Comparing Criticisms



It freaking began with what you’d later term cold-snubbing.

At first, you didn’t think anything of it. Then it grew serious. It became mirror-clear that she was avoiding you.

There were questions.

1. Why in hades was she avoiding you?
Like, what exactly had you done wrong that she could not tell you as her friend?

2. Did you offend her? Maybe unintentionally, were her lips too tight to say something?

3. Did she hear something about you? Oh maybe it wasn’t her duty as your friend to bring that to your notice – to question and confirm. Who u be by the way? Besides why would anyone gather the guts to even gossip your matter to/with her?

4. Or maybe the negative things(and not the positive) attached to your personality, name and appearance were rubbing on her and she didn’t like it. But why couldn’t she gather the courage to say so? Besides, why weren’t those bad things affecting your other friends?

5. Perhaps, it was because you had a few other friends. But you remember telling her more than once, how much you liked her?

If it wasn’t all those things, it had to be that she was jealous, intimidated, and inadequate. But why would she even feel that way?

It had to be one of those things. You don’t just wake up one morning and start cold-snubbing someone who supposedly is your friend. No, not when you are not God.

Things accelerated faster than you imagined. The feeling of foolishness began to creep in because people had begun to notice. These days when you think about it, you laugh. Laugh because it was unnecessary to care about such. People were asking questions: irritating questions. Of particular attention, were the complaints she made that somehow found their ways to your ears. And you couldn’t help but wonder how long she had borne such flippant grudges.

It made you feel stupid because of how much you had talked about her, how much you had praised her, how much you had liked her.
Maybe she was going through a hard time; her weight loss didn’t look healthy by the way, but whatever it was, seemed to be affecting only your friendship negativily. You couldn’t notice the effect on her relation with others.

So, for the sake of doubts and not giving up too easily, you tried to reconnect the severed rope.

You would greet her first. You would go and meet her first. You would ask stupid questions, just to make sure the communication didn’t die. You would chat her up first.

You would send mundane messages, promising to be friends even if she didn’t want it. As strong and assertive as you were, you did that. Petty. A joke! That was really stupid, now that you think about it. Not even a guy had made you that vulnerable and unthinking. You had loved her in a romantic way anyway.

The more you tried, the more it would seem futile. The worse it would get. She’d skip you to tell a person whom she claimed to not like, things she couldn’t say to you. She’d come to your hostel and avoid your room completely. She didn’t think it important to tell you.

You noticed the frowns on her face when you walked up to her to say hello. You kept track of her dull and reluctant hellos.

There was so much you shared with her about yourself, family and everything that you shared with nobody else.

It felt as though you were pushing something that didn’t want to be, to be. You were not perfect. No one is. She had her flaws too. But you never knew your imperfections would mean more, that alas you two were not compatible.

When things got to boiling point, you decided it was time to get things straight. You were the one who made the first move. If you didn’t, whatever could possibly be, would be.

When she mentioned that your friendship with her had not been beneficial to her in many ways, a million questions raced through your mind in a matter of seconds.

What the fucking hell did she mean? What exactly did she mean?
What point was she trying to make? That all those times that the two of you were together, there was no relevance of you at some point? That you did nothing useful? You tried to understand it. You asked for clarification and she wriggled her waist around a burning bush without having the guts to hit the nail on the head. No goddamn guts. You don’t consider that maturity.

You would accept it like that on the basis that there may be things she did not want to say or discuss, being fully aware of her withdrawn, stock-up nature.

Later when you thought about it, you would get irritated by the thought of her saying that. What is good for the goose, isn’t it good for the gander? In your time with her, what major role did she play anyway? What life-impacting thing did she do? For what you knew, the friendship wasn’t a blank one. You loved her and that was very obvious. Maybe not in action as much as it was with words. But you did. You two had sat and had meaningful discussions before. You had never thought bad of her or anything she did. It did disturb you at some point, when it appeared as though you were moving at a fast pace and she wasn’t. Even that wasn’t your fault. You had other friends. They were climbing. It had to be her. And maybe you simply did not know what to do. And she freaking said ‘not beneficial’. What happened to the day she said ‘she did not keep useless friends?’. And why didn’t she say so all those while? You wouldn’t have known if you had not called for a meeting either. So what was she expecting?

