Tangles!: Episode V

Hello, my name is *insert name* I play Paul in Janusaneni’s Tangles! I’m a banker, love driving and well…speeding. In the first episode, I escape an accident and then fall into one. I am then knocked out for an entire episode, and only recover in the third episode, when I am rescued. In this episode I am in the hospital. Uhm..*voice from backstage..”The tangle!”*..oh yeah, I’m so far the love interest of one lady in the story, and the assumed love interest of another. Uhm..keep reading Tangles!

Tangles! – a tale of twisted emotions.



The beat of ‘Nawti – Olu Maintain’ boomed out the speakers and the crowd hollered.

“..love me or hate me, can’t stop my delivery
they feeling me / buying everything, like it’s monopoly.
I keep it drama free, why’re you tryina embarrass me,
You f**king up yourself B..!
Love me or hate me, can’t stop my delivery,
they feeling me/ buying everything like it’s drug money..”

Before him, the crowd was on their feet and shouting. The lights were in his eyes, but he could feel their presence, see their hands, hear their voices. He felt light. He felt happy.
“And that was T-lion!” the MC shouted over the din. The crowd kept screaming and whooping as Tony walked off-stage. It would be nice to get used to this.


They had swaddled him in bandages and everywhere there was lint and wires and blood patches. His body was broken. His beautiful body was in pieces. A memory flashed through Sharon’s mind. It was a year ago, and they had been in the gym. Paul had dropped the dumbell and walked towards her, his movements were smooth, casual and powerful. His sweatshirt was wet with sweat and stuck to his skin, and you could see the ripples as he moved. “You gotta keep your body fit Shae. You exercise your body, it will stay beautiful. Like mine.” He winked. He was the first person to ever call her Shae. Tears came unbidden to her eyes.
“Is he going to be okay?” She asked Dr Akpan.
“Right now he is heavily sedated, but his bodily functions are alright. There was minor injury to his spinal column when he was being pulled from the vehicle, but…”
Sharon heard the doctor but her eyes were fixed on Paul, who twitched suddenly. Would he hear her is she talked to him? “What did you say Doctor?” The doctor took no offense. He was used to it.
When the taxi carrying Paul’s screaming body arrived the Emergency section of the hospital, the doctors immediately swung into action. After a quick session in the theater, they had him injected with enough morphine to float the Titanic, wrapped him up, like a mummy in Antarctica, and wheeled him into a private room.
“…has been ringing with calls from a particular number. As his Emergency contact, I thought you’ll like to know so as to reply these calls,” Dr Akpan said softly.
They were seated in the doctor’s office. On the table lay Paul’s phone, a white Blackberry 9800. Sharon took the phone and scrolled through the missed calls. Becks. A business partner? She dialled. Then she remembered her phone.


A girl’s voice?
“Is this Becks?”
Only one person ever called her Becks.
“Yes, this is..”
“Okay, uhm..Paul is indisposed at the moment, and would not be able to come to the phone.” What?
“Why is that? Is he ok?”
The concern in Rebecca’s voice must have been evident and whoever she was speaking to must have realised that because, when the reply came, it was softer. “Paul has been involved in an accident dear, but he is recovering..”
The world suddenly spun in a dizzying cycle. Rebecca clutched the edge of the table to steady herself. “Accident? How?” She cried. The flood of emotions and worry came rushing back.
“According to the doctor, he is stable now. There was a minor altercation with a truck, but he is okay now. You should not worry,” came the insistent reply in that female voice. The tears swam before her eyes, and her vision blurred. Truck? “Which hospital?” She managed to croak.


“Nice one man.”
“Thanks,” Tony smiled at the afro-haired guy in glasses. The geek walked away, squinting through his spectacles. Tony took out his phone again, there was still no message from Sharon, though five messages awaited him on BBM. He slid open the phone and navigated to his Twitter account. “Awesome show tonight fam! Thanks for the support guys..” He tweeted.
On his timeline, the topic was mainly about an accident in Festac which had messed up traffic and caused a build-up on the Lagos-Badagry expressway. How does this concern people who are in faraway Bonny?
He closed his Twitter page.

To be continued…


The writer sits at a desk in the staff room of the school. His fingers are  caked in chalk dust and up on the sleeves of his shirts and in his hair, the tiny white grains flutter and settle and flutter and settle, in time with his movements, giving him some sort of halo in the afternoon light. As usual, he scribbles into the pages of an orange leather-bound book. His thoughts are in his story and for the moment, he is lost in the world of his characters.
A student approaches the desk timidly. The writer looks up from what he is writing, his piercing eyes gazing at her with a bored expression. “We have you now sir.”

