I ain’t crazy but they think I am.
I am a slave.
I am a slave to nothing.
They are a slave to something.
Nothing holds me captive and whatever I do, I feel the need to retreat back to nothing.
I am indebted to nothing like Stockholm syndrome.
—————————————————————————————–
Interesting read for me.
Now a question. If you ad to choose between Fame/Pain, Alone/Pleasure and Perfectly Mediocre, what would you go for and why?
Let’s here it!
And a big thank you to Dionysus as always!

We’d be back on Friday with a story from yours truly, ME!
He He He.

On Africa


Hey!
So, I wrote this last year but wasn’t sure of the right time (and place) to put it up but seeing as it’s a Monday, (and I love it when we think on Monday), I decided to proverbially FUCK IT and post it up here and today!
These are two stories which are allegories based on Africa and the African mentality.
Enjoy!

ON AFRICA

The Leader nodded his head. “This is great!” he said as he commissioned his new project.
His followers nodded too.
“Great!” they echoed.
The people nodded reluctantly.
“Great.” they muttered.
They were after all afraid of the Leader and dared not oppose him.
Not after what happened to some of the so called rebels.
It was fine and great.

A child, unaccompanied by his parents walked past the gathering. He stopped and stared in amazement.
Thinking it was a joke, he burst into fits of giggles.
“No it’s not great Baba! It’s Shit!” he yelled, pointing at the project. “Big heap of Shit! Shit with ribbons but still Shit!”

The Leader was silent, embarrassed. He glared at his aides standing by his side, bemused and with alacrity, they moved towards the child.
“Go away from here! Get out! Are you mad?”
They kicked dust at him, chasing him around. Thinking it was a game, the child laughed as he ran in circles with the aides, chanting “Shit! Shit!”
The people tried to hide their amusement. Men bit their cheeks to stops smiles from blooming on their faces. Women covering their faces with their colourful wrappers, soft laughs muffled.
The mother of the child came and took the child away, afraid.
“Stupid child!” she said, slapping him and dragging him home by his ears.

Silence reigned and order was restored.
The Leader looked at the people and pointed at a man.
“I saw him laugh. Take him away”
The people were silent as the pleading man was dragged away by two of the aides.
Rubbing his hands, the Leader grinned and looked back at the project.
“This is great!” The Leader said again, his smile, daring anyone to argue.
No one did.

******************************

A mouse looked into a mirror.
“Surely, I’m as good as an elephant. I have a tail and I have four legs. Chichichichi
He had no tusks of ivory but that didn’t bother him.
“I have sharp teeth to make up for that. Chichichichi”
He had been told an old tale about an elephant’s fear for mice.
He believed it wholeheartedly and with confidence, he decided to let the elephant know who was boss.
“Na me be de baddest. Chichichichi”
He had 31 swags after all; a pulsing G.

And so the mouse went into the cage of the elephant.
He laughed to himself as he watched the ‘clumsy animal’ wave his trunk like an ‘imbecile’.
Chichichichi! Eysss! Big for nothing! Turn this side!”
The ‘clumsy’ elephant turned at the sound and like an ‘imbecile’ it traipsed around its cage, looking for the source of the voice he was sure he must have heard.
Not locating it, the elephant decided he imagined it and went about its business.
The mouse twitched in death, crumpled beneath one giant limb of the elephant.
Chichichichi…

———————————————————————–

So rather that explain what I meant with these stories, I would rather you did that!
Would appreciate it if you give me your understanding or input or whatever you got on these!
And I hope it gets you thinking!

On Wednesday. We got Dionysus in the house!!
Stick around!
Jana!

Visions


Hey guys!
Decided to be more regular with stories and poetry (and the rest) SO HELP ME GOD!
Today, we’d be having a new guest poet who decided to share his work with me for which I am grateful as they’re extremely good!
@Bayo_Adesanya!

___________________________________________________________________

VISIONS

Visions

Roving, drifting

Wondering with the mind,

Seeing.

What do I see?

Oh, just a man, well past his prime,

Realizing his past errors,

Roads he could have taken, should have taken

But didn’t.

The enormity hits him like thunder and lightning,

Lightning and thunder…

First the illumination,

Then the bone-jarring realization

That he alone is to blame.

To accept this is his salvation

To reject it…

Seeing.

What do I see?

A man,

Worked hard all his life,

Educatedandallthat,

But has he gained what he dreamt of,

Worked for?

Etched in the lines upon his brow

The harshness of the passing years.

He could not have pictured this future,

His future…

Hard work, perseverance and honesty

The three cornerstones of his life.

He must be the only one left still building

With these three.

Everyone else has changed.

Society rests strongly on selfish supports,

One for one and all for none.

There is no longer good or bad,

Black or white, wrong or right.

Just like day and night

Not two different times but a continuum.

One slowly giving birth to the other,

Both merging into one….

Right is wrong and wrong is right.