Ridiculous shit.

She hit you with another strange one. There had to be something terribly wrong with this one, but when you reflected on it, you assumed that she was one of those few who was just like that. Maybe. But no, what did she mean by when she changes environment, she changes friends? Like, the people you chose do not have a choice to either chose you or not?

What did she mean by she did not want to be seen with you and with your other friends? She wanted to be private friends, but not public friends? Like you are the stained one, and she was the snowy white gown that needed to be protected from stains?

She didn’t want to be seen with you. It was you that was her problem.

What did she mean you had shredded some principles that endeared you to her? Why was she making you feel like the victim, the guilty one, the sinner? She hadn’t let down principles either? Besides why was she just telling you? As smart as she was she couldn’t calculate if you were aware of the changes or not? What if those changes were part of your process of evolving?

She was a loner, she said at a point. That was another reason. This would be the only significant thing you noted. You wouldn’t call her an introvert. She was not an introvert, neither was she an extrovert. But she was a loner. All the times that you were friends, she was a loner. She liked being alone. All the times you had talked and laughed and learned, she was a loner. She liked being alone. This was not a matter of privacy. You are yet to see someone who doesn’t like their privacy. It’s just a matter of levels and how much one didn’t want to let out. She was not saying privacy. She was saying ‘alone’.

When you thought about it, you’d think she was somewhat right. There had been traces. But if she called herself a loner, just by walking alone or doing stuffs alone, what would she call you? You didn’t like friends. You only recently had to keep them. You don’t like people. You don’t like parties, just for the mere act of finding food or entertainments. You liked private outings with a very limited number of people, at night. Night is your best time of the day. She didn’t do your type of outing. You can survive alone, but you’ve got friends whose presence mean a lot. She was one of those. There are sacrifices you had to make to sustain some friendships, things you had to let go, including making yourself uncomfortable.
But maybe she was really a loner.

There was so much she said that didn’t cut it for you. Maybe your emotions clouded your sense of judgement to not get her point.

But one thing was very clear: the friendship had ended.

For good? For bad?

Time would tell.

It took time, days for you to reflect deeply on many things and it didn’t take more than a few seconds (when the moment came) to pick her and and throw her in the trashbin of things that you would never return to no matter what. It took only a revealing moment for you to push her case aside, and count her as irrelevant to your existence. You had tried to save it. Maybe it was not enough, but no, you were not obliged to.

Not after she satiated the hungry tastes of all those people who for a long time had waited for such a separation.

It was good while it lasted.

But you no longer give a hoot about her. This surprises you even: the grossly high level of indifference you now feel towards her. Once in a lazy while, she crosses your mind and each time, you don’t feel what you once felt for her. Not even a trace. She had clearly stated she didn’t want to be seen with you. She had clearly stated she was a loner. You are respecting those choices. Difference is you are adding jara to the package.

She is a case closed. Not even if she becomes the owner of the world.

There are always two sides to a story they say. You don’t know if she has told hers or if she will ever tell hers. You don’t care really. She could take it to her grave. You’ve told yours.

And before the turn of another year of your life, you just want to document this one last (in)significant thing that marked your previous year.

Your focus is in the future. If you died along the way, okay.

You loved your other friends, but one important lesson learnt is: a) not building expectations and b) enjoying it while it lasts.

Nothing lasts forever.




Dearest Alero,

My very own. I received your letter this morning about writing something for you to prove how much I know you. My first thought was why? We live together. We are one. So why?


Knowing you as I do, I realised you do need something tangible to hold on to, even if they are lies. But I won’t lie to you. Every word I will write will be true. Very honest. I know you more than you know yourself Alero; this includes the things you tell me and the things you don’t. Believe me, I KNOW YOU LIKE I AM YOU.

Below is a perfect example.

