Her Design – Part 2

This is her design. This is her masterpiece.
She had always been artistic. Taking every opportunity she had to scribble or draw something, anything. She did this as she was sad. Sad and depressed. Depressed and angry. Angry and weak.
She hated her life; her existence. She always wondered why, why she was created, why she came into this world. Her life was a mess.
She was an only child. The only child of two nefarious and useless parents. She hated them both; she hated them equally.
Her father was insane, he had to be; for that was the only reasonable explanation for how he lived his life. He was a miserable drunk. No job, no bearing in life, nothing. He came home every night, reeking of cheap beer. He would see her in the living room, usually scribbling something, and he would order her to come closer just so he could beat her and fondle with her body.
The devil; that was what she called him.
Her mother was weak. She hated her. The woman always accepted nonsense. The man would go into the kitchen, drag the woman out to the living room, beat her until she could not cry or struggle again and take her right there, in front of the girl.
The fool; that was what she called her.
She hated all men. Her father had made her believe all men were dogs, were animals, were equally wretched. And men like two of her uncles  helped further intensify her conviction.
They all had to die. They didn’t deserve life. At 13, she had been known over and over again by these same 3 men.

Her plan was foolproof. She had gotten all the necessary items she would need – a large canvas, a big paintbrush, enough succinylcholine, a sharp knife, a keg of petrol and a gas lighter. All she waited for now was the perfect time.
And it came quite early. The fool had invited the girls uncles for dinner. This was her opportunity.
As usual, she prepared the dinner. Asides being weak, the fool was also lazy and made the girl do all the domestic work. The girl prepared dinner with a broad smile across her lips.

This is her cue

She announced that the meal was ready and asked that they gather at the dining table while she brings in their food from the kitchen. She had prepared rice. Rice and stew. Stew and succinylcholine.
They ate, except her. She sat and watched as they all ate and laughed. She laughted too. Not at their jokes, but at how well everything was going.
They had finished eating and she cleared the table.

This is her moment

On returning from the kitchen, she saw that they were all motionless. Motionless, but alive. Alive enough to watch as she worked on her masterpiece.
With the sharp knife, she drew their blood. Blood sufficient to start and complete her masterpiece.
All through, she didn’t say a word. She enjoyed the quietness.
She positioned their heads to face the large canvas she had brought into the room.
‘This is my work’ she said, as she dipped the paintbrush into the jar containing their blood and began to ‘scribble’.


Light strokes

She took her time.
She was finally done and so she stepped back to admire her work.


She had painted a little girl, one eye innocent, and the other red with fury. The little girl was looking at four words she had written on the wall.


They wished they could react, but they could not move their bodies.  The succinylcholine had paralysed them.
She excused herself and left the room. Soon, she was back, dragging a keg of petrol behind her. With calmness and a smile, she poured the petrol all over them and around the room.

She brought out a lighter from her pocket.

And then she stood at the entrance of the house, flicked on the lighter, and threw it into the dining room.
As she walked away, away from the nonsense, away from the madness, away from the fire, she could hear their muffled cries. But she did not care.

She never looked back.

For this is her design, this is her masterpiece.


His Cross – Part 1

Prompt – Subtle

He wears a smile wherever he goes. The pain, the hurt, the insecurity; he hides behind a mask. A mask of joy and happiness. Happiness so pure, it’s almost unreal; even though it is, for he is not happy; or joyous. His heart aches, his head hurts, as he wonders when, just when, when will he feel true happiness again.

His life had been perfect; his joy intact. He was a little boy with not a care in the world. A child’s happiness is heavenly; it is perfect. Perfect as the child has not gone through a lot yet. And so, he lives each day, smiling, laughing and jumping, because life is good, very good; at least for now.

Good things happen to bad people. Not that they deserve it, obviously, or that they put themselves in precarious po-situations™; these bad things just choose you. And once you have been chosen, there is no escape. Besides, where is the fun in bad things happening to bad people?