*Any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental or intended as some form of malice. Do take offense.
* T-lions lyrics supplied by Ohdes, @Ohdes_so_goon, copy and paste link http://www.hulkshare.com/dl/wu0q0wfyt9l9 and download his hot single “Nawti freestyle rmx”

Randomly speaking

So I sat down to think yesterday. I am not kidding, I actually got up from the bed, pulled out a chair and sat with my head in my hands to think. After close to an hour of deliberation and careful meditation, I came to a conclusion;(rhyme! \\(˘⌣˘)// ), that Eba is always great with Ogbolo soup. What? No? Idiot! Listen to me…
The tray is placed before you. In one plate, the eba lies, glistening yellow (yellow garri rocks!) and making the nylon covering ‘sweat’. The ogbolo on the other hand, or plate, steams teasingly, with small bits of fish and periwinkles and snail and other amphibians, crustaceans and related or unrelated aquatic life forms and bushmeat, all jingling and floating together happily in a sea of draw draw. Your fada! *smacking lips*
But it is not just the aesthetics I’m talking about. You see, that sensation when the eba glides down your gullet on a stream of fresh, hot ogbolo, chased after by a periwinkle bouncing around a piece of soft snail meat, is as close to heaven on Earth as you can get, except you’re talking about a BJ from Angelina Jolie, which is just another level entirely.
So, I’m ranting again today. Been ages and as usual, I’m just writing out the words as they pour in. I’m alone, the room is dark, my battery is dead and basically since I don’t wank..much, I have nothing else to do. Been teaching for a while now (yes, since monday, and yes, it is a big deal!), and already the kids love their ‘Uncle’. After all, how many Biology teachers swag to class, speak pidgin with a British accent and throw chalk at noisemakers? All in all, the classes have been fun and today is Friday, and I hate the school already. No, that’s not a typo. I really hate the school. Why? Let me paint you another scenario.
The clock reads 6:30am, and sunlight wafts in through the window, sifting past the half opened curtains to wash upon your face. What do you do? You close the curtains and go back to sleep! Yes! That’s what to do, except, the alarm blares out and I have to scramble or I’ll be late for school!
Imagine! Spent six years in primary school, six in secondary school and thereabouts of five in the university, and I never rushed for class. Except it was C. A. Vowa teaching in SS1 Chemistry, but then again, she was..well…(._.)
Anyway, now I’m a graduate and I gotta be in ‘school’ before 8:00am, Port-harcourt traffic notwithstanding. So yeah, I hate the school. *sips Amando! pure water*
You see, I’m of the lazy sort, the sort of guy who is supposed to be born with a golden, platinum-flecked spoon and a 20-billion dollar trust fund. I don’t do 6:30am wake-ups and dashing through the rain to teach children the differences between the lungs and a pair of gills. Hell, they should know! (˘̯˘ )
Speaking of rain, last wednesday, not this one, the last one, I had a full-on understanding of the NYSC anthemn. You see, I had CDS that morning and as I stepped five paces from my room, the skies opened and everything inside the clouds dropped on me. (I mean this in as literal a manner as possible). Those peeps singing “Heaven, open and pour down on me”, it will so ‘over’ you ehn! I looked like a drenched rat that morning, hair dripping like..*fix in name of sexy, male, non-gay model here*..but that is where the resemblance ends. Jacket, combat trousers, boots, were soaked, and there I stood clutching a small green cap and waiting for an empty taxi., the refrains from the anthemn, “…under the sun, and in the rain…”, kept ringing in my ears.
Anyway, I got a free ride, the first half of the trip, there is something about a soaked Corper that brings out the ‘love for fellow man’ in anyone, (we should dress half the Middle East in soaked NYSC uniforms, and who knows…), but that ‘love’ died when the driver of the next bus shouted, “Ehn Corpa, Mile 3 na N200 oh!” (Maybe there’s no hope for the Middle East after all).
So, the girls in the lodge I stay in are laughing and gisting and inside here is dark and lonely. I think I deserve some moonlight. No?

*I really hate WordPress for Blackberry, blame them for the absence of pictures. *I actually enjoy teaching young minds. I always enjoy talking anyway.. ¯\..(•͡.̮ •͡ )../¯
*Mrs C. A. Vowa, co-author of Round-up Chemistry for Senior school, taught me Chemistry in SS1 and is probably the reason for my extreme narcissism and the death of my former inferiority complex.
*Uhm..keep singing “Open heavens” oh! I would not be accused for causing a decline in sales of any daily devotional. Nuff said..