About one month ago, you met with this really smart dude, whom you didn’t think much of at first. And it was because you didn’t think anything beyond ‘interesting’ of him; because you did not forsee that one day, you’d begin to think about him in more ways than you thought about life, you let your words run ceaselessly like a broken water pipe the first time you both met. It was a casual first meeting after all. You would hate it later: the act of thinking about someone in a way unlike how you have trained yourself to be. It may have had something to do with the fact that you did not want to penetrable, and that no matter how openly he spoke and how penetrable he may have seemed, he wasn’t. That, you would later conclude, was another part of the the weird similarities that existed between the two of you.

You were older.

For many, that would have been the end of any sizzling desires. But you were not ‘many’. You were you, and for you, it was the beginning of a desire. This desire didn’t sprout out of the thought that he was young and appeared vulnerable. He was not vulnerable. It was borne out of something that resembled denial. The more you denied that there was no point, the more it became obvious that there was actually a point.

You knew he admired you in a way he thought fit. But that admiration wasn’t love. You could swear it wasn’t, even if he never said so, even if he looked at you sometimes as though he did. What you felt for him wasn’t love either. You knew because the very first time you felt something like love, it didn’t feel this way. It didn’t make you feel weak and strong at the same time. It wasn’t love. It wasn’t admiration. It was a feeling that had no name but you knew it wasn’t love.

The second time you met, it was a planned accident. You hated it and you didn’t even know why. It was not like the first time you met him, you prepared for it. You didn’t give a heck. But it was under control. It was casual. This planned accident would make your feet walk faster than they usually did; you’d begin to blab at some point and apologise for no reason at all. And he would play cool. At this point, that which you felt for him, was still vague and untouched. It was still nothing.

The third time you met, it wasn’t a planned accident. It was a real one. The most unexpected of all. I remember you said you stuttered. You were sweaty, tired. You just wanted to get home because it was dark and your legs hurt. And there he was; snuck up behind you, calling your name. I don’t remember you telling me that he hugged you or you hugged him, but you were excited to see him. He would nudge at your shoulders with his shoulders, as you both sat in the semi darkness. His fingers would curl around your fingers as he later walked you down to your destination. He would advise you to sleep; he’d pretend he cared. These, you realised much later, meant nothing at all. They stopped meaning anything the moment he told you the truth; and how the entwining of fingers, and locking of eyes were just a mechanism he devised just to give you the wrong impression about his truth.

He intimidated you in the way he spoke. You did not hide that fact. Sometimes, you wondered if it was the different realities you grew up in or the different career paths you were pursuing, or perhaps he was simply too much for you: his intelligence, his sense, his maturity. You did not like this at all. But you did not see him as a competitor. Instead you resolved to learn. Another thing that shocked you. It meant you liked more him than necessary.

The fourth time you met, you wanted him to have the world. You wanted to give him an experience of something – a lifetime, give him first times with things he may not have imagined himself doing. But it rained that morning, and as you lay all dressed up in your bed thinking, it occurred to you that maybe you weren’t meant to do all those things. This thought was confirmed later, when you both met almost two hours later than intended.
It was the longest conversation you both had. It was the most educative, and somewhat intimate. You were quiet most of the time. You liked his shirt, but you didn’t tell him. You didn’t tell him you liked his hair too, or his eyes or his smile, or his choice of friends. Those things did not seem to matter then.

You’d share a lot with him. But not so much to give you away – to lay you bare because you weren’t sure he’d understand. For instance, you didn’t think he would understand your insecurities, if you told him. You didn’t think he’d understand the intensity of those things that have driven you to attempt suicide three times. You let him know his friend was an ex crush of yours but you wouldn’t tell him that you kissed this friend more than once. Because he wouldn’t understand. Because it may scare him. For some reasons, he struck you as pious but even that was funny because he was not. You didn’t let him know you liked him or you thought he was really handsome and that his accent did something to your clitoris. You didn’t tell him you loved the way he pronounced your name, or the way he looked at you. God! You loved it! You told him a few times though, that you liked a game he loved. Difference was, he could play and you couldn’t. And he didn’t look like a good teacher.