Like every other day, he played; innocence so overwhelming, it was too good to be true. Little did he know the ceaseless joy was life’s way of preparing him for years of unhappiness, of insecurity, of pain, of hurt, of tears he would have to hide.

Everyone has a cross to bear. No two crosses are the same. Similar, yes, but never the same. Some crosses are tougher to bear or carry than others. That is how it can appear anyway. But in truth, all crosses feel the same. Because pain is pain. And hurt is hurt. A loss is a loss, and a cross a cross.

But he would realise that all crosses are really not the same. His cross, so tough to bear, he would not wish it on his worst enemy.

His life was about to start. He was going into a new place, a new part of his life. And he was going to leave home for a while. Others cried at the beginning of this race as they had never been away from home. But not him; he was enthusiastic, a curiosity so intense burning inside him as he lived for new experiences.

The race started well. There were a few hiccups but nothing out of the ordinary; normal things that occurred in this type of race, or world. He endured the bumps in the road as he knew the time to return home, albeit for a short while, was near. The fact that he was blessed with rather good looks attracted a good number or ‘she’s’ and this made enduring the hurdles easier.

This race had 6 legs, or years. Each leg had three laps, or terms. Altogether, he was going to go through eighteen laps, terms.

His life was going fine. Still a joyous boy, but not as joyous as some years back as various experiences opened him up to the evils of the world, he tried to enjoy every passing day.

And then it happened. In a very odd way. A way so enigmatic, it was obvious life wanted his happiness destroyed, gone..lost.

He had been called before the cross assigning board. They had said, as he clearly remembers,

‘You have been chosen boy. Your joy irks us. And so we have decided to plague you with a cross; one so…..so heavy’ the word heavy had been dragged, for emphasis. He had asked,

‘Why? Why now? Why me? Why?’

They had replied,

‘Never mind that, young boy. Just listen. Now this cross is one we thoroughly prepared specifically for you. One we feel you will have great difficulty accepting, or bearing. One that plagues you physically and emotionally. One that will be obvious to every other person, just so your pain is further aggravated. One that grows. One that is alive.’

‘But I do not deserve this. I have done nothing to deserve any of this’ he had said.

‘Shut up boy! No one chooses a cross. If they were allowed that luxury, crosses would be easy to bear. And that would not be fun, don’t you think? ’

They had dragged the issue. He argued and argued, trying and hoping to convince them to give the cross to another as he loved being happy. He pleaded but their conviction was unwavering.

On noticing this was a battle he would never win, he fell to his knees, weak, as he had almost no strength left in him.

His cross was placed on him.

‘Before you leave boy, know that there is a way out. But also know that we hope you never find it’, they had said as he left.

The next chapter of his life was about to begin. A chapter so long, so painful, so unfair for a boy so innocent.

The cross was heavy. One whose existence could not be traced or connected to any occurrence or disease. This was the first pointer to it being an actual cross. The cross he was to bear on his stay here.

This is his cross

Class-Seminar-Workshop Thing

Prompt: Seconds -Describe the most satisfying meal you’ve ever eaten, in glo- rious detail.
Sheraton Hotel Ikeja; I wish someone had warned them. The second they accepted Masterclass’ request to use on of their spaces for a class-seminar-workshop thing, they didn’t know they had messed up big time.
I was in SS1 at the time. These guys came around and spoke to us about some science-y stuff. They didn’t have all day so they informed us that there was going to be a class-seminar-workshop thing later in the month and that interested individuals could register to attend. Yes, we had to pay a fair fee because nothing in this country is free.
They had caught my attention when they mentioned Forensic science. It wasn’t a dominant aspect in the class-seminar-workshop thing but there was going to be a Forensic Science class. A part of me has always loved forensics. Had things gone differently, that’s probably what I would have studied. Unfortunately, condition and one or two other things hindered my dreams.
Convincing my dad to register for me was quite easy. He’s equally always been interested in forensics and the other topic that was to be taught at the class-seminar-workshop thing (renewable energy -Solar energy(it wasn’t really popular at the time).
The day for the class-seminar-workshop thing came finally. I felt elated. All the excitement would eventually die down when the coordinators used the first few minutes to ask nonplussing questions my relatively empty brain couldn’t comprehend; at the time.
The class was really nice. They spoke about solar panels, solar energy and even gave every one of us our own solar panels and other components so we could make solar chargers for ourselves. The forensics aspect was awesome. After running us through the basics, we were divided into groups and assigned a case to solve. Yes, we cracked the case. No, my group didn’t win.
Altogether, it was a wonderful experience. If it had ended there, I would have been satisfied. But when life decides it’s going to spoil you silly, it spoils you well.
We were about leaving when the coordinators told us we were to go down to the restaurant for lunch. Before we could ask, she mentioned it was free.
Trust boys to run downstairs. To further (for lack of ‘perfecter’ phrase) burst out heads, it was a buffet.
At the time, I had only ever been privileged to be at a buffet once. It was at the airport in Dubai. They had delayed our flight by over 7 hours and so they gave us free passes for food at their restaurant to compensate us. God bless Emirates Airlines. However, we got kicked out (sort of) after I took about 23 sausages (no jokes) amongst other things. I was going to be out of their country in like 2 hours so no embarrassment


I’ve always been wild. And so have my guys too. Oh, I forgot to mention it, we were about 10 that turned up for the function. About 6 guys from my school and the rest from other schools around. And there was only one girl too. So basically, no one had a concrete reason to act tush; nobody to impress.
Sheraton Hotel Ikeja will never forget that day. I’m sure they pull in lots of profit daily and all but I’m confident they still haven’t recovered from the damage we did that day.
Boys are wild normally. Nigerians are wild normally. Secondary school students are wild normally. And people who get free food are wild. Now imagine one person falling into all categories at the same time. That was us that day.
I don’t eat pork but these guys put a full pig on display for interested people to cut out of. I cut a massive chunk out because I can and didn’t eat up to three spoons(forks doesn’t sound right). There was this gizzard pepper soup available too. Ultimate LOL. They had to refill the pot roughly every three minutes because of the way myself and my friends made sure our soup bowls were never empty. Sounds sane and normal but we did this while concurrently, or simultaneously ~whichever works~ eating rice, chickens and for crazy people like me, Eba too.
Everything tasted like gold.
Like achieved dreams.
Like Champions League final goals.
Like happiness.
Like trophies.
Like free WiFi.
Like ladies in white dresses.
Like a lady wearing glasses.
Like spending time with someone you love.
Like playing seasons and winning almost every match.
Like winning a million dollars.
Like winning two million dollars.
Like reading a Dan Brown book.
Like FC Barcelona ❤💙
Like winning a World Cup.
Like… the list is endless but I have a life to live and things to do now.
On behalf of everyone that attended the MasterClass in 2009, I humbly apologize to Sheraton Hotel Ikeja. Is it too late now to say Sorry?

How I Met Your Mother

Prompt: Flangiprop! Invent a definition for the word “flangiprop,” then use the word in a post.

I believe in fate. Not from the beginning however, but now, after all that has happened, I have no reason to doubt its existence.
When you ask a couple how they met, it’s usually a funny story, sometimes an awkward moment, and other times, a plain, normal story. Ours is(was) different.

15. That’s how old I was. Waiting for 3:30pm had never been this boring; 3:30pm was the time stated for boarding. My dad and I were going to Eritrea because we felt like. To pass time, I turned on my DS and started playing Mario Kart.
Mario Kart is still one game I will love for life. We’ve been through a lot together. From the lonely late nights,  to those times I had to wait hours in the car for my mum while she ‘merry-go-rounded’ markets on Saturdays when I stupidly asked to follow her ‘out’. Good times.

Donkey Kong had just hit me with a red shell and my character, Luigi, did that pre-programmed silly flip characters  do when they get hit by a power-up. I came second in that particular race.

[We always played PvP in school since many of us has DS’s; I won most of the time; that’s by the way]

For some reason, I searched for a game online(Bluetooth-ish technically for geeks that may want to argue); something I do randomly, believing one day, someone would coincidentally have created a game and was waiting for me to connect. Today was that day.



I had seen silly gamertags across the platforms I played on; XxArchranicxX, TheRealDot, RunRunRun and some other really dumb ones, but Flangiprop?  Sounded like a virus.

I connected regardless. Ordinary virus. Flangiprop accepted and the pre game processes began.

As usual, I was using Luigi and his blue car. As if the gamertag wasn’t a big enough joke already, Flangiprop was using Princess Daisy. I would have understood if it were Princess Peach, but literally no one uses Daisy. And to make things ‘odder‘ (odder is a word here which means ‘more odd’. I use whatever words I feel like; leave me alone), Flangiprop was using Bowser’s alternate vehicle.

This was going to be a very easy match. I thought.

The race started and everything was going really well for me. I was at least +10 seconds ahead of Flangiprop by the middle of the 2nd lap.

All these good signs and you would think I had the race in the bag. Well, I didn’t.

Mysteriously, Flangiprop came from nowhere and overtook me. Yes, Stupid-GamerTag won that race.
And the one after that. And three more after that.

‘FLIGHT 037, Eritrea, now boarding at gate 7’ boomed over the PA system. I was so relieved because the successive L’s made me cry a bit. And now i had an excuse to stop collecting L’s like Meek(love him though).

We were third in line at gate 7. It looked like not so many people were going to Eritrea. Who goes to Eritrea anyway? The boarding process was smooth. No hassle.

I was still fidgeting with the seatbelt while thinking of what movie(s) I would watch to pass time as the flight duration wasn’t so short when this girl sat next to me.

She wore glasses. I love glasses. The glasses was all I cared about. All of her other features or accessories didn’t appeal to me. Put on a pair of glasses and have long hair and you have me in your pocket. To further arouse my curiosity(and love. Yes, I fell in love), I spotted a pink DSi in her right hand.
She didn’t speak to me. I couldn’t say hi anyway cos I was shy to death. She sat and flipped open her DS.

A familiar tune started to play.
Mario Kart.
She was about exiting to the main menu when I saw Princess Daisy doing a victory lap with ‘winner’ written across the screen. And then the race details popped up.
1. Flangiprop 02:12:47
2. LordShovel 02:28:02

‘You’re Flangi’
Sorry, that was my son recounting how he met some girl earlier today. Oh? This is suppsoed to be about how i met my wife? That’s pretty easy, I met my wife on Twitter in the dm’s 🙂

Come and Fight Me

It’s usually easy to write fiction; since everything is made up and there are no facts to contradict. It can take as little as two minutes to as much as three hours, depending on the content. But writing from within, trying to convey (an) emotion(s), or describing an event or occurrence in a way that perfectly tells how it went, can be really tough.
I haven’t been here for quite a while. Not because I didn’t have anything to tell, or because….. Honestly, there hasn’t been any motivation, or inspiration.
For those of you that have been complaining about my very long absence, I’m here now, come and fight me


The past few days have been way too good. Good days can come successively, but not for as long as four, five days; not that I’m complaining though. I would rather not reveal the details cos I’m selfish, but just know it’s been all smiles and fun.
It is undeniable that I have consistency issues. Almost like inconsistency is my superpower. But things are about to change; and I think I mean it this time.
I came across a 365-day writing prompt so I have no legitimate reason to lie that lack of ideas is a problem.
So, look forward to me dropping stuff frequently. It should be daily but knowing me, I’m going to miss a couple.

Because I can bih ☺

Happy New Year by the way