A Wonderful Surprise

This post originally appeared on my Medium, which is a wasteland now, but I decided to post it here as well, just because.

Oh, I never saw the writing prompt challenge through, but then no surprise there.

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{By my calculations, this is going to be my 7,481,873,236,171st attempt at writing with the guidance of prompts, of which I have failed 7,481,873,236,170 times. Yes, this is really going to be my seven trillion, four hundred and eighty one billion, eight hundred and seven three million, two hundred and thirty six thousand, one hundred and seventy first attempt. A lie, obviously.

I was going through Boro’s Medium (see here – Boro’s Medium; Oh, she has a blog too. Check it out here – Boro’s blog) and came across an entry that was influenced by a 30-day writing prompt challenge. While it was an interesting read, I checked out the prompts (see here) and they appear encouraging, soooo, I’m going to try my luck with it/them/whichever works. It’s mainly supposed to be a learning process, so please, bear with me. Salute}

Day 1

Take us through a written walk down your street and to your favourite place through the eyes of somebody else.

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You see, when I moved to this city, I expected I would have a very uneventful time- following routine, the occasional splurging on food and goodies, and bulk of my time spent with my laptop, the internet and my quite impressive collection of movies and TV shows. Boy was I wrong.

It started off how I earlier predicted. For some, routine consumes, messing with their sanity. For me, it’s comforting. Knowing what I would be doing per time is calming and the accompanying peace of mind soothes my generally anxious self.

We met and hit it off. Unfortunately, this isn’t a narration of how we met.

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He always walked me home, after every date; after every time we saw really. He never came in though, and every time he had been on my street, it was dark outside. He stayed quite far away from mine but he made sure I was home safe before he left me. ‘I need to be sure you’re okay’, he would say. I knew he was just really into me and tried to extend whatever time he had my company.

Unfortunately, I have left. I have moved away. Even more unfortunate, he’s still in that city.

He’s such a case. When we speak, he tells me about how he’s bored sometimes and wants to gets dressed then go to my place, even if I won’t be there. Hmm, I would reply.

I can imagine how it would turn out, if he ever decides to go through with it. I hope he remembers how to get there, because getting to my street is like a GTA San Andreas cheat code; that’s how giving directions to my street sounds.

To get to my street, he’s going to get to a very popular bus stop. Then make a right, a left, a right, a left, then a final right, after which he would be standing at the foot of my street. The name of my street is a four letter word. It has three vowels and one consonant, the alphabet ‘r’. There’s a certain way I pronounce the letter ‘r’; he loves it.

When he finally gets there, an elderly Yoruba man will tease him. He would call him ‘Olowo ori’; as he does every time he sees us. After shrugging off the elderly mans jokes, he will walk quite a distance.

My street is conventional, for the most part. It’s a stretch of asphalt that curves at the far end. Rough around the edges with a few patches, the road is fairly comfortable to walk on.

Photo by Safiyyah

I hate how boring it is. We have nothing, as it’s fully residential. No one ever comes out, except on Sundays when if you’re lucky, you get to see families get into their nice cars and head to their respective places of worship. I am of a different faith so Sundays are an off day for me. He’s going to find it boring too. There’s really just house, more house, a sprinkle of house and a lot of house.

The best part of my street is, as he would discover is……..my house;

Because in my house lies my room

Because in my room lies my bed

Because on my bed, my sheets lie

Because in my sheets, I lay

Waiting for him

A wonderful surprise

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