Follow on twitter @janus_aneni

P.S: Truth be told, Pounded yam and Ogbolo is the ghen ghen! It’s probably what would be served in Heaven. Like, worship, eat some pounded yam and ogbolo, worship, eat some more pounded yam and ogbolo, worship again, stroll in Paradise while swallowing balls of pounded yam and ogbolo, worship…
P.S.S: Amando! pure water (with the exclamation mark) actually does exist. And Ogbolo is what mere mortals call Ogbono. Ok..


Tangles: Episode IV

Still Tangled..



The reception of the Silver Cross hospital was crowded. Pregnant women, squalling babies, sad-looking teenagers and everywhere, the acrid smell of sickness and hospital disinfectant. Sharon pushed through the doors and rushed straight to the receptionist desk. The matron on duty looked at her sullenly. “Yes?”
“I was called about an emergency…Dr Akpan..there was an accident..” Sharon gushed out in one breath.
The matron didn’t look fazed. She saw this kind of reaction everyday of the week, every week, even when she pulled morning duty. Lazily leafing through her duty roster, she found Dr Akpan’s name. “He’s in block C, take your left and climb the stairs.”
Mumbling thanks over her shoulder, Sharon took the corridor on the left side of the receptionist desk. Dashing past harried nurses and doctors in various stages of tiredness, she searched frenziedly for the staircase, her mind in constant turmoil.
They had not talked in almost a year. A year! The doctor had mentioned something about stable, but that’s what they say in movies and stories and then the person ends up dumb or blind or crippled! She remembered the last time she saw him, last month, in front of Eko hotels, with some big-assed girl. They had not said a single word to each other, not even a nod. He had looked fit that day.
To think that he would list her as his emergency contact. Why? Did he really believe she would run to his aid when he was in trouble? Or was his hope to die and ensure she be the first person notified, so it would hurt her.
A flash of anger passed through her and she nearly turned back. Gritting her teeth, she climbed the first stair and decided to take a look, offer her apologies and then go. It was the most she could do. She took the next step.


The line kept ringing but no one picked. It was the third call now. Where is this girl? Tony thought. He didn’t panic though. If there was anybody who could take care of herself in a lion’s den surrounded by hungry animals and fierce gladiators, it was Shae, and he was not bothered. It would have been nice to talk to her before he went on stage though.
Tony turned and looked back at the crowd gathered in the hall for the ‘Talent Nite Show’. He could swear there were already about 3,000 people and many more were still pouring in. Already people were standing in the back. A microphone whined and the noise in the hall reduced half aa decibel.
“Welcome to the Talent Nite Show, and I would be your host for tonight,” drawled the MC in a singsong voice. The DJ played a quick tune and Tony thought about what he was about to do.


She was pregnant. The strip test had confirmed it. Stranglely though, all she felt was calm. Now that the cat was out the bag, all that was left was to bell it and she knew exactly who to.
She had known that night would change her life. Dinner at Eko hotel and suites, Basketmouth’s comedy show after, and then the wonderful, wonderful time they had spent conceiving this baby. And to think she had been sad. Rebecca touched her flat tummy lovingly. A baby was growing in there. His baby. Her hands slid down her flat stomach and across her naked abdomen to cradle herself. She tossed her head back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. She was naked and slowly getting wet. She could remember how he looked that day, with his bald head all sweaty. She had gripped him tight, he nails digging into his muscular back. She had never met anybody more powerful. Her fingers slipped inside. But wait! She had to call him first. Oh, how happy he’ll be. She reached for her phone.


The shapes moved in and out of the light; silent figures flitting back and forth through his subconcious. Paul groaned. The car lost control as he skidded past the pothole and hit the cement truck, turning and turning till he smashed into the wall. He groaned again. He was going to die on this bed. Alone. “Is he going to be okay?”
The voice cut through his subconcious and for a second Paul was reminded of a time when all his thoughts were sweet and his life was magical. It could not be her! He wished, but it would not be her! Why would she come now?
He was dying and his life flashing before him was giving him strange thought. He groaned and tried to slip into the light.


“..as I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, gotta lamp in my hand,
It’s the truth, gotta justice that I had from my birth,
Got this mike, spread the word, make a way for this lad..”