Most importantly, you wanted him to know you weren’t crushing on him. Crushing was just a game. You never date those you crush on. You never date. But that he aroused feelings that had ceased to exist within you.

There’d be a lot of body contact this time, hands mostly. You held hands, fingers touching while smiles were directly exchanged. It was such a simple thing that was wrapped up in something deeper. He’d ask you a question that resembled; ‘What would you do if I kissed you right now?’ This came at a time when you had only just begun to talk after a long time of listening. It threw you off balance, rendered you speechless for some minutes. When you recovered, you felt he had meant what he said. Your head would tell your feelings later that it didn’t mean a hoot. He had just wanted you to keep quiet. He had just wanted to observe how you’d react. But the sound of what he said and the way he said it, never left you. Even now, you feel it.

The last time you met, it was over something very trivial and unimportant. And that was the ridiculous thing about that one last meeting. It was supposed to be ordinary, but it ended up blowing your mind. It blew your fucking mind. You orgasmed, literarily. You realised he noticed details about you that people wouldn’t ordinarily notice. He smiled lavishly. The eye contacts were longer, deeper, lingering. The body contact, although light, felt great. He wrapped his hands around your shoulders several times in public. It gave you a sense of importance, but you’d later realise it was only an illusion. You met his friends. You liked them, knew what they were capable of, knew how much their presence in his life would determine. You had liked one of them before after all. You called it crushing. It was a disastrous situation.

Then the urge started.

You wanted to kiss him.

It felt like a sudden possession.

You didn’t want to leave until it happened.

But you were so unsure. Not scared. You hardly got scared. But you were unsure.

At some point, you wanted to hold his face in your hands and just stare at his smile.

You wanted him to understand you in totality because you knew he didn’t.

You wanted him.

After that last meeting, after fantasising that night about impossibilities, after engaging in all those things you knew he’d like and even telling him about them, you’d wake up two mornings later and tell yourself the coldest of all hard truths: There Was No Point. No fucking point.

So, no more.

No more, you said. You meant it.

You had come a long way protecting so much, preventing so much. You’d be a fool to let everything you had become, everything you had protected, come crashing down. Just because you were silly and excited.

He did not love you. You did not love him.

Love was just a name, but you knew what you felt for him would wreck you; destroy you to pieces. You never doubted your instincts. Better end now, or never.


You were experienced enough to know nothing lasted forever.

One of you was going to die, going to leave.

If there was no other reason, that was enough reason for you.

Now, you are healing, deleting memories, forgetting, resetting. And I know you Alero. I know you well enough to know you always achieve what you set your mind to.

So Alero, like I wrote earlier, I know you better than anybody else. I know you as though you live in my body.

Hold me accountable for all I have written. Swear I have lied somewhere.

Let my words be used against me in a court of law.

‘Wild hearts can’t be broken’.

Dear Alero,

With love,


To you Chinedu, the man who needed fresh air,

I was there when the puddle of blood that gathered in the small pothole – one of the many potholes that decorate bizarrely, the road that directly connects Abraka to Warri – transformed from brownish red to bright red. The thick clots that were once brown, or was it black? Well, I know I was there when they melted like ice cubes placed in an oven; and began to run leisurely back towards your head that lay three feet away, detached from your neck.

Chi, I was there when the blood reached where your head lay, and spread out like the arms of a mother yearning to hug her five children all at once. As it spread, it began to seep into your closed eyes, your open mouth, your ears, and into an unbelievably huge hole that sat on the left side of your head. I was amazed. My eyes felt moist and my lids stung, but I couldn’t tell if it was the burning sensation in my chest, or the sharp pain that had seized my lower spine or it was from just watching all these strange things happen to you. Or perhaps, it was the screams that sprang from the voices that belonged to no bodies.

Chi, your head absorbed all the blood. Your head absorbed so much that there was not even a drop remaining. What was left was the glistening tar of the road, the hurried slamming of car doors, and the sounds of car and bike tyres screeching to a sharp halt and voices yelling. I think I heard running feet too. You remember that FLASH dude in one movie we saw some time ago at your house? That one you loved but I hated? The one who possessed incredible speed? Look, I don’t remember the name of the movie but we’ve only seen one movie together where a character was called FLASH. The speed with which the huge hole on the left side of your head closed up, the speed with which your head rolled towards your neck which was resting quietly in the nearby bush; that speed was unrivaled by Flash’s own. I remember groaning in pain and shouting ‘Jesus!’

It was like a miracle. It was a miracle. You know, that type of miracle that happens in big churches where the pastor commands the crippled man to rise and walk in the name of Jesus, and boom! The cripple rises like a robot and begins to stride. Just like that.

Just before your head united perfectly with your neck, I witnessed three splitting momentarily events: the rattling of your head and the rapid blinking of your eyes. I saw fear. Second was the opening and closing of your mouth, just like the way those cat fishes we usually mocked at the market, breathed. The ones you liked to put last when cooking banga soup. But as your mouth opened and closed, there were no words. There were only beads of spittle flying here and there. Third, I saw that the clots of brown blood that stained and hung on the green and brown leaves around you, were turning to bright red and were snaking their way very quickly to your neck, from where they trickled into your body.
I told you all of that happened just before your head united perfectly with your neck.

Chi, I do not know now how to say this. I do not even think you will believe me because it’s absurd, but you see… Listen, you know how much I admire your straight legs. But after your head joined with your neck, I noticed that your legs were not straight at all. Both your legs were extremely K’ed. Like you had k-legs that were so bent they were at 90degrees facing your arms. Even now, I feel that I have not described it well. Forgive me; I am bad at Maths and all those formulaic nonsense you loved.
I remember whispering weakly ‘Chin..chi..needuuuu…’. At this point, it was as though someone had hit my head with a giant pestle. My eyes were narrowing, but I was still very much conscious and I could see you.
Surprisingly, your overly bent k-legs started to straighten. Another baffling miracle I must say. They straightened up so perfectly, I thought my eyes did not belong to me anymore.

Then, you stood up.

Chinedu, you fucking stood up!

No no no. Now that I remember well, you did not stand up. Yes, you did not. You arose yes, but did not stand. You ascended into the air. I would have used the word ‘levitated’ but you once told me levitations are slow. You were not slow. You ascended into the air like fyuuum! And next thing, everything was happening very fast. And by very fast, I mean like this:
I felt myself rise up into the air too. I was flying. I had always wanted to be able to fly, but at that moment, although I was flying, it didn’t feel like the type of flying I had always imagined. It was horrible – too fast. So there we were, in the air, flying, ascending, and screaming our lungs out.
And crash! We landed.
Landing didn’t hurt, and that was perplexing considering the increase of speed with which we did. Then I realised why. We had not landed on the ground or on a roof or something like that. We had landed on a bike!
See, I know this story does not make sense Chi, but believe me it happened. I was there.
We landed on a bike and you were sitting in front with me behind you.

For some strange reason, we were screaming.

And then there was the deafening blare of a vehicle horn. It was so loud it swallowed our screams. I turned and saw that there was a gigantic lorry just behind our bike and it was moving away from us very fast. As it moved away, the sound of the blaring horn grew distinct. As the blaring became distinct, so did our screams. In fact, our screams stopped and we were talking in agitated tones, our words mainly incoherent. I recall my heart pounding in my chest. I recall saying a prayer, or was it a curse? But I noticed that the pain I was feeling all over my body had disappeared.

The horning stopped, and our incoherent words became coherent. We began to laugh as though all that had just happened was a joke. I looked behind me and the lorry that was horning a few moments ago was driving peacefully backwards. We were driving backwards too. You said a joke and I laughed so hard a drop of pee seeped out of my vagina. Then we started to fight about which movie to see the next time we visited the Cinema. Chief Daddy or Lionheart. I wanted Chief Daddy. ‘Baby, the trailer is so captivating please na.’ I said hugging you from behind. You insisted on Lionheart. You did not have a good reason.

