Category: Slice of life


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?

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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)

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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.

 

Brother’s Keeper


I wrote this some time last year and for some odd reason, sat on it.
Today, decided to serve it up!
Enjoy!

BROTHER’S KEEPER

Smack Smack Smack
I wish she’d stop chewing for a second, though i can’t help watching her jaws in morbid fascination as they crunch hard on the piece of bright pink gum lodged between her teeth.
Smack Smack Smack.
I extend my observation to her.
Fingers drumming on the table, nails bitten to ugly stubs coated with old black varnish. I can hear her foot beating a staccato on the terrazzo floor of the coffee shop, scuffed trainers probably dancing to the beat only their  owner can hear.
Her bottle-black shoulder-length hair hangs wet and lanky with grease; she’d stop her drumming on the table once in a while to flick the dirty matt around an ear. Staring at the purple, blue blotches on her skin, I wonder where the porcelain complexion I used to admire long ago went to.
Her worn leather jacket sleeves aren’t long enough to hide the scratches and the needle marks that blazed trails up her arms. I wonder why she bothers hiding it from me. I mean, everything else gives her away for what she is.
A tattoo peeks momentarily from her dirty grey shirt, across her chest before disappearing. Her grey eyes look like they belong in the sockets of someone older by decades.
Her thin, cracked, bloodless lips fire on; chewing horridly.

Smack Smack Smack.
She is the poster child for Decay.
An unlit thin cigarette is cradled in the crook of her ear and her hand keeps straying to the poison tube, fiddling with it.
There is a no smoking policy here so she can’t light up.
Thank goodness
She takes the unlit cig stick and shoves it in her mouth.
I watch in disgusted fascination as she replaces the vacant space on her ear with the sticky chewing gum, making sure it’s glued on properly.

I’ve seen enough.
Best make this snappy then.
“So…” I begin, licking my lips anxiously.
“Cut to the chase. Got the cash?” she says, finger back to their drumming. If only she’d hold on to the bloody cup and stop the noise.
I purse my lips in slight disapproval, sausage fingers tightening on the coffee-filled Styrofoam cup I cradled more for comfort than as beverage.
“No need to be so rude about that.” I start slowly. “Whatever happened to what I gave you weeks ago?”
Her eyes takes a nasty glint and immediately, I drop my cup, raising my hands up in surrender.
“Just asking…”
She eyes me, tongue rolling the cigarette stick in her mouth. “I used the money you gave me earlier wisely. Dun go thinking I blew it on drugs and shit. Paid some of my dues init!”
She glares at me, waiting for the smallest sign of my doubt.
Keeping a blank face, I nod my head. Dues to her suppliers more like.
Seeing I am raising no arguments, she smiles, revealing brown teeth…and a cavity I am sure hadn’t been there when we last spoke.
I sigh, sagging visibly on my seat.
These meetings are always painful. Who’d have believed my older sister would end up this way?
She had been the star of the family.
The perfect one; while I was the clumsy one, unusually big for my age.
Cruel, beautiful Angie.
She had been loved.
So had I, of course but my parent’s doting on her had bordered on reverencing.
Mum would not hear my complaints about her meanness when we were children. She’d look beautifully sad, denying my every accusation. It was incredible to watch sometimes. Heck, I almost even believed her!
She was that good an actress.

Sadly, I loved her.
She was mean yes, but I loved her. I wanted to be like her; to have her smile at me truly, not the smiles she wore when she threw her mean jibes at me. I wanted her to acknowledge me for once. Was that too much to ask?
I guess she had been OK…until our parents died in a freak car accident. She had been 18 then, an adult. I was still 12.
We had moved in with our middle-aged spinster of an aunt, a strict Catholic; that attribute doing nothing but fuel Angie’s rebellious nature.
Maybe that had been her way of coming to terms with what happened to us; the boys, the alcohol. I took solace in food. I somehow managed to survive the trauma; Angie didn’t.
One of her boyfriends introduced her to the white stuff. She went on the deep end and never came out.
Sigh
“What exactly do you need this money for now?” I ask carefully, bringing myself back to the present.
Keeping my tone respectful is the only way to get her to respond like a civilised being. She’s always been the volatile one. Every little question is a slight to her honour; an implied insult.
“What you mean? Have to fix up my house init?” she spits back at me.
“But you live in a council flat…oh.” I realise too late what I have done.
Her lips go thinner, nose flaring.
She leans in menacingly and I instinctively lean back. “You think i like collecting handouts from you?!”
‘Yes, you fucking bitch!’ In my head of course…
“…Just getting myself settled. Written a new poem. Gonna sell it if the cunting bastards take my work then I’ll be fucking rich and you can shove that money up your fat ass!”
I cringe slightly at her raised voice, glancing apologetically at other diners giving us side glances.
“I’m just asking…”I mutter weakly, trying to placate her.
“Then fucking shut up fattie! I’m the only family you got. You can go on workin’ in tha fancy law firm of yours but ya know dey gonn fire you if dey find out bout me. So be a good bitch and give me DA MONEY!
She slams her hand hard on the table and I jump, startled.
Oh dear; She needs her fix.
Her hands are shaking, a nervous tick doing a tap dance on her eyelids.