The short, black boy dropped the mike and walked off stage to the roar of applause from the crowd.
Running onto the stage, almost panting, the MC picked the mike. “And that was Bishop, all the way from Edo state. Give him another round of applause. Bini people rep your own!”
Tony’s heart leapt for a second, and he adjusted the cap on his head. He was next.
“Hailing from the city of Lagos, town of hustlers, and the birthplace of rap music in this country, is another brilliant, young act, you’ve heard him at the OBS, and he’s here to showcase on stage! Ladies and gentlemen, make welcome, T-lion!!”
Tony jogged up stage to the sound of applause. This amateur rap thing is gonna get me slaughtered. He grabbed the mike. “Thank you, MC..*the microphone whined*..”
The beat started.

To be continued next week..

*T-lion would never have been my first choice of name, but Snoop…
*Lyrics supplied exclusively by moi, yes! If writing does not pay, the plan is to become the next Sina Rambo
*Uhm..like Jeannie would say, “All typographical ‘errors’ are purely ‘intentional’

Follow @janus_aneni


A Christmas tale..?

Too early for Christmas? Yeah! But the world is ending on the 22nd of December so I might as well *sic*.. I actually wrote this for TNC’s The Writer that year, but I guessed (rightly) that it would be too long, so I stopped halfway and wrote something else for TNC. So uhm, today, I was looking through old pieces and I saw this, and I edited it and now you’re going to read it and enjoy it! Ehen..
And yeah, Tangles! Is still coming out on Monday!! Episode IV tinz..ok.