Then there was silence between us as we drove and drove until we arrived at your house in Abraka: one of those cheap houses along FSP road. We climbed down the bike and entered into the house. It was dark inside. We put on the light. We kissed. We removed our clothes. We kissed again. We crawled into the bed.
You said, ‘It wouldn’t be a bad idea to visit Warri today. Shoprite.’
I said, ‘I don’t feel like going out. I enjoy your company more and…’
‘Yes I know you are not an outdoor person but nkem biko I need fresh air. It’s a festive season. Tomorrow will be very busy so…’
‘Okay okay. Uguaghan park or all those road side taxi? Which one we go take?’
‘We are using my bike. It’s sweet. Just the two of us.’
‘Your bike?! On a federal road? Jesus! Chinedu! wetin dey do you?! You want to use bike to go to shoprite from Abraka! That your rickety Suzuki. Bye bye o. I wish you luck with your local power bike.’
But you touched my cheek Chinedu, and you petted me and told me you loved me. You said you had done it many times before
So I agreed.
Then we had sex.

The Happiness Behind You. 

I downloaded this picture from a site that I have now forgotten. It was a long time ago. 

I find this picture unique because it tells a story of happiness. At least, from my perspective, that is what it is. Not just ordinary happiness, but a happiness so intense you feel it just by looking at the picture. 

But another thing that catches my attention in this picture is the way the beautiful lady’s head is tilted so that she is looking slightly behind her, as though the source of the smile on her face is just a few inches away, behind her. 
And it makes me think if all those moments in my past that made me extremely happy. Whenever I think of them, I become happy. Since I stumbled upon this picture, my imaginations have taken a new turn. Whenever I think about those memories, I see this picture.
It is a perfect representation of the happiness in my past. The happiness behind me.  

STEPHEN HAWKING : A force, an Example. 

“The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance, it is the illusion of knowledge.”

  –  Stephen Hawking. 


Relatable quote. There have been times when I had the grace to learn something, but ended up not learning because I was under the illusion that I already knew it. Foolishness alright? 
Anyways, I’m not gonna be talking about this quote which is one of my favorites, today. I’ll be talking about something more. 
The first time I saw Stephen Hawking on screen, it was on my father’s laptop. Just a short clip or so. But I remember not understanding what he was saying, because I concentrated more on laughing at his disability – which I thought was straight-dead hilarious at that time.  I even thought he was acting. Small lectures from my locally self-acclaimed scientist friends(oops! Sorry lol), a few stories and articles here and there, especially when browsing, slowly made me change my direction of thought about Professor Hawking.  But I never took dude seriously. I’m an Art student with an applaudable amount of love for science(I’m of the belief that Science and Art are deeply connected), but nothing really serious. So to me, Stephen Hawking has always been the regular scientist, just… with a disability. 
But last night, I was watching this very short documentary about Stephen Hawking’s life, and at the end of the documentary, I was overwhelmed with pure admiration for him. 

Stephen Hawking is one of the greatest minds to have ever walked the surface of planet Science, or of Physics to be more precise. A Theoretical Physicist and a Cosmologist, dude is a force. He used to be a normal kid, until he was 21years old when he was diagnosed of Lou Gehrig’s disease : a disease that leads to the brain’s eventual loss of control of voluntary movements such as talking, walking, eating, e.t.c. This is caused by the death of motor neurons(neurons which feed the spinal cord with information that controls voluntary movements). This disease has no cure, and usually, patients die within 2-5 years of their diagnosis, because as these motor neurons slowly degenerates, the ability to eat and breathe wanes, and eventually disappears. However, Stephen Hawking’s case is a rare one, as the disease did not affect his ability to breathe and swallow. This has made him the longest living victim of the Lou Gehrig’s disease – he has been living with the disease for roughly 53years. 
Now, this is what I find inspiring, and also what I’ve learnt by watching a documentary on this guy:

The mind is a more powerful tool than any other part of your body would ever be. Your state of mind reflects who you are. I don’t live with Hawking, so I can’t really tell if he is happy or not, but from what he has shown us, he is a happy man. Hawking doesn’t work with his body. He virtually doesn’t need it. He works with his mind. He achieves with his mind. He conquers with his mind. 

Also, he is disabled alright. But his success is also largely dependent on the support he gets from the people around him. What if there is no one to wheel him around? What if he was abandoned by family and friends? What if…? So, sometimes, when talking about disabled people who should get a life because well, they are not dead, and there are other people like them who are breaking boundaries; you should also consider if the person has the opportunity, and most importantly, the support to achieve what he wants or what you think he should achieve. Sometimes, the mind is willing, very willing, but to materialize the workings of the mind, some factors must fall into place. There has to be ‘a chance’, self-created, or otherwise.
Good noon.


I am my story. 

Live. Love. Give. Cry. Rant. 
Every thing you do, every action you take, every word you say, every thought you think, makes up YOUR story. 

When darkness falls! 
One night of terror… 

One night of horror… 

One night of destruction…
And they will scream and scream and scream, but their voices will not be heard. Their voices will drown, never ever to be heard again. 
But what about the little girl who survives? The 13year old homeless girl who loses all her friends to the terror? 

What about the young boy Rukky whose Pastor brutally parts and destroys his asshole, and gets away with it, because his mother thinks it is absolutely unnecessary to attract medical attention, and also sue a Pastor for raping her son? 
What about Jude who runs away from home for reasons unknown to everybody around him? 

And little Joy? Six years old, and sold by her own mother to a Child Trafficker. 
What about the poor woman with her two 5year old sons, whose house collapses when the unbelievable terror strikes? 
What about the voices that will never be heard again? Ever. What about the VOICES IN THE DARK?
Find out in this Novelette 👇. Believe me, you don’t wanna miss this, do ya? 😁
You can get it on Amazon(please do). Or you can get it directly from me for a discount price. I’ll send directly to your email address. It’s a novelette, so the price is affordable. 
You people should come and buy ooo. Tell your friends too. It’s worth it.


You want to use a knife. But you fear it might not produce the desired effect. 

So you opt for a screwdriver, a plier,  and a gun. 

You clip his earlobes. “This is for the pain you caused me.” You say, watching his eyes pop out of their sockets. They look like eggs laid by guinea fowls. 
A bird, maybe an Owl, howls outside. You look out through the window at the darkness enveloping the cemetery opposite your house, across the road. You think of the souls roaming around the  cursed territory. The happy and sad souls. The good and bad souls. The ones still finding purpose even after death. You wonder which of these categories your mother belongs to. You want to assume she is a happy soul, but something tells you that she is not. That even in death, she is frightened. That her soul is frightened. 

You love speculating. It quells your perplexity about certain phenomena. The ones you will never comprehend. 

“Biko… Please… In the name of God… Don’t do this.” His voice drags your eyes from the window. 

“Oh!” You act like you have forgotten. “I’m sorry, I was distracted. So where did we stop?”

You twirl the screw driver in your hand. “What about some drilling?” You chuckle lightly and wink at him. 
First of all, you want to screw his eyes out. Like you want to watch the screw driver drilling into his dark pupils, popping the delicate organ. You want to shudder at the sight of blood slowly creeping into his iris. 
So, you drill. 
For some reason, he does not scream and you are irritated. You drill deeper. “For all the love you denied me.”

He screams. 

Deeper yet again. Blood. “For abandoning me.”
You move to the other eye, and repeat the process. “For the wad of cash I always saw in your pocket that you never gave me.” He screams harder and louder. You are happy. 
This is not a story of love gone sour. This is the story of love that never existed. It’s the story of hatred. Pure and raw hatred. 

You stand up and move away from him, “Run.” You say. “Get up and run. Run now before I change my mind.”

You know very well that with both eyes disabled, he cannot see. 

“The… Binds… Oh God…” He cries. 

“Oh.” You untie his hands and legs. “Run now.”

He staggers unto his feet and begins to stumble towards the door. You are surprised he knows where the door is. 

Halfway through, you pull out your Gun, and blasts his head from behind. 

Six motherfucking times. 

He drops to his knees, like a remorseful sinner praying for salvation in front of the Virgin Mary. 

“And this is for killing my mother, father. May your soul rot in hell, father.” You hiss, walking towards his body. 

One more thing though. You need a shovel.