He cannot accept this

And herein lies his poverty,

The root of his despair.

***************************************

Loved the first time I read it. Still love it!
I hope it gets you thinking like it had me do.
Do share your thoughts aNd show some love!

Once again, a big thank you to Mr. B and I do hope you’d write more! 😛

On unrelated events, a big congratulations to the Super Eagles of Nigeria for winning the African Cup of Nations.
Proudly Nigerian, in sickness and in health till my British Passport do us part!

Tee Hee!

Palet, Deliverer


Hi.
I know, crucify me. I haven’t been writing awhile now.
This would be my first proper story since October last year and hence, my first story of the year.
Hope you enjoy it!

————————————————————————————————————————————-

PALET, DELIVERER

He hid himself in the shadow of a tall column, momentarily whispering a prayer of thanks for Sethis, the Pharaoh, and his obsession with the odd pillars. When he heard the last shuffling of the feet of worshippers in the temple and the last whispers as acolytes left, he made ready to move. Silence descended and he slowly padded on his bare feet, walking familiar steps as he had every day since he began to come in here.

In his head, he counted until his feet met the first raised dais. He climbed the stairs until he got to the top, facing the altar. He sidestepped the altar and walked into an inconspicuous room at the side. Inside the room lay what he came to find.

His heart thudded in his head and his blood rushed with the euphoria that came with doing a bad deed.

He knelt blindly, feeling with his hands for the tell-tale shape of the box. When his hands brushed past an oblong object, he retraced his movements till he touched the box.

Yes. This one.

His fingers caressed the symbol of the ibis engraved.

He put his hands into the shift he wore, slipping out a key he had early pilfered from the Chief Priest. He inserted the key and twisting, he opened the box. He dipped his hand in, brushing away the slips of silk used to cover the item he was after.

At the first feel of solidity, he smiled and using both hands, he brought out the tablets of gold. His breath hitched at their surprisingly heavy weight. He stood, holding the tablets to his chest and not as quick as before, he made his way out of the room. He gingerly walked past the altar, to the stairs and down. So intent on keeping his footing, he didn’t notice the guard creeping up behind him.

“Halt!” The Egyptian guard shouted and he stopped abruptly, his heart suddenly thumping harder with adrenaline.

“Who are you? What are you carrying?”

The man stood still, mind calculating. Making up his mind, he set his burden down slowly.

The guard shifted, his stance showing he was ready for whatever happened.

“I said who are you!”

“At ease” the man whispered and the guard gasped his name in recognition. He relaxed and was suddenly wondering what had just happened when a sharp pain bloomed at the side of his head. He collapsed, and the man caught his dropping body before he thudded and alerted more people. He put his hands under his nose to check if he was still alive. Ascertaining he was dead, he picked up his burden and walked away.

He did not notice the second guard who had heard his name said and seconds later, watch his comrade get killed. The guard quickly left to report.

The man, hiding through shadows finally got to his room and with a thud, he shut the door. He dumped his load on the bed.

Walking to the table, he kindled a lamp and smiled softly at the golden tablets, glowing beautifully.

Ramoses’ eyes glinted as he eyed the Sacred Book of Thoth.

——————————————————————————————–

He crept out of the room, making sure he had hidden the tablets properly. Breathing deeply, he decided to take a stroll, allowing himself to be guided by his feet. The guards posted to the palace at night were used to the late-night strolls of the Princess’s son. With a small bow, they acknowledged him and returning their bows with a wave, he walked into the night, his nose instantly flaring at the mixed smell of spices to drive the Nile’s blood-sucking insects back and burning wood.

He walked aimlessly, allowing his fingers touch stones and pillars, reminiscing. Unconsciously, he walked through the Israelites’ quarters, deserted. They weren’t ones to hang around at night. It wasn’t even safe for them during the day.

His sandaled feet met with cobbled stones and he hummed a little tune as he walked through what would be a bubbling market in the day but was quiet now, save for a few who walked quickly into homes.

His attention was caught by raised voices and curious, he walked towards them. In an alley dimly lit my burning torches, two Israelites argued and suddenly feeling the need to play mediator, he walked to them.
“Peace my friends” he called out.

“Who are you? Who is your friend” One spat, eyes shifty with apprehension.

He walked closer and when they saw his face, they gasped.

“Ramoses!”

His face was a popular one. He smiled.

“Ye..”

“You! Killer!”

Ramoses stopped. “What? What do you mean?” he asked quietly.

“Do you want to kill us like you killed the guard? I overheard the guards just a few minutes ag..”

Fast-thinking and without waiting for the man to finish, Ramoses fled.

They knew!

How?

He didn’t allow his mind dwell on that, focusing on getting himself back to his quarters.

Suddenly he heard voices of guards coming closer.

Quickly, he used the not so-well known route he had traipsed with Rameses when they were children, beating his way to the palace. He had to get to his room before they thought to search it!

In and out of alleys, he disappeared, mind churning with apprehension. How had they known?!. Soon, he was outside the window of his room. With care, he climbed and praying he had not shut it from the inside, he shifted the wood aperture and tumbled into his room.

Quick, he searched for the tablets and finding them, he breathed a sigh of relief. They had not been in there yet.

He wrapped the tablets in bales of clothes and quickly changing, he put on a Israelite cloak he had bought out of a whim, after finding out about his secret parentage. Disguising himself with soot to darken his hair and roughen his face, he hefted the clothes and grimaced at their weight.

He opened the window and stumbled out.

As he shut the window, he heard the clamour of guards just at the door and as the window thud shut, they burst open.

Quickly, he disappeared, making his way out of Egypt.

Any place was better than Egypt…for now.

—————————————————————————————————————-

Zipporah looked at the man who had been with them for the past two week out of the corner of her eyes with distrust. He had come, claiming to be an escaped Israelite from Egypt. She didn’t know much about the world but what she knew was that no Israelite escaped from Egypt. He claimed to be called Moses and he wouldn’t let her help carry his sack when he had come. In fact, with the way he had acted when she had offered to help with the sack, she knew he definitely had something to hide.

Hmmm…

She watched him laugh with her father Jethro as they shared lunch.

Just who was he and what secret was he hiding? Why was he abusing her father’s hospitality by claiming to be who he wasn’t?

Curiosity got the better of her and suddenly, she got up and slowly walked out of the tent. Out, she quickly ran to the tent they had set up for him as her father’s guest after he had helped them with the thieving Amalekites who came to steal her father’s sheep.

She crept in and eyeing his bedding, she found the mounds of cloth.

She walked to it and uncovering, she gasped.

Gold.

Glimmering, shining gold.

Even more fascinating were the scrawls on them she was sure were letterings. She could not read. She had always been fascinated with words but her father never understood the need for her to learn, seeing as she was a woman. He had asked her to put more effort into being pleasing enough to be a bride when she had asked to be taught.

She sighed as her fingers caressed the engraved words.  Taking the second tablet, she stared at it in awe.

Beautiful.

The third was a much thinner sheet and had pictures of men and women with animal heads. She stared, unaware of the shadow that grew behind her back.

“You looked through my things” Ramoses said softly.

She jumped; dropping the sheet she had in her hands in a hurry and getting up, suddenly cautious of how small the tent was. Was he going to harm her?

She cleared her throat. “Who are you?” she asked, staring at him warily.

“You have seen the book.”

She nodded, her gaze shifting to where she had dropped the tablet. “I cannot read but I know real gold. What is an Israelite doing with something…like this?”

He eyed her “And since when did I have to answer to a mere slip of a girl?”

Her eyes flash with anger and she stood to her full height. “Since this mere slip of a girl can tell her father that his guest could be a thief.”

He stared at her and she stared right back, as if daring him to call her bluff.

“Ramoses. Son of Nepheri, Princess of Egypt…or so I thought”

She laughed in derision. “A Prince. Really. I might be a woman but I am not stupid.”

He frowned. “I am…was a Prince”

“Am. Was. You lie.” She sniffed, folding her hands under her arm.

“Would a common Israelite have this kind of book in his possession?”

“You stole it” she hit back.

He sighed, exasperated. “Stole a treasured book? How does a lowly Israelite get into a Holy Temple to steal a Book of Gold?”

She paused, biting her lip in thought. She suddenly stared at him with renewed interest.

“You’re not lying?”

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “I am not, woman!”

He sat down and rearranged the bundle, pushing the golden tablets back into the fold of the cloth.

“A former Prince of Egypt…” she murmured in thought, gaze faraway. His shuffling brought her back to the present and she turned to him. “How?”

He looked up. “How?”

She settled herself down on the bedding. “Yes! How? It must be a fascinating story, like the type Papa used to tell us as kids!”

He looked into her inquisitive eyes quivering with excitement and shook his head.

“I am sorry. My story isn’t a child’s fairy tale. And it is not safe information”

“I know it is no child’s story and I am not a child. I want to know. I yearn to know. I am imprisoned here by my duties to family. Only by stories can my mind soar free”

“Zipporah, there are some things you cannot know. It isn’t safe”

“Oh please Moses! Who would I tell? My sisters? They have no other dream but to get married to the man Papa chooses for them. I promise on my life to keep your secret safe” she pressed her hands to her heart solemnly.

He looked at her expectant face and smiled a little.

“Well, I was a Prince, yes. I was born a Prince, brought up a Prince in the temple of Ra himself, I was an acolyte. A scholar. With no chance of taking the throne, I buried myself in the study of our gods. I immersed myself in the study of the book you just held.”

He paused, mind far away.

As she opened her mouth to urge him, he continued.

“I found out I wasn’t a prince after all. My mother…foster mother told me. I had been drawn out of water. I sought out my real parents but couldn’t find them…Israelites of the House of Levi.”

She stared at him in fascination. “What is Egypt really like? Does the Queen bathe in milk like the merchants that come around here say? Is her skin as white as alabaster?”

“Egypt…” he sighed. “Both beautiful and deadly. Like the Egyptian snake. And the Queen might bath in milk but you’re prettier than she is.”

She shushed him, trying to hide a small smile.  “And why did you take the book? What is in it?”

He thought.

“Why indeed” he murmured.

Lying on the bed, he hooked both arms under his head.

“I took it on a whim. Maybe the god the Israelites worship would show me what to do with it.” He said sardonically. “There has always been talks about a deliverer among them. Maybe…maybe I took it for him. What if he came? It would be a good weapon against the Egyptians…”

She shook her head. “What is in the book? How can you go from an Egypt- loving Prince to a Egypt- hating Israelite in a matter of days? It is…not right.”

He studied her intently, mind suddenly wondering how he never noticed how lovely her lips were. Sure, she wasn’t as pretty as her other sisters but there was something about her inquisitiveness that gave her a strong aura.

At that moment, he decided she was a good woman.

He smiled at her. “As I said, Egypt was both beautiful and deadly. Even as a Prince, I had no love for Egyptians. The cruelty…” he paused, brows creased in a frown. “I once had dreams that I would somehow be the Pharaoh and the first thing I’d do would be to give slaves their freedom.”

He laughed; short and bitter.

“And the book?”

“Magic.” He smiled mischievously. “Magic of the Earth, of the skies. Words of Power. That is what is in the book.”

She looked at him, trying to see if he was joking. Something about the book she had touched left her with a feeling that he wasn’t.

She shivered.

“Magic…” she murmured.

A month later, they departed as husband and wife. He married her to ensure his secret remind close to home; She married him for adventure.

They journeyed together to Egypt, where his destiny awaited him.

—————————————————————————————————————

“I require an audience with the Pharaoh” Moses said boldly to the court official.

The bald, fat man eyed the Israel in his presence with such contempt. “The Pharaoh does not speak to slaves.”

Moses smiled. “Tell him this slave holds The Book.”

The official raised a pencilled eyebrow. “The Book?”

“Thoth” Moses whispered and the countenance of the man change from surprise to fear to apprehension. He stared harder at Moses, as if trying to strip away the beard and the premature lines on his forehead. His eyes widened in recognition.

“Ramoses!” he gasped.

“Moses. Tell him, Moses.”

Ramses sat on his throne, eyeing the man before him.

“You came back. Where is the book?”

Moses smiled at his one-time friend. The look on the Pharaoh’s face showed exactly what he thought of their friendship.

“It is where it is, until we reach an agreement. Harm me, and you’ll never find the book. You will never find it if you try to be sneaky too. If you threaten my life, I would teach the Israelites the words of Thoth and we’d see how it feels to be mastered, Ramses”

“Pharaoh to you” Ramses muttered furious

“You will meet my demands and then, you can have your Book.”

Pharaoh eyed him.

“And what are these…demands.”

“Free the Israelite slaves.”

Ramses jumped off the throne in ire. “Impossible!”

Moses watched him as he paced, his short brown legs pumping furiously as they took him up and down.

“Impossible!” he sat back on his throne.

Moses shrugged.

“I could reinstate you as Prince. You could have the finest Princesses from Ethiopia for wife. Gold! Rubies! Jade!”

“Free the Israel” Moses murmured.

Angrily, the Pharaoh called the guards who he had dismissed to have a private word with the renegade thief.

“Take him out of here but do not harm him”

As he was being led out, Moses turned.

“You’ll send for me”

Ramses eyed his back as he left, churning inside.

Two days later, Ramses sat agitated, fingers drumming on the elaborately gilded armrest. He heard croaks and gritted his teeth as a frog leapt on his arm. He swiped it with irritation, yelling for a guard to kill it.

“And where is the whoreson!” he yelled and the court officials nervously twitched, unsure of what to do.

“He would be with us soon, Pharaoh”

He hissed, spitting. “Frogs. Using our magic against us. The cheek! I should kill him!”

“But Pharaoh!” One of the plump officials with a high reedy voice quipped. “He said he’d destroy the book if we killed him!”

“Yes! Yes! Bring him here already” the Pharaoh angrily muttered.

A second later, the tall arrogant frame of Moses filled the hallway and he walked to him.

“Ramses. You sent for me.”

“Of course I sent for you! How dare you!” The Pharaoh’s eyes widened with rage as he tried to control his temper. Breathing deeply, he calmed.

“Banish the frogs to the Nile”

Moses pointed at the Head Sorcerer who stood among the officials. “He is a sorcerer. He can do it.”

“He could have done it had you not commanded ALL THE FROGS IN THE NILE OUT!”

The Head Sorcerer threw Moses a look of disgust. “Cheap tricks” he muttered.

Moses turned to him. “Cheap tricks? Or maybe the god of Israel is using me to punish you” He smiled and turned to the Pharaoh. “Free the Israelites and I will banish the frogs”

“No!” The Pharaoh’s voice boomed.

Moses chuckled and turned to leave.

“Stay right there!” Pharaoh commanded he paused. “Yes?” he asked without turning back.

“Fine! Go! And return the Book!”

Smiling, Moses left and the officials gathered round their King.

“But Pharaoh!…”

“You can’t…”

“Free them?…”

“SILENCE!” The Pharaoh commanded and a hush fell.

He looked at his subjects and smiled. “Of course I would not release the Israelites. But he doesn’t know that…”

He chuckled.

It wasn’t long before Moses made another appearance in the courts of the Pharaoh.

“Darkness! Hail! Locusts! Turning the Nile to blood! A curse on you and the filthy Israelite woman that birth you! A curse on the people you champion! Go! Go! Out of my sight! And give us our Book!”

Without any acknowledgement, Moses went back to the Israel quarters, where the Elders of the community waited.

“Would he release us?!…”

“Are we free to go?…”

Moses held a hand up at the clamouring. When it was quiet, he sat down.

“He would not release us.”

The Elders groaned, cursing.

Moses held a hand up and again, they hushed.

“I will force his hand and this time, he will let us go” he murmured to the gathered men.

“What will you do Moses?…”

“What power do you use?…”

“Why does the Pharaoh fear you!”

Moses waited till the noise quietened.

“It is the power of a God” he whispered. “And a God will deliver us. Make ready. Three days from now, we will leave the land of Egypt.”

“How!…”

“Tell us Moses!…”

“Deliverer! The Deliverer!…”

*********************************************

Moses sat in his room, the golden book on the table. The lamp illuminated the strange writings.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and let it out. Slowly, he began to recite, arms wide, voice in whispers.

A shadow made of dark matter formed and whispering commands, the shadow dispersed.

He sat down shaking, wiping off the beaded sweat on his brows. He closed his eyes and muttering, a bright light appeared on his table.

Seconds later, he covered the tablets and made it ready.

The Pharaoh would let them go now, His Book to be returned.

He made ready and headed to the Palace.

His attention would be needed.

***********************************************

“You killed my son. My only son.”

“You caused it, Ramses.”

“You killed the first son of my people…for Israelite slaves”

“Can we go now?”

Ramses nodded, resigned “Go. If I see your face again Ramoses, you will surely die. Drop the book here. Drop it and leave. You and your accursed people!”

Moses dropped the bundle on the table and left.

Outside the courts, he laughed, face alight with victory.

“Freedom!” He screamed.

“Freedom!”

****************************************************

They left with all they had, leaving nothing behind.

“Your day of Deliverance has come” he spoke in a loud voice.

The people roared in approval, shaking the foundations of Mizraim.

430 years in slavery and they were finally free.

“Freedom!” Moses cried.

The people of Israel echoed his cry.

“Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!”

***************************************************

“What do you mean!?”

The Head Sorcerer swallowed. “Pharaoh, this is not the Book of Thoth.”

The Pharaoh touched the golden tablets. “Feels real. Explain!”

The sorcerer closed his eyes, whispering and the air shimmered.

On the table where the golden tablets were before, laid three bricks.

The silence evaded the air. Then the Pharaoh let out a roar of rage, causing the sorcerer to fall back in fright.

The guards rushed in in alarm.

He sat on back on his seat, head pounding.

“Summon the Commander of my army.” He whispered. “Summon the commander of my chariots.”

The guards rushed out and the Sorcerer took the opportunity to make his escape.

“Free my slaves. Trick the Pharaoh. He will surely die…” he murmured, making a tight fist with his hands.

“He will die!”

He slammed his hand on the desk vehemently.

“Ramoses!”

 

Forty Years Later.

Moses walked to the Tent of Meeting, followed behind by the young man and would-be successor he had chosen, Joshua, who had a bag slung over his shoulder. He breathed heavily at the weight.

“What is in the bag?” he asked for the umpteenth time that night and Moses ignored him.

Inside the tent, Moses commanded him to leave the bag and step out.

Once out, Moses gingerly moved the bag into the Holiest of the Holies.

He stopped to admire the golden Ark of Covenant which was placed in the middle.

Slowly, he pushed off the lid of the ark.

Forcing his old muscles to move, he hefted each tablet placing them into the Box.

When the third sheet was in, he breathed hard, wiping his forehead. With shaking hands, he pulled back the lid to the Ark of the Covenant.

The next day, he gathered the High Priest and Levites.

“The Ark of the Covenant must never be opened. It is a Symbol of a God’s Power and Knowledge” he whispered to the small gathering. “It shall be carried by the Levites after they have sanctified themselves”

They nodded in agreement.

Moses sighed and closed his eyes, satisfied.

He had found a new home for the Sacred Book of Thoth.

The End

——————————————————————————————————-

Fact or Fantastic Fiction?

Day 31- Tartarus


Hello!!!
So glad to be saying that today would be the last day of the 31 day challenge!! Yaaay! ^_^
And of course, the last day of the year 2012. Yay. -_-

Today, I have a lovely piece custom-made requested from @VokePella and provided by Monsieur @Griffinstreaks!
Totally enjoyed reading it, and hope you do!

TARTARUS

Darkness.
It is all that can be said of this gloomy place, in sight and in mind. It is all you will know dwelling here  yet, our punishment has not been served; we simply wait for the appointed time. To imagine our Creator and Father prepared a place much worse than Tartarus is the only frightening pronouncement that shakes any of us, all 200 of us.

Our sin? One of the most abominable of them all; we lay with women, born of man and they bore us children.

The Nephilims, a creation most forbidden; Father sent 40 days of rain down upon all the Earth to wipe them off the land. It succeeded in cornering a few, in drowning a few but some still survived, some still exist. In that we all take pride, that our new lineage (for our former brothers have disowned and disavowed us) will continue till the end of the age of man.

My anger is eternal, to my Father, to my distanced brothers and most especially, to Man, for his favours are many, obtaining preference over my kind. In subtle and quiet ways we have funnelled messages and plans to our children on earth, shown them and coached them in the best ways to conceal themselves, to mislead man, to assure his destruction will coincide with ours. We are well aware of our fate, that forgiveness cannot be sought at the foot of My Father; my kind is not permitted that, but man is.

Uriel, my former commander never shows himself.  The last I saw of him was 70 centuries ago- if my counting is precise- in his splendour  He had come to inspect our prisons and chains. We all saw what we once were in the appearance of his radiance- resplendent and divinely blinding in all the glory Father had bestowed upon him- compared to what we are now; blackened skin, featherless wings and a gust of hate, anger and destruction swirling around us. Our voices are coarse with bitterness and the vilest of words; voices which once were instruments of sweet praise and adoration to Father.

The Tartaruchi, the worst of Uriel’s kind, the keepers of this dark prison remind us of our impending doom; they look forward to our imminent end, rebuking us for falling so easily for the lust of the flesh but they will never understand how these beauties our Father created can barely be resisted; woman.
Daughters of Eve; so sensual and giving, dotting and devoted. I once tried explaining to their leader Temeluchus, a most feared creature, even viler than I ever was during the time of the wars. His features momentarily softened as I told him of the joys and pleasures promised in the bosom of a woman; it did not last long; he scorned me and rebuked me openly, flaying my side with his great sword.

There are periods when I sense the hate amongst my kind, my own brothers, creatures I once led into both battle and damnation. One dared look me in the eye long enough for me to perceive his thoughts. I tore him to shreds before his brothers, wing from bone flesh from skull, as a lesson to those who easily forget that like me, they chose this fate, not ignorant of the consequences.

Till the Day of Judgement, my children work tirelessly to ensure damnation is not solely apportioned upon me and my brothers alone. Man shall join us in the Rivers of Fire and Torture or whatever Father sees fit to condemn us to. For every one of us Watchers, hundreds of millions shall be made to taste the bitterness of a dark eternity. This much of my word I have given to my brothers and it will never be empty, even within these confines of darkness and ashes.

As I sit here looking into the dark, perceiving and sensing my brothers as they continually grow restless, I sense a coming finality. It has never been so strong before. The time is surely near, the Tartaruchi have doubled their postings around Tartarus and they are now adorned with ceremonial armour.

“Brothers, the promise I made to you on our last day of glory is upon us, our Day of Judgment draws near, imminently closer, and so does that of Man…”

I say these words like never before, filled with hate and anger so great, I leap to the highest point of our prison and raise a familiar battle cry. My brothers shout with me “..did I not promise you all this small consolation?! Have I not given it?!”

Even in defeat, I can sense the satisfaction in their spirits, our wounds shall never be healed until that most insignificant creature dwells in the same place my Father sends us to.
It shall be so, I swear it.
I am pulled from my thoughts as I hear a mighty trumpet, then another and another, by the time the seventh one goes off, my brothers above it all chant my name.
The feeling of pride and glory return, for it has been ages since my name was called; Samyaza! Samyaza! Samyaza!

 

————————————————-

Am I the only one that had little shivers of pleasure at the end? Yes? (   ._.)
A big thank you to Griffinstreaks for this!
I’d drop a book recommendation, if you love tales of the Nephilims and Watches. Well, three books.
The Grigori Trilogy by Storm Constantine. (Stalking Tender Prey, Stealing Sacred Fire and Scenting Hallowed Blood)
You would love it! Promise!

The perfect way to end a perfect run!!
Thank you to all the contributors:  Dionysus, Taryhel, Coolprinceee, The Anonymous guys, Aina (iamosegun), Samson, (Nosmass_Efx) and Griffin sama!!
A special shout-out to Ms Mae Gregory for following every post and her Time Capsule post that gave me the idea for Sakura Blooms.
Another special shout-out to Voke Pella for hooking me up with this swanky post to end the year!

And the most special of shout-outs, to everyone who read our chatterin and nattering, sensible or not!

2013 would be a good year for us all and we’d all live to grumle about me doing a 31day challenge come Decemer, 2013
😀

Oh and this is a big, big hug to everyone who made my 2012 special.

And an even more special Phantom Page shout-out to my Edwin!!!
Thank you for organising the blog and taking over from me when I ran away!
God bless you! I’ve always got your back!

Preying Mantis, don’t think i’ve forgotten you. Evil pest, you! :* 😉

That’s all folks!

TEE. HEE! 😀

Day 26


I hope everyone had a good day yesterday- eating,drinking et alia. I am jealous. No. Really. I am hungry. (  ,_,)

As today is Boxing day, this is officially the day you get to open all the presents you receive yesterday. Or a day to get over your hangover if you’re Black. Negroes don’t do gifts. -_-.

Let us all take today to remember the little  gifts we have in our lives; the ones we often take for granted.

The gift of Life: You’re alive today. Someone didn’t live to see today. Someone almost didn’t live to see today. Take a little time out to thank God/Science/Voodoo/Whatever you believe in for the fact that you breathe.

The gift of Love: Not particularly Eros. Love for family. Love for friends. Love for the lovers. Love for spouses. Let us appreciate our ability to feel something. Being dead inside isn’t fun.

The gift of Internet: Lol. YES! Thank heavens for my internet provider without whom I’d have failed a lot of school work. 😀

The gift of sustenance: There is hunger and there is starvation. You are not starving (I hope). Be grateful for that.

The gift of Good friends: Good friends are good. Never neglect those people that are always ready to help when you’re in trouble. They might never talk to you often (like me) and they might even forget your birthday (like me) but you know if you call for help, they’ve got your back. Bless God for them.

The gift of a smile: Can’t explain this. Linked tohappiness.

There are so many gifts we can appreciate. Sight, Sound, Colour, Books! LORD BOOKS! THANK YOU!
We might not have gotten the latest iPhone or the latest fashion accessories but hey, material things don’t matter much when you think about the fact that some people have these things but are not alive to use them.

Anyway, I am done!
I will see you when I see you.
Leave your curtain open; Love watching you sleep. -.-

Day 15


Hey guys! Today, I’ll be doing another freeform writing, seeing as I have nothing set to offer.
Good luck!

___________________

Mama, they marched us to the parade ground. I held the hand of Nahor. He didn’t let me go even as I stumbled. They shouted at me roughly, Mama. It made me sad. You never shout at me even when I am naughty.
After marching us to the ground, they made us take off our clothes. They said we might have diseases. They shaved my hair too. I am not happy. I miss my curly hair, Mama. I miss your fingers running through my curls.
Where are you mama? Hope they’re not shouting at you? No one shouts at my Mama!
They’re taking us into a chamber mama. They said it’s to bath us.
I hope I’ll be able to see you tonight. Nahor misses you too but he’s ‘being a man’.
They’re pushing us roughly into the chamber.
Nahor is shaking.
It’s just a bath. I wonder why he’s afraid…

***********************

They captured us from our homes. Rounded us up like animals. Don’t take anything! Out! They screamed at us, hate twisting their faces, guns pointed at us. We obeyed.
We’re on a train huddled together.
Where is our destination, an old man asked. They hit him and told him to him up.
We’re watching landscape change in silence. Someone tries to sing but no one responds. Our hearts are heavy.
We’ve passed familiar places, Towns we visited in happier times.
The train stops at a station and more people are pushed in.
Where are you taking us to? An indignant man asks. One of the guards shoots him in the chest, laughing and leaves him in the carriage. The younger children are screaming. 
Some of the girls are crying.
Why us?
What did we do?
The men are trying to move the body to another part of the already cramped coach.
The train passes a post that reads ‘Auschwitz’.
I watch the sign even as it had passed out of view. Fear twists my heart.
Bubbe holds my hands tightly, her frail body quivering with exhaustion and age.
We wonder what we’ll find there…

******************

Cries.
Screams.
Their voices are raised, day and night.
Black smoke pours out of the huge chimneys attached to the chambers.
Cries.
Screams.
They’re being burned alive.
Eli Eli lama sabachtani?

———————–

That’s it.
Dunno why they came to mind; those children in 1942.
They went to Auschwitz- Birkenau.
They never came back…

Sigh.


Hey.
Today’s post is by someone who would rather remain anonymous.
Do enjoy!

———————————————————————–

RIVER

I read my uncle’s stories. Not Uncle Jonah, Uncle Joseph.
It gets confusing sometimes to differentiate
them in my head; all the twins I know look and think alike, even though mother says Jonah and
Joseph were as different as night and day. Mother has a folder of his stories and drawings, most of
them are from his twenties. All his teenage fiction is lost now, gone with the wind. There’s also his
diary from 2001, the one which mother took in 2002 and kept. I think I’ve read that from cover to
cover many times. Then he didn’t use so many big words and there was happier then. In one of the
pages he actually called mom and grandma hags.

Mother doesn’t talk about my Uncles Jo any more.
She doesn’t talk much, about anything. I’ve seen videos of her from younger when she wore really
small shorts and rode horses on the beach and seemed to constantly laugh at every little thing. She
isn’t that person any more. She misses them though, in her own way. The family portrait from when
they were younger doesn’t have any dust on it, unlike most things in this house.
I was tiny the last time I saw Uncle Jo, a baby really so I don’t really remember much about him.
But I know him.
I know he used to hate people shortening his name. There’s a day here, March 14, when
he got really angry because he introduced himself to a girl and she asked if she could call him Jo. He
was angry about it, his name was just two syllables, two phonetic sounds and she wanted to shorten
it to one.
People shortened his name a lot Joey, Joe, Jo, Jay; some even shortened his surname. He
felt shortening a name was robbing it of its power. Joseph meant beloved, everything else meant
nothing. He wrote that he felt guilty after, she really didn’t mean anything by that. And he’d taken
out his frustrations on her. Uncle Ed used to do that a lot, feel guilty because he stood up for himself.
I think he was a coward or too sensitive, most times a mixture of both.

I know uncle Jo felt under pressure, much like I feel. It’s a different kind of pressure from the one I
feel but at least the effect is the same. Pressure not to disappoint. Constant anxiety, its like this
physical thing, your heart in your mouth, sweaty armpits and hours trying not to rationalize the things
you’ve done, looking for mistakes in them.
Mine is from being the only child mother has. Her greatest legacy. Mother is a very hands-on person in her life. And she believes in results, that the work should be done in secret and the results presented like a magician’s show, so it appears effortless,
apparently plucked out of thin air. She is that way with her work. And she is that way with me.
At home I can be petulant and sad and needy and whiny, at home I’m allowed to have emotions. But
outside, in the company of strangers I’m only allowed one; serenity.
Smile to older strangers, walk slowly at the buffet table, even though I can people taking second and third helpings, eating my
plate covered with small clumps of remnant food scraped from the edges of the serving trolleys with
a demure happy smile.
The happy child.
Uncle Joe was the good middle child. Every other role was taken, stuck-up first born, sadist spoilt last born. Mom and his brother fought constantly for
grandma’s attention and in all the noise, his own rebellions seemed small, a welcome relief. So he
stopped trying and started writing and drawing; eventually he had to choose. He chose drawing and
dropped the diaries.

The pressure is pretty bad on most days but I think I have it better than he did.
I’m not being ignored by mother at least not as badly as he was.
I wish I could write like he did. But I’m already in my teens and the gift hasn’t been passed down.
Maybe his was like a disease that snuck into his body undetected because of all the activity that
puberty brought on, and when everything settled, his Immune system worked through and found it
and neutralized it. Or maybe he gave up one medium of expression for another.
His pictures are beautiful. They are of dark things, but beautiful none the less.

There’s this particular one, inspired by this song he loves. It’s a girl on a bridge, leaning forward and looking over, at a much smaller
reflection of herself, rippling in the dark still river. The girl in the water is not looking back at her, instead she is looking at her hands, which are cupped together holding a dandelion. She is smiling, happy and oblivious to black murky water that surrounds her. The girl on the bridge is leaning so far
out that its certain she’ll fall.
The girl in the water looked like mom and the girl on the bridge had Uncle Jo’s hair. When mother first saw it, she stood there, in the gallery full of white walls and stared at it as her tears fell.
I cried too.
I don’t know why.
Maybe because the girl in the water was already so happy she didn’t care about the girl on the bridge. Perhaps it was because I knew only a truly sad
person could create something like that. Something so ominous an yet so simple. Or maybe I just felt
jealous and somewhat protective of the girl in the water; she was happy, but her happiness was
dependent on the girl on the bridge, if the girl on the bridge walked away, she would just cease to
exist.
You are the girl on the bridge, leaning out too far, hoping to catch a glimpse of a part of you that is
truly happy and oblivious to everything around her. Drifting away slowly, cradling what remains of
your innocence in her palms.
You will fall.
Because
That’s the only way you become the girl in the water.
Uncle Jo fell.
And his paintings and stories took on a life of their own.
I’ve been leaning over, reluctantly, looking for her. But so far, all I have seen is myself.

————————————————————————————–

*Sigh* 🙂
Jana..

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