#np Bad things – Jace Everett

My name is Jones, and what I am about to tell you is deep secret. I wouldn’t lose my life for telling you, but you’ll probably lose yours for listening, but it is a good story, it is worth your life..or sanity.
Last Christmas, I was in Lagos. The bright city, the town of hustles and hassles. I hated every bit of it. Was stuck in traffic all night from Christmas Eve till Christmas day! Finally arriving home in the morning and Dad just had to get on my nerves with all his questions. So when Auntie invited me to the village this Christmas, I didn’t refuse, it couldn’t be any worse.
Like I said before, my name is Jones, I am 21 years old and I am going to tell you how I spent this Christmas. I got to the village on the 23rd, it was a friday and it was late evening. Everywhere was dusty, and quiet, and as soon as I stepped off the bus, things went from upside down to sideways. Literally.
Now, the bus I had entered wasn’t really a passenger bus in the strict sense. It was more of a once-upon-a-time 16-seater vehicle that was now used to carry anything and everything from furniture to livestock. My village is in the very middle of nowhere and the livestock/furniture drivers are about the only link between my village and the outside world.
Coming from Lagos had been a roundabout journey of sorts.. Flight to Benin city, a taxi to an unpronounceable place, then a motorbike ride to a small jetty where I boarded a ferry which took me across a surprisingly clear river to the park where I met one of the furniture/livestock movers. This particular driver, true to form, was carrying goats and bicycles. After the necessary bargaining, I squeezed myself into the mass of goat and metal, and we started our bumpy ride. Suffice to say, the ride was completely uncomfortable. You see, there is only one seat in the vehicle, the other sixteen haven been stripped off a long time ago, to make space for more goats, and the driver was caressing that seat quite jealously with his fat butt-cheeks.
So it was that as soon as I stepped off the bus, my trouser leg caught on something, whether it was the handlebar of a Raleigh or the horns of some goat, my jeans ripped as the world turned upside down very fast, and I found myself face down on the dusty road. Dusting myself up, I picked up my bags and waved bye to the driver and started walking to the village. You would wonder why I didn’t call my Auntie and tell her I had arrived. Well, the answer is simple, my village has no network coverage and so my Blackberry was as much use as a sun dial that evening (deep!!!). If I thought things had reached about as bad as they could be, I was set for a shock when I got to the house and discovered Auntie was out. Stapled to the door in some European fashion was an envelope with my name boldly written on it. Apparently, Auntie had to rush to the next village to help with the birth of some kid. Now, my Auntie is a trained midwife, and for the past twenty years has doubled as resident doctor, surgeon, vet and psychiatrist for the villages along the river belt. Her absence today of all days was the first true sign of doom for my holidays. Already, I started to miss the Ikeja go-slow.
Pushing open the door, (nobody locks their doors in this village), I muttered ‘Happy holidays’ to myself and slumped on the rocking chair and promptly dozed off. I admit, I have never been to the village before and my reason for coming this time had been born partially of a desire always dare and to try some adventure. So I had gotten Auntie to send me some directions, said goodbye to Dad and came over.
At about midnight I woke up hungry. There was the sound of drumming coming from outside, so I walked to the window and stared out into the streets. “Fuck!”
The streets were on fire. By the light of flickering fires, I could see shadowy figures, people playing drums and dancing in wild frenzied gyrations of their naked bodies. To worsen matters, I could swear I saw goats in the midst of the melee dancing on two legs, with their hooves waving wildly in the air! If madness had ever sought to take a man, it was at that moment. I wanted to scream, I wanted to pinch myself, but there I stood, transfixed, wondering if I saw dream or my senses had taken leave. Then the beat changed and then something or someone screamed, it was loud and the sound seemed to pierce my soul, and despite myself, I felt a certain joy and happiness, a desire to run and dance. But suddenly, the group of men and women and animals dashed down the street and out of my sight. And the sun came up, and I woke up. It was Christmas Eve.
Later that day, after eating brunch, (Auntie had left some stuff for me in her pots), I took a walk into the village. That was when I saw her. Perfect skinned and sweet smile that blends with shiny teeth and warm eyes, she looked at me. She was pretty. Goodlooking in a semi-waif manner, and Yes or No, Truth or False, I fell for her, I fell so hard I actually hit a stone and almost tripped.
She laughed then, and walked to me. “My name is Sarah,” she said, smiling with those perfect teeth.
For a few seconds, I was dumfounded. No one sees a pretty girl, with hair all braided and dressed in native print material, in a village about 240km away from civilization, and expect her name to be Sarah! And for her to say it in perfect English too! I just stared at her, and all I could think was the taste her lips would allow. “I’m Jones,” I finally coughed out.
We spent the rest of the day together. Sarah had finished from the Federal Government College, and she was now helping her mother sell stuff at the jetty, but since it was Christmas Eve, her mum had given her time off to have fun. She was 20 years old and she did not want to go to the university. I envied her, and she smiled and touched my brow and I was in love.
She took me to the stream. There were two streams in the village, one for bathing and one for cooking water. She took me to the one for bathing. In the actual sense, there was only one strean and a spring supplied both. The one they called the ‘cooking water stream’ was directly supplied by the spring and the water was clear and cold and could be used for cooking. Place the water in earthen jugs for two days and you’ll have wine, Sarah told me. I believed her.
At the stream, we bathed together, splashing water and laughing like children. She had a lovely body, which was even lovelier without clothes on, but she wouldn’t let me touch her, always darting out of my reach. I told her about my dream last night and she laughed long but didn’t say anything. After a while, I laughed too. We ate fruits for lunch. They were like apples, but yellow and tasted very sour.
When it was dark, Sarah saw me back to Auntie’s house. Auntie was still not back. “Sleep well, I’ll come for you later,” she said, running off.
There was water in the cooking water pot, so I used some to boil some yam, pounded it and ate with ogbolo soup. When I was through, I was sweating. So I sat on the rocking chair by the half open door and dozed off.
The scuff of feet against the door woke me. It was that dream again! Naked dancers and goats, all writhing together in obscene movements. This time around they were also in the room, and they were pulling me with them, and the music summoned me and I was happy again, and I followed.
Throwing off my clothes till I was naked, I threw my hands in the air and I leapt forward, the drums followed me. Dancing back and forth and side to side, I let out a shriek, and the other dancers around me echoed. A goat vame to me and placed its hooves on my chest. “Do the same,” it said. And I placed my palms on its horns, and my eyes opened. We twirled and rolled and the stars went black. Then I was pressing the back of the goat, squeezing and squeezing as desire leapt upon desire, and I was swallowed in ecstasy.
Then I saw Sarah, but her eyes were white and her head cocked to one side. She tried to run but I blocked her. She feinted left, and I did the same. The drums rolled. She rushed towards me, and I took a step bacj and held out my arms. She stopped and moved to the right, her breasts swaying, once again I blocked her. A circle had formed around us, and the other dancers were shrieking and waving firelights. Screaming Sarah made to claw at my face, but I caught her. Pushing her to the ground, she lay before me, and then I stared into her eyes. The shrieking sound all around us had slowed to a chant, and the drums beat solemnly in the background. Her eyes were white, inviting me, daring me to possess what I had conquered. Her lips parted slightly, her warm breath drifting across my face. Her heart pounded steadily through her soft breasts pressed against my chest and her softness was wet against me. The music echoed in my head and it said, “Do it!”. So I did. I got up from the floor and dusted myself. How long was I out? “You dey okay?” The driver of the livestock/furniture vehicle asked. “Yeah.”
He grunted in reply and drove off. I picked up my bags, still puzzled.
The events of the dream or whatever were so vivid in my head. I could still see Sarah’s face as she pulled me into her, still feel the sensation as I went deep and low into her sweetness. A dream. “Who said it was a dream?”
I turned around and looked for the source of the voice, but all I could see was a strangle familiar goat. “Huh?”
“Jones, is that you?” came Auntie’s voice. And there was my Auntie walking towards me. “Merry Christmas!” She hugged me. “How did you get so dirty?” she laughed. My mouth remained open in disbelief.
She pointed at the girl beside her, oblivious of my shock, “And this is the Priestess of the stream goddess, she insisted on coming to greet you.” Sarah just smiled at me.