I take a deep breath.
Pounding headache.
I squeeze my temples.
She is right, sadly. She could easily get me to lose my job by just by turning up at the firm. I would not put it past her to do something like this out of spite one day. I bring out my bribe from the fold of my wallet and throw it on the table.
“Take the money. Take it and leave please” I whisper, suddenly weary.
“Took you long enough”she mutters, counting the wad of twenties i dropped.
“This is gonna be enough for now. I’ll come over if i need more.”
She gets up and walks a few steps before returning.
She sits back and glares at me.
“You think you’re better than me because you helping me right? I might be a mess now, but i am still better than you, Fattie Katie!”
That hurts.
I hate that name.
“Still hiding pork ribs under your pillow, fattie? Still stuffing ya fucking mug like a pig you are?”
She cackles as my breath hitches, becoming laboured. I feel the discreet stares of other diners, ears tuned in to her tirade and I redden with shame.
“Look. I have given…”
“Shut up fat ass!” she screams and I bite my lips hard as I feel my eyes smart with tears.
She knows she’s hit a mark and with a grin of satisfaction, she gets out of her seat and leaves.
I blink back tears of frustration as I watch her cross the road even before the green man comes on, narrowly avoiding being hit by a car.
For a savage moment, I wish her dead. I wish a car would hit her, slamming her broken body onto a pavement, breaking her head and spilling her brain matter in a  gory display.
I bite my lips as she goes out of my line of sight.
I hate myself; I hate myself for being weak, succumbing to her threats but what can I do?
She’s got my by the proverbial balls.  The only reason I still have a job is because of my brains. People my size are apparently not ‘good for the firm’s image’. Any slight upset, and it’s a good bye.
I hate myself for supporting her habits but I can’t let her just…starve or be a hooker…
I grimace as I taste the coffee left in my cup; tepid.
It is time to leave and I try to heave my bulky self off the seat. My seat groans loudly in protest and one or two people look my way, watching my struggle to remain ‘dignified’.
I hear a soft snigger.
‘Laugh why don’t you? Bastards!’
They’ve always laughed, haven’t they?
The whole world laughs at fucking Kate, don’t they?
I smile grimly as I finally manage to stand.

My hands quickly search my bag as I leave and I am comforted by the feel of the jumbo potato chips pack in there.
Sometimes, I wonder who got the better deal, between my sister and I.
Who would die first?
Angie and her drug problems?
Or me and my addiction to food?

The End.

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One question on my mind, how far can we go for family?
Honestly, tell me.
And comment on the story!
Hope you all have a lovely weekend break!
Jana.

Stakes


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

Tell Me Your Dreams


First post of the New Year and it is going to be a random.
Sorry guys. Lol.
Restless (as usual), and hysteric.
I should say happy but ever been so happy you want to scream and cry and it becomes almost like a physical pain? Yup, that’s hysteria and that’s where I am now.
Also battling the oddest waves of chest pains that bring on panic attacks of me thinking I’m dying which in turn brings on my heart palpitation which according to Google, means I’m either suffering from anxiety, got kidney failure or I am a walking heart attack.
Yea, I pick anxiety, thank you.
Not writing this to bore you about my predicament (or have you worry. I am fine)
Just need to dampen my hysteria a little.

Tell me your dreams.
Literally.
I’ll tell you a few of mine. Of course, my bad dreams.
Feel free to interpret or psychoanalyse or fear for my sanity.
Lol.
This is me, opening a doorway into my mind.

I begin.
First dream that comes to mind right now is a crazy one that had an odd ending. I say odd, because I lost consciousness in the dream and in real life I suspect. And for the life of me, can’t figure out how it ended. I hit blanks when I try to remember.
They chased me. Six men. I ran but they chased and caught me.
They weren’t exactly men; creatures, lumbering creatures.
They took turns hitting me and tore my clothes into pieces. I screamed and screamed.
They held my arms and feet,dangling me in the air and the first thing got ready.
Once I saw him fumbling with his trousers, I knew what would happen.
Somehow, I forced myself to lose consciousness. Still cannot remember what happened from there. I cannot remember waking up after that dream.
So vivid and just at that spot, black.
Forcing myself to remember used to get me panicked and I’d have goosebumps so I stopped trying to remember.

Another disturbing one, I’d blame on my dabbling into the Occult.
Before you panic and say “Hey! Witches and Wizards!”, calm down.
Occult simply means hidden or secret knowledge.
I am a believer in the spiritual, the supernatural. I am curious so I always want to know.
What lies beyond this world. What we can’t see. But some things are called Secret for a reason.
Anyway, I have a lot of mystic, esoteric texts.
The infamous 6 and 7 Books of Moses (which is overrated in my opinion), Book of this and that.
I read these books. I wanted to know, not practice.
Wasn’t interested in summoning anything. I thought I was safe.
The dream.
I was at the door in the night and the Devil asked me to open up.
How do I know it was the devil? Because I was scared.
My body was shaking.
Pitch dark and swirls of red.
“Open the door” he said.
I couldn’t even pray. I couldn’t speak. I was cowering in a corner, teeth chattering, tears.
He spoke to me in my mothers voice; my brothers voice.
Even cried like a baby.
Open the door.
Then he pulled me.
I was getting up without meaning to.
I wasn’t in control of my body.
I was screaming incoherently as my hand reached the door. I kept screaming as I slid the bolt.
I woke up.
I woke in tears. My body shaking. Cold sweats. Covered my mouth to stop myself from screaming. Eyes wide.
Shook like a leaf for an hour our more.
Didn’t sleep for the rest of that night.
Terror.
Funny thing, I used to hear screams. Not asleep. In the day time. Busy with work and suddenly screams of tortured people. They spoke in different languages. Mostly Chinese and German.
Somehow, I understood what they were saying.
Save us! Save us!
This isn’t a dream.
Anyway, i quit with the books. Curiosity killed the cat.
Lol.

Mind reacting to that. Heart pounding fast.
Deep breaths.

Was gonna tell a third but meh. These two are enough.

Psychoanalyse me?
Tell me your dreams.

Day 16 – End of the World


Allo!
Today, Dionysus is taking over!

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END OF THE WORLD

If the world was actually going to end and you were given a heads-up beforehand, how would you spend your last days? Seriously, if Today was the last day of existence, what would you do before you got swept away by rapture or crushed by meteorites from space?.. Feel Free to voice your opinion at the end of this but let me explore some possibilities of my own…
1. REPENTANCE
Ah, yes!, this is where you’d find most people. They are all holding their bibles or crucifixes or kneeling down in church and praying violently or singing praise and worship with their eyes glazed and staring at the ceiling…the path of mass fear!. We came to this world and right from the beginning, they told us our very existence is cursed! They say everyone born of this world is born of sin and if we deny our instinctive drives, we might get lucky and make it to this place called ‘heaven’. If it is such a burden to actually be sinless on Earth, then heaven must be a place where humans gnash their teeth and weep inside while wearing a smiling façade. Heaven must be like the workplace; Everybody pretending to like each other, laughing loudly at jokes that ain’t funny and all in all, acting like everything is fine when its as boring as watching paint dry. Think about it… Its meant to be a smooth sailing trip from Earth to Heaven, no turbulence, but to live a life without sin is to suffer intense pain from your fellow humans on Earth. The most common pain is the pain of ostracism. I’m not talking about pseudo religious people who only have God’s name on their lips not in their hearts. People who are actually devoted to religion know what I’m talking about. You’d forever be ridiculed by your peers and feel repressed, like you’re denying a huge part of yourself, burying it underneath. You’d feel cheated more than you feel blessed, like you’ve been alienated from everyday life. Its the case of the sinful party chick who gets married to a billionaire while the christian girl is still single and hurting inside. She usually wears a plastic smile on her face and pays lip service to Christ even though she’s burning within. If Heaven where real, going there is not gonna be pleasurable. Solitude is the only true path to heaven, aloneness, loneliness. To really be sinless is to live in solitude. Many Humans cannot deal with solitude so I don’t know why they think they’d feel good if they actually went to heaven…
2. REVENGE
I love this path even though many won’t choose to take it. It is punishing your enemy! whoever he or she is. Since the world is gonna end, you’d just say fuck it and look for that enemy you’ve murdered many times in your mind and actually kill Him/Her in real life. Sharpen your blades! Fuel your chainsaws! Load that shotgun!, make sure that marafucker dies by your hands! Its orgasm to your soul ending your enemy’s life with your own hands.
3. FRIENDS & FAMILY
This is another path people would likely choose. They’d spend time with their friends and family; sit together and go down memory lane, say those mushy mushy words they wouldn’t say on a normal day, stare at the sunset together with Celine Dion’s music playing in the background… You get the picture.
4. INHIBITIONLESS
I also love this path! Since the world is ending today, rip off all your clothes, scream at the top of your lungs, smack a girls ass for no reason, take all the drugs you can find. You’re basically going down swinging! Your last moments on Earth would be so fucking great that the afterlife would seem boring to you (If there’s any)
5. REVELATIONS
Fasten your seatbelts and open your ears wide cause this is where you hear the most shocking secrets revealed!. You might just realise your brother is in the Yakuza or your girlfriend was once an orangutang!. This is where people pour out all their deep dark secrets, clear it off their chest since the world is gonna end anyway. It might be fun to listen to… sometimes.
6. DENIAL
There are obviously those who just can’t believe that the world will come to an end one day (including me). Hollywood has corrupted our minds with special effects and science fiction that we think we’d get plucked by some white light from the sky (the Holy ones) OR we’d witness the Apocalypse and get crushed in the final battle between the Angels from Heaven and the Demons from Hell…Yawn!.. Some people will go to work, come back home and sleep even if the world were ending today. They just can’t accept that strange phenomena like that could occur. It would have been fucking epic though if something like that could happen
This is all I could come up with. Tell us how you’d spend your last days on Earth if the world where ending today.
———————————————————————-
Lool! The world ending? Man’s gonna be in a frigging Chinese buffet eating myself to a premature heart attack! Then get married to the nearest guy. Man’s can’t die single. Jesus didn’t die for that. -.- Consummate the marriage inside the church there there. Hotel gini? Are you not hear the world is gonna end ni? My friend will you bring out that penis biko! Are we here to play?
We gats do like 20 rounds…at least.
The End.
😀

Day 8


Today is the Sabbath and by the time you’re reading this, I’d probably be in the Temple.
Not sure why i wrote that. Lol.
Ummm… Got a headache so have no idea what to write on.
I’ll do free-form writing.
Good luck!

———————

Her eyes are large, open with wonder.
Eyelids flutter, enjoying the feel of her eyelashes.
Pupils dart to and fro, soaking in every movement, every colour.
Her eyes widen, drinking every image into their watery depths.
Mama. Dada. Her eyes stamp names to faces.

Her eyes aren’t so large. They open in wonder at the images that flutter on TV. They absorb the shapes and forms presented.
Tom and Jerry. Dora.
Stamping names to faces.

Her eyes open in amazement at words; letters. They take in every curve, every slant. They transfer the message to the brain, begging it to teach her hands what they’ve seen.

Her eyes flicker with worry. Numbers.
They try to make sense of them.
Sums. Subtraction.
They dim with irritation and tear up in frustration.

Her eyes see more. Do more. Soon her eyes become adorned with kohl. Dark lines accentuating lovely honey-brown pupils.
Her eyes suddenly begin to notice the opposite sex with interest.
Lashes flutter with flirtation. They water with unrequited love. They glaze with intense pleasure.
They’re beautiful and they attract men to her.

Her eyes see too much. They cry too much. They harden. Glaring in suspicion, leering in cynicism. They see shadows in light. They see devils in angels.
Beautiful brown eyes have become hard as flint; emotionless. That which attracted people to her now drives them away.

Her eyes are lined with age. They grow weaker. They squint to see. Colours blur. They become smaller, rheumy. They hide under layers of sagging skin.

Her eyes take in her lonely home. Suddenly, they remember what it felt like to be huge and new. They cry because they remember what is felt like to widen in wonder, to see the beauty in all things.

Her eyes go dimmer.

One day, her eyes closes.
They would open no more.

————————

Well that came out somewhat…ok right?
Have a lovely weekend! Happy Sabbath!
I’ll see you tomorrow.

How To Be A Vampire


Today’s post is brought to you by Dionysus. He has a lesson to teach.
Shhhh.

———————–

Ladies and Gentlemen, this isn’t some crap where I tell you to let a vampire bat bite your neck and then you slash your wrist to turn into a vampire..
Nope..
This is the Real Shit!
By following these simple rules, you would become a vampire. Vampires are more powerful than the jocks and the cheerleaders in terms of attraction to the opposite sex. They hardly do anything; they don’t play sports nor do they socialise with everyone in school but they are usually the most attractive to the opposite sex… These simple steps would set you on the path of becoming a formidable and irresistibly alluring vampire…

1. YOUR COFFIN

This is your place of solitude, your place where you escape from the world. It may be your room or perhaps a private area somewhere. The key thing about this coffin is that there is nothing stimulating your mind that is outside your control. This means if you’re listening to music, you’re listening to the music you want to listen to. If you’re watching a movie, you’re watching the movie you want to watch. If you’re reading a book, you’re reading the book you want to read. You are consciously feeding your mind with the kind of information you want it to have. All that matters is that you’re in a receptive state. Your room is your coffin. Make sure the curtains are always drawn to avoid sunlight from entering the room. It also helps to turn the lights off so your room reminds you of night. Don’t leave your room unless you really have to and if you do, come back as quickly as possible. Your room is your coffin, your place of rest, your spring from which your draw forth energy and revitalise your immortal body.

2. AVOID THE SUN

Forget all these stupid commercials about creams and soaps that will make you fresh. The key to becoming fresh is avoiding the sun. Don’t stay under the sun and avoid it as much as possible. Soon, your skin would start getting paler, whiter, fresher. The more you stay in your coffin, the more your skin becomes vampirish. Also to have the full effect, it helps to smoke pot. This gives you that vampirish red eye look contrasted with your pale white skin.

3. GO OUT AT NIGHT

Vampires hate the sun. Apart from the fact that it scorches their skins and turns them to ash, nothing ‘va va voom’ ever happens underneath the sun. Everything during the daytime is always so PG13 like life suddenly became Disney Channel. At night though, weird things happens, uncensored things, Carnal things. Vampires are known for their love of blood, flesh and sex. The night is usually the period most people let loose, Release the Beast, Unleash the Dragon but during the daytime, they are on a leash…
So, go out at night. If you have to go out during the day, wear a ring on your finger. This is the ring that protects you from the sun burning you to ashes. It also represents something else in reality.
This is called ‘Peacocking’. By wearing a mystical looking ring on your finger, you look mysterious and people are attracted to mystery. Accessorise mostly with black items, black chains, rings, bracelets etc. Also, its cool to dress in mostly black attire.

4. THE GLAMOUR MOVE

This is what vampires use to capture and influence the souls of other human beings. They do this with their gaze. To do the glamour move, look people directly in the eye when you speak and don’t blink often. This makes them very attracted cause they love the attention and yet are frightened by it. It gets their juices flowing. Believe it or not, it is easier to maintain your gaze with someone than to let your eyes keep darting around all over the place when speaking to them.

5. LOVE ARCHAIC MATERIALS & CONTROVERSIAL THINGS/TOPICS

The strongest Vampires are usually the oldest. This means they have more knowledge and power than the ones that came after them. A Vampire must have seen the grim as well as the good in his/her long time alive. You should have knowledge of things, mostly controversial things that are mysterious but really happened in reality. You should do away with the nerdy techy way of speaking adopted by the youths of this generation; tweetering language, facebook language etc and sound like someone in the 1920s. I’m not saying you should go all shakespeare and talk in the manner in which they spoke, all I’m saying is if you have 10 words to say, make sure you take your time and say them as cleanly and as clearly as possible. Its better to say 10 words well pronounced than a thousand words in haste which usually signifies nervousness.

6. COLLECT RARE RELICS, TREASURES

Believe it or not, items have tremendous power imbued upon them. They capture the subconscious parts of our minds and override the conscious. If for instance someone puts a statue of Jesus in his room or a large crucifix, He/she would start having thoughts of Christ and this in turn influences his/her behaviour. If on the other hand someone puts a picture of baphomet in his room, a pentagram, a black sabbath poster and a skull in his/her room, He/she would start having evil thoughts and this in turn would influence his/her actions. I’m not here to preach to you about morality. We choose to be heroes or villains; one cannot exist without the other. Collect items that are dear to you and place them in your coffin or your room. When your mind keeps seeings these objects or items that you like on a daily basis, it influences your mind subconsciously and brings you closer to how you need to be; A Bloodthirsty Vampire.
Symbols are extremely powerful… For the blood effect, you could drink red wine and let it slither off the side of your lips so you’d look like you just drank someone’s blood. Also, blackcurrant and zobo would do the trick for the vamp effect.

7. DRESS IN PLAIN CLOTHING

Plain black shirts and white shirts, short sleeve, long sleeve, Tshirts etc are the way to go if you want to become a vampire. Drop the fancy colored shoes and the tight jeans and the bright colored pink or yellow Tshirts.. I don’t know why this generation embraces that crappy look but that look just says ‘look at me everyone, I’m a fucking nerd trying to be cool’.
Instead of buying blue, green, red, yellow footwear, save up your money and just buy one black ankle boots. It goes with everything. If you’re wearing jeans, wear something that gives your balls space to breathe and not some tight crap. Black pants are awesome for the vamp look. Black pants + white shirt = ultimate vampire look. If you are wearing jewellery or accessories, black jewellery is the way to go. Its very cool to look at someone’s neck and you see a black rope hanging on it. It says I’m rich but I don’t like to show off by wearing a big gold chain or a fancy shiny silver chain. Also, silver items are known to burn vampires skins. Black accessories also make you look mysterious. Its always good to have a bland flat look.. Not too colorful and not too dull.. Also, the more gloomier colored clothes suit the soon to be vampire. Red, Purple, Dark blue, Dark Green, Black, Dark Grey etc.. White is the only bright color that suits a vampire. The idea is that when people look at you, you should remind them of the night, taboo, darkness and unrestrained passion.

8. TALK LESS

In this generation were everyone thinks they know it all and talking too much is the way to attract the opposite sex, it pays to talk less. If someone says something to you and you tried so hard in those seconds after they said it to come up with something reasonable to say but you couldn’t come up with anything reasonable to say to reply them, just look them in the eye and let a small smile come out from the side of your lips.
Don’t try to be funny.
Everybody is such a fucking comedian in this generation. Stop trying to be funny, Its the cheapest and most insignificant way to get attention. Its much better to speak philosophically than to speak about facts, the News and what is happening currently in the world. The idea is this; the less you know, the more fodder for conversation. Even though you did know something, pretend like you don’t and let them talk about it to you. You can then apply step 4; The Glamour Move. Just keep looking them in the eye as they speak and try your best not to blink too much. Let the tear fill your eye and let it shine with a nice gleam to hypnotize them but don’t let the tear roll down your cheeks as this would quell the spell.

This is all I could think of for now, maybe there are more, maybe not but practice these steps and watch yourself slowly but surely transform to a real life vampire.. Don’t doubt it, Try it.
This is legit shit!

———————–
You’ve heard him!!!
P.s: Best Vampire, Lestat de Lioncourt. (Stuart Townsend), created by Anne Rice. Oh Yummy!!!! ^.^

Thursday from Hell


Been unable to write.
Still unable to write.
Not for lack of ideas, nay Ser.
I. just.can’t.write.

So decided to try writing on how my wonderful day went.
==============

It began with waking up at an awkward angle, elbow tucked in a position i can hardly remember now. With careless ease, i tried changing sides and that was when it hit.
Pain.
Exquisite pain.
I left my mortal body and came back.
After whimpering like a wounded goat, finally got out of bed and managed to shower.
Had to get to work.
I debated staying home, but nay.
Pay day Thursday.
Took me forever and some minutes to dress up and leave the house.
No breakfast. Painkillers, i assumed were in my bag.
Walked to an offlicense shop that sells chinchin.
It is my drug.
Judge if you like.
Missed my bus just for that.
Went to shelf.
No chinchin.
I whimpered inside.
Pieces of my life crumbled away as i bought the driest sandwich i ever ate, ass I would find out on the bus.
The bread is still stuck in my throat somewhere.
Jump two buses to get to work.
Hit my hurting elbow hard..several times.
Suffice it to say by the time i got to work, i was a blubbering, sobbing mess.
Settled down. Had lunch.
Check bag for painkillers.
Nothing.
Left it on the bed.
Sigh.
Work mode.
I suspect my boss forgot whatever medication he takes for his ‘whatever’.
Everything was a scream.
My elbow was driving me mad.
He was sitting so close and screaming so loud.
My old scars began itching.
Yes, several times, i contemplated smashing the talking old man’s face in.
Only the pain would have upset my elbow.
Closing time couldn’t have come any faster.
Left.
Waited for bus.
Began raining.
No umbrella.
Sigh.
Waited in the little shelter the bus stop provided.
Got in one.
Should have remained in the rain.
I entered a bus going to hell.
My headphone were stuck to my ears.
Music at its loudest.
I sat (unknowingly) in between the devil and his first born child.
The devil was in front, screaming into his phone.
Yes, i could hear him over my loud music.
Someone was owing him money.
I was ready to pay him whatever amount to shut him up.
He quieted.
I whispered hallelujah.
The the devil’s first born began coughing.
Again, i could him over my music.
The noise startled me.
Bam.
Elbow hit board.
Bit my lip hard to stifle my scream of pain.
Bloodied lip.
As i was praying for the bus to get to my bus stop, the devil’s father revealed himself.
Someone farted on the bus.
Noxious, disgusting, choking smell that brought tears to my eyes.
The father of Satan didn’t wait for the smell to disperse before releasing another one.
At this point, I was ready to stand up and address my fellow travellers.
For the love of God! Make una moderate una mess na!
I didn’t.
I am a wimp.
Yes, i was on a highway to hell.
Bus finally got to stop, my next bus was just in front.
Wanted to run for the bus.
But oh no.
The devil’s grandmother was before me, reliving her wedding day, waddling slowly like it was a FUCKING WEDDING MARCH!
Calm.
So..
Missed bus.
No bus at the station.
Sitting right here, getting cold, thinking about life.
Thinking about the second dry piece of sandwich in my bag.
I should bin it.
Or wait..
Might just be hungry enough soon.
Listening to Chris Brown, asking me to look at him.
Skip.
Something niggling the back of my mind.
I open my bag.
Yup.
Left my paycheck at the office, on my desk.
Sigh.
FML.

City Boy, Hustler


After a fevered night of typing, I bring to you today’s post.
Do enjoy.
Like I care if you don’t. -_-
Kidding.
Or am I? -_-

———————————————————————–

He woke up disgruntled.
The heat was killing.
He sighed and rolled to his back on the hard bed, wincing in distaste. He folded his beefy arms around his head and stared lazily at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan rotating slowly before they came to a stop.
He hissed under his breath, mumbling curses at the country’s power supply company. He maintained his position for a moment, staring at nothing in particular, noting the specks of dust on the fan, wondering if it has ever seen a rag.
His stomach then chose to rumble, breaking him out of his reverie. He mumbled another string of even more colourful curses and pushed himself up. He sat on the bed for a little while, turning his slightly thick neck sideways to ease the tension in his neck muscles. His stomach rumbled again, as if in reminder and sighing, he got out of bed.
He stumbled on a sleeping body on the floor and let out a short expletive as he managed to regain his balance.
“Idiot!” he muttered furiously and delivered a well-aimed kick at the body before leaving, hardly listening to the mumbled sleepy complaints coming out of the confines of the cloth.
He walked to the kitchen and opened the white standing fridge.
It barely had anything edible in it.
He sighed and turned to the gas cooker. There was a pot half opened on it, table top littered with grains of rice. He smiled and walked to the rack that had plates at a corner and picked a ceramic plate. He walked back to the pot and opened.
It was empty.
“Oooooh!” he grumbled, slamming the pot cover back on and throwing the empty plate on the floor in anger.
“Ah Ahn! Who don break plate for that kitchen!” a voice angrily yelled from the living room.
He kicked at the bigger  pieces of the broken plate and gingerly stepped over the smaller ones. He had no plans to clean up. If anyone stepped on them and got injured, good for them.
Growling angrily, he walked to the living room where his house mate, Fredo, sat.
“Mace so na you dey break plate! What’s wrong with this nigga! You think you’re in your father’s house?” Fredo said between mouthfuls, pointing angrily at Mace with a spoon.
Mace stared at his skinny frame, clad in a white shirt and washed out jeans.
“Dude why didn’t you leave food for me!”
Fredo eyed him and suddenly laughed.
“This boy sef! That’s why you’re breaking Presido’s plates. Oya come we can share mine. Go bring spoon come.”
Mace walked to Fredo and snatched the plate of food out of his hand.
“You’ve eaten enough.”
He collected the spoon out the shocked hands of Fredo and began shovelling jollof rice into his mouth. Fredo snapped back to present and stood up angrily.
“E be like say you take crase wake up this evening Mace! Why will you collect the food I’m eating! It’s like your mother did not teach you manners abi?”
Mace paused and turned to him. His glare shut up Fredo.
“Don’t mention my mother dude.”
Fredo stammered and huffed. “Ehn! Is..Is that not why your father disowned you? Better gaan beg your rich papa to take you back and stop eating our food here!”
Mace advanced menacingly towards him and Fredo backed down instinctively.
“Presido!” he shouted. “Come warn Mace o!”
Mace eyed him and suddenly chuckled. He sat down on the lumpy sofa, cursing it for its lumpiness.
A second later, another man entered into the living room. Fredo went to stand beside him.
Mace paused from his eating to stare at the heavily muscled Presido.
“I was eating and this your boy Mace snatched the food from me” Fredo said.
Presido chuckled and shook his head “Mace boy, you need a job. You need to let off some steam.”
Mace mumbled and continued eating. Presido turned to Fredo “Dude no worry just go clean the kitchen. I’ll buy you a big bottle of Black”
Fredo huffed and mumbled “Every time you go just dey treat Mace like say him be King. Just sake of say na butter kid wey fine small…”
“My friend shut up” Presido growled and Fredo’s mouth clamped shut. Without waiting for further words, he went to the kitchen.
Presido sat down and sighed. “But Mace you gats chill sometimes. This your stubbornness shouldn’t be a problem here o.”
Mace effected a contrite look, even though his lips were curved in a sneer.
Presido shook his head at his goose, laying him golden eggs.
After Mace’s arrival, his business booming. Mace was his prime Runz boy but he had to admit, the boy’s temper was an issue he’d soon have to deal with. There should be ways of fucking him up a little without spoiling his good looks.
Mace dropped his plate and relaxed, or tried to anyway, on the sofa.
“Look Prezz I know what you thinking. I’m a handful. Just sometimes I get bloody frustrated with this whole thing you know! This life is kinda rough and It does take some getting used to. If my bloody asshole of a father wasn’t so uptight  and annoying with his strictness, I won’t be here and you  know that. Plus I know I’ve made more money for you that those girls you play pimp to.”
Presido said nothing, watching unblinkingly and Mace squirmed a little at his scrutiny.
“Mace…” Presido said and suddenly laughed.
He brought out a Blackberry from his pocket.
“You’ve got a client. Number two. Code name, Dave. He’ll be at the Oriental Hotel for 8pm. He’s paid his deposit. Would forward the details to you.”
Mace nodded, smiling. Finally.
Some action.
Presido started to walk away and stopped, turning “You better be good. This one smells boxed up. He might give you a tip.”
“No worries”
Presido nodded his head and walked off.
Mack brought out his phone and checked the time.
6.54pm.
He needed to start getting ready.
Smiling, he got up and walked back to his room.
Quickly, he donned his finest suit he had managed to take out of the house before his father had unceremoniously kicked his butt out.
He prepped himself up in front of the mirror and satisfied, he smiled seductively at his reflection.
The reason he made so much money for Presido wasn’t just because of his good looks. He was the only guy in Presido’s employ that was ready to service other men. And other men sure did pay well to get their services.
He had no scruples.
He associated Morality with his parents and wanted no part of it. They could go stick their religious beliefs up their butts for all he cared. While he stuck his…beliefs up another guy’s..
He grinned at the thought.
His phone buzzed and he checked to see the details Presido had sent.
Ready, he left the house.

He arrived at the restaurant where he was supposed to be meeting his ‘client’ and walked in, expertly surveyed the room, looking for Code Name: Dave.
He was looking out for a man, he didn’t have an age to go with, sitting alone, probably drinking alone, looking awkward and fidgety.
His eyes hovered from his vantage position until he spotted the man that fit the bill.
His jaws unhinged for a second.
Suddenly he smiled.
Wearing his thick, dark shades around his face, he walked up to a 60-something year old looking man and sat down, unasked.
“Dave” Mace said in a gruff voice.
The man stared at him and nodded. “You’re Mace? You come highly recommended.”
Mace smiled slightly and nodded.
“What hotel are we booked for?”
The man smiled “Drinks first. You must be thirsty.”
He winked and Mace smiled in return.
He watched as the man called the attention of a waiter and without asking him, ordered for another bottle of wine.
Mace looked at the expensive wristwatch on his wrist that jingled as he gesticulated and smiled to himself. He saw the man had no wedding ring on, though the indention of a wedding band was still on his finger.
Mace’s smile widened.
“You have a beautiful smile” the man said as the waiter walked off.
Mace nodded his thanks and the man smiled.
“Why not take off your glasses? We’re indoors. Or is it one of the latest fads with you guys now? I can’t keep up!”
Mace smiled. “Take it off?”
The man nodded. “Yea.”
Mace smiled again. “Sure?”
The man’s brows furrowed. “Yea..sure”
Mace nodded and grinning evilly,he removed his shades.
A laugh escaped his mouth at the indrawn breath of the man before him.
“Mason!”
Mace…Mason smiled.
“Hello Daddy. Chief David Akinbalogun. Dave. Fancy seeing you here.”
He threw his head back and laughed at the stunned, fearful expression on his father’s face.
“I’m guessing Mummy doesn’t know about your…soliciting. Yes?”
His father gulped, eyes wide, gasping.
The waiter came at that moment with the bottle and Mason smiled at him
“A glass of water please. Someone would be needing it.”
The waiter nodded and left.
He watched his father squirm, hands shaking.
“Ma..Mason…”
Mason chuckled.
“To think that you were my next client? Amazing!”
His father coughed, looking around helplessly; looking anywhere but at Mason.
“You kicked me out of your bloody house because I was ‘too violent’. ‘A drop-out’. ‘A drug user’.
Mason smiled, his eyes twinkling in delight.
“So Daddy, it seemed I won’t be coming back home over your dead body as you predicted.”
His father said nothing, head bowed.
“It seems you would be telling Mummy her son is coming back home. Or I would be telling her an interesting story about her husband…”
His father sighed and put his hands on his head. “How much do you want?” he mumbled.
“Old man, chill. Let’s drink our wine before we discuss business. You and I are in for a ride of our lives” Mason said, mocking, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes.
“Damn..” he said softly, bringing his phone out of his pocket, grinning. “Today just got interesting..”
He sent Presido a quick text.

“Seems I’ve hit the JACKPOT”

His father wiped a tear rolling down out of the corner of his eye.

———————————————————————————————

Hehehehe!!!

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