*I don’t indulge in animal ‘husbandry’..
*I know this post would have been rejected by TNC

Nuff disclaimers..leave your wonderful comments *sic*..keep following the blog..

Ff on twitter @janus_aneni


Tangles: Episode III

At the beginning, you were warned, I think, that Tangles would be well..a bit Tangly (thanks Amy)right? Good. Well, today we’re picking off from where we left at episode 1. You can follow shey? Shey? Ok..read on.
Ehm..no funny stuff today.

Tangles! – a tale of twisted emotions.

Festac, Lagos.

He was running, in darkness.
Behind him the monster chased, hard on his heels, an evil, foul beast, with horns and sharp teeth, and the words ‘Danbaba cement’ tattooed across its chest. How he knew this, he could not tell. Each time he glanced back, he saw nothing but an inky black void and in his ears, the hoarse breathing of the monster at his heels.
Run! his mind screamed. I must run faster!
But his legs were weak and heavy, and the end was too far away. So he fell, deeper and deeper, and then he stopped falling. Something had caught him. It was the monster, and it was squeezing him. Squeezing him so tight he felt his bones breaking and he thought he would die. The pain exploded his head in a blaze of light and his eyes opened and he saw the battered windshield and smelled the blood.
Then he remembered. The pothole, the trailer carrying cement, losing control, crashing into a wall, blacking out. As he remembered, the pain came back in full force, and Paul groaned.
“E dey move, e dey alive!”
“Oga! Oga! You fit hear me?”
There were shapes moving across his vision, pale figures, but he could not see them clearly, the sun was too bright. There was a crash. Someone had broken his windscreen and was climbing in.
“No,” he tried to say. “Don’t break my car.” but all that came out was a feeble whimper. If they break my car, how will I get there. She needs me. She’s waiting for me.
Someone tried to lift him up, but he could not move. Another pair of hands came to assist, and together, they tugged at his inert frame. A wave of agony suddenly surged through him, tearing across his back, sending shock after shock to his brain. Paul screamed.
As he passed out, the last words he heard were “You don paralyse am…” Then everything went dark.


“Wat r u puttin on?”
“The usual..”
“*sharp intake of breath* Nothing..?”
“*wink smiley*”
“Don’t do dis na..u knw I’m too far away”
“*devil smiley* lol..but if u were, wat wld u do?”

Sharon sipped orange juice from a box while she waited for the reply to her BBm message. She was resting on a couch in her usual stay-at-home b-ball jersey and a pair of stone washed bum-shorts, contrary to her ‘BBm outfit’.
Her phone rang.
“Is this Sharon..*network static*..”
“I am sorry, there’s been an accident..”
For the next five minutes, while she tossed on clothes and summoned her cab driver, her thoughts were a blur. She could still hear the caller, Doctor something..
“…accident..Paul..truck..Silver Cross Infirmary..listed as emergency number…”
It was almost impossible. Paul in an accident? How?!
A horn beeped outside. Mahmoud was already here. Grabbing her ATM card and keys, she ran out the door.
Tears blinded her eyes as she ran down the stairs. She had left him before, but no more. She would not make that mistake again. He needed her now, more than ever. And she’ll be there for him.
“22 road,” she barked, jumping into the passenger seat.
On the table in her sitting room, the Blackberry purred as the messages kept pouring in..
to be continued…

*Danbaba cement is not a spoof of any other cement company, and neither is Silver Cross..
*I do not sext. 😐

Nuff said, appreciations to Miss Azee for this post, and apologies for the time wasted.

Ff on twitter @janus_aneni


%d bloggers like this: