Citizens of Nigeria, it is with deep sadness and a considerable amount of ire (my new favourite word, whatever that is), that I come before you at this hour.
The show, which you have..excuse me. *sips water*. The show which you have come to know as A Twist in the Tale, or simply, The Twist, has come to an end. Wait! Wait! Don’t start hissing yet. Let me explain.
You see, the current situation in Nigeria, including the face-off between a recalcitrant governor and an over-bearing President, and the surrounding nations has put the polity in such a situation that stories such as are promulgated by this cybernetic space from which I blog, would only serve to further incite emotions and create conflagrations that threaten the precarious balance upon which this nation lies and in effect topple the country into a soup of insousciance, malfeasance and terrifying debacles.
All above is nonsense.
Basically, conditions beyond my total control have led me to end this series a lot earlier than I planned. And for that, I apologise greatly. *insert pic saying “I am sorry” even if i dont mean it*
I want to appreciate especially, all of you who read A Twist in the Tale, and also the wonderful, wonderful writers who put together those lovely stories. Thank you. Thank you very much. @weird_oo @OWEx_ @Paetir @Teleolaonifade @OluwaWanaBaba @jon_the_zaptist @Haemlet_ @Sagaysagay @naijamd
But first, before we go, one last Tale..
Once upon a time, there were two little boys. They were both named for Bible characters, and they loved to sit on trees. Apparently, one was named Peter and one was named Paul. And yes they were black. And no they weren’t boys, they were birds. And yup! There was no twist to this. But hey, it’s the end of the sh..
As we come to the end of this series, in his typical style, Lord Haemlet…
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact – Arthur Conan Doyle
Relief and gratitude washed over P25 as he finally loosened the restraints that had held him captive for so long. Soon after, he began to shake in terror, so to calm his nerves, he closed his eyes and focused real hard on his immediate environment. He listened for voices, footsteps, the clinking of keys or the menacing clank of the metal doors, but none of those sounds assaulted his hearing. What P25 did hear disturbed him tremendously, so he strained his ears harder, and still heard nothing, only an ominous silence which offered him no comfort.
Secretly working for two mutually antagonistic agencies at the biddings of another agency, came with an unhealthy amount of peril. He’d known the risks involved as he’d known every one of his enemies. He’d known their capabilities, and therefore knew better than to underestimate them. He’d also known the measures and extent they would go, so he’d tried preparing for it. He’d also tried so hard to make sure that the one person, who he’d loved, was properly taken care of. But alas! It had been to no avail.
He’d met her on one of his assignments, in fact, she had been his assignment. He’d been told that she was a threat, and had to be eliminated without it being traced back to the agency. He’d followed and watched her for days, and by the time he was ready to kill her, he’d already known every little detail of her life. He’d known her joy, her pains and regrets. But he’d also come to realize that she was a lonely, harmless and beautiful soul, who was lost in this dangerous world.
So he’d offered her redemption and given her hope. He’d given her love and dedicated his life to her, as he’d done for the agency that birthed and betrayed him. An agency he’d for year’s garnered the trust and respect of all. An agency who’d for years, administered illicit drugs which rendered the human mind cold and void, into his system. An agency who’d for years, tortured him in the slowest possible ways, just for him to appreciate the concept of pain.
After a time, he understood that he was but a dog on a leash, while they were the master. He was theirs to command, and as every master would accord a dog, he was named P25. He was their enforcer and ‘Trojan horse’. He was their Rottweiler; one that was deceptively shrouded in the golden coat of a Retriever. For them, he’d risked his life by successfully infiltrating two hostile factions in what was termed, the ultimate coup de grâce the world had ever known. But everything changed after he’d tried to kill her.
On that day, he’d gone into the bakery she worked, killed everyone and then waited for her to arrive. He’d convinced himself that killing them all was necessary because it would hide his real motive, but he knew better. Ten minutes later, she sashayed into the bakery only to see a pistol being pointed at her head. He’d tried so hard to pull the trigger, but for some strange reason, her hypnotic eyes had held him hostage as she stood in shock.
For the first time, he realized that rebellion was the greatest feeling ever. The feeling had intoxicated and invigorated him. His deception remained a secret because he’d burnt down the bakery to make validation of her death impossible. For the first time he’d discovered the real import of life. For the first time, he realized that his work wasn’t his life. For the first time, he realized that he deserved to be happy, and soon, they were secretly wedded. And for a time, he was the happiest man alive.
‘For a time’!
He was finally at peace with himself, and he began to think of a way out. All he wanted was a clean break, a second chance at life, and a fresh start with Katharina. But as fate would have it, his deception was detected, and she was wrenched away from him forever. He’d sworn to destroy those that were responsible, but first he had to hide in the only safe place known to him. A safe haven only he and another knew existed.
But he was presented with the greatest shock when he realized that his safe haven had been compromised. He’d walked into a trap, and was devastated by the deceit that was unveiled before him. He’d stood dazed and horrified by the magnitude of the betrayal. He’d been effortlessly outwitted in a trade he was considered the best. His shame knew no bounds, and as he was finally bundled away, he howled like a wounded beast.
Finally he heard footsteps coming his way, and a feverish excitement coursed though his spine. Then he heard the clanking of keys and his heart stopped. After a minute, he heard a click as the door was unlocked, and when it was swung open, he let out a guttural shriek and attacked. A few minutes later, the fight was over and P25 was on the floor with a syringe sticking out of his limp arm, and five men gathered around him.
Three hours later, P25 sat strapped to a chair, with his head bloodied and eyes staring almost sightless. His once torturous face was now peaceful and forever devoid of the pain and horror it had known. His lobotomized brain, forever free from the poisonous grip of his schizophrenic psychosis. Now he was but an empty shell that was no longer a danger to others.
Standing before him were the the doctors who’d performed the lobotomy procedure on patient 25. They all stood watching him as they sadly bemoaned the route they’d been forced to take. For years, they had tried all forms of drugs and medications to no avail, and only turned to lobotomy as a last resort. After what seemed like an eternity, one of the doctors finally turned away in tears and left the ward.
It was quite understandable that Dr. Katharina could no longer bear to look at the now docile and empty shell of her husband. It was quite concievable that the experience may have forever scarred her.
Deep apologies for missing the post yesterday. Circumstances beyond my control and all that jazz.
By the way, Happy Democracy day! 14 years and I’m free to tweet what I want.
Stay gripped for the next instalment.
Follow on Twitter @Janus_aneni
Peace to Nigeria.
Like a mix between Hadley Chase and Archer with an excess of melanin, Malick to give you:
The previous military offensive by the Joint Task Force popularly known as JTF had succeeded in driving the dreaded Boko Haram Islamic sect away from their NorthEast strongholdsinto neighbouring Niger, Chad and Cameroun. The rest of the insurgents had scattered down south. After several months of relative peace, violence broke out once again. The dreaded sect seemed to have metamorphosed into a deadlier terror organisation. They also secured a new foothold, this time in northern Cross River.
Victor Isidor was trying to adjust to life in Calabar having fled the war torn town of Ogoja. The terror attacks had rendered the town unprofitable for business and unsafe for life and property. Frequent clashes by the military and the terror organisation made violence a daily occurence.
Residents departed Ogoja in droves and Victor, a Sales Manager for NewLine Electronics barely made the last van of China phones out of town.
Growing increasingly irritated by his inactivity, Victor was finding it hard to be entertained by the western fantasies weaved in Vampire Diaries. Such blatant lies rubbed him the wrong way. Jack Bauer and 24 didn’t impress him either. They should come to Nigeria and witness real drama, he thought with disdain.
When he felt a slight tremor, the familiar rumble of iron gates, he wondered if it was his uncle Sunny. His uncle was an accountant at Unicem. Unmarried at 42, he rarely came home during work hours.
The tolling doorbell informed Victor that it was not Sunny Isidor. His uncle usually called out or whistled whenever he came home. He had a visitor. Jehovah’s Witnesses? He quickly perished the thought, those ones operated on foot.
“Mr. Oden” was the deep response. “Oh welcome sir, please come in!”
“How are you Victor?”
“I’m fine Sir”
With skin the colour of overripe avocado pear and the presence of a mango tree, Mr. Linus Oden CEO of NewLine Electronics stepped in and the room seemed to shrink in size. If Idi Amin had a twin brother, Mr. Linus Oden could easily be mistaken for him.
Mr. Oden told Victor about a secret safe in his office, He wanted Victor to travel to Ogoja and retrieve a couple of envelopes from the safe for him. Promising to pay Victor’s salary arears once he returned with the envelopes, Mr. Oden stared at Victor as if he was daring him to refuse. Never one to back down from a challenge, Victor agreed to make the perilous journey.
Mr. Oden presented him a leather belt with a rather large G-Unit buckle, 20 thousand naira and a slip of paper with a phone number and the safe combination written on it.
“Save the number, memorize the combination and destroy the paper…”
“Do not call me on the phone till you return…”
“If you have any problems, call that number and tell Frank. Safe journey”
Victor prided himself as the eminence grise of Newline Electronics. His uncle’s invectives against the trip failed to dissuade him. Despite being owed 3 month’s wages, Victor left for Ogoja.
Captain Frank Opigo was a tough looking character, but he must have owed Mr Oden a lot of favours. Movement into and around the town of Ogoja was tightly controlled, but the Army Captain commandeered a Tata truck and directed 4 of his men to accompany Victor to the Office/Showroom at Lavoro Street.
Only a handful of people could be seen on the formerly busy street. Debris littered the streets, some buildings were without windows in the aftermath of the armed conflict. It was clear that the few people left were in the process of evacuating.
With the quartet of soldiers stationed outside, Victor let himself into the Office/Showroom with his set of keys. He quickly located the safe in Mr Oden’s office. Behind the half-empty steel cabinet, behind the wall paper, buried cleverly into the wall, the dull metallic glint of the safe stared at Victor. The callibrated dial of the safe seemed to thump its nose defiantly at him, he ignored it.
He experienced no problems with the combination. The muted clicks as he turned the dial to its correct positions increased his excitement till the safe opened gently. Two envelopes, one contained a certificate of Occupancy for a property in Calabar South, the other contained a Reader’s Digest Magazine of July 1976. Victor retrieved 4 passport photographs from the magazine just like Mr.
Oden had instructed and stashed them in a secret recess on the G-Unit belt buckle. Angry and agitated voices from outside made him straighten up and stand still.
“ON YOUR KNEES RIGHT NOW”
“PUT YOUR HANDS UP RIGHT NOW”
Victor’s heart started racing at a frenetic pace.
“Is Victor there?”
“My name is Sylvia, I just wanted to know if Victor is around”
Sylvia? Victor could not recall any Sylvia, however there was something vaguely familiar about the female voice. He stepped outside.
Light skinned and beautiful, Sylvia had the figure of pain, her presence was disconcerting to the soldiers. Victor could recall her purchasing a Tecno N6. He’d talked her into buying the cheap Android phone like he had done to so many customers. That was several months ago, if she had come to complain about the product, she was out of luck.
“I know her” he told the soldiers
“Is she your girlfriend?” One of them joked obviously relieved at the
absence of any danger.
“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend, let’s get out of here shall we?”
They gawked as all 5’9 of her got up and grabbed onto Victor’s arm. Then they crowded into the Tata truck and reported back to Captain Frank. The Army Captain rifled through the magazine and checked the C of O meticulously, then he directed Victor to leave town via Abakaliki road. There’s been a car bomb explosion along Calabar-Ikom-Ogoja road, it was unwise to travel that route at the moment.
The Journey via Abakaliki road was a circuitous route which meant Victor was unlikely to make it back to Calabar before nightfall. Sylvia’s conversation and seductive skills were not even stretched as she somehow inveigled her way into Victor’s plans. She narrated how Al-Suni had raided their part of town a few days previously, How her father had travelled out of town and how she was mortally scared. However, it wasn’t her touching story that tested Victor’s decision making skills, it was the size and gradient of her breasts and the softness of her skin that captivated Victor all the way to Umuahia where they spent the night. A night of passion and sexual satisfaction.
The staff of Rosberg Hotel could not tell Victor the whereabouts of Sylvia in the morning. Like the prognosticators of sunlight, she had disappeared like the mist. Gone was the C of O and the Reader’s Digest. Try as he could, Victor failed to understand her interest in Mr. Oden’s documents, but he fully understood the gravity of his folly.
Alarmed, he flirted with the idea of calling Mr Oden, but what would he tell him. His business with Captain Frank had also been concluded, but he called him anyway in case she was making her way back to Ogoja. Victor Isidor was relieved to discover that the passport photographs hidden in his belt were still intact. Out of curiosity Victor decided to examine the passport photographs more closely. Although she looked familiar, he could not identify the image of the female on the photographs. However, he noticed that one of the photographs bore a red masking tape on its back. He peeled it off and saw attached to it an 8GB memory card.
The hotel manager could only provide a laptop, it was not enough, so Victor went into town and bought an MTN 3G modem.
Like Kurds distributed across Iran, Iraq and Turkey, the Kanuri are found in Niger, Chad, Cameroun and Nigeria. Their struggle was not just to establish an Islamic ‘Kanuristan’ in sub-Saharan Africa by diplomatic means, it was to terrorize and pressure the present government and people of Nigeria to capitulate. Their long drawn ‘jihad’ has attracted sympathizers worldwide and they were confident that they were close to victory.
Under a folder tagged ‘Hidden Treasures’, Victor isidor was shocked to read correspondences between the first lady of Benue State and Senator Garuba. The contents chilled him to the bones. Discussions and details about the transfer of funds, arms deals and establishment of training camps, kidnap and elimination targets and also the recruitment of mercenaries and hit-men. There was also correspondences between the first lady and an unknown Soldier, details of Army positions, movements and tactics were leaked on those correspondences. Victor wondered whether it was really the first lady or a proxy involved in the correspondences.
He had no idea that the late Abacha was Kanuri or that the first lady of Benue State was his cousin, but the information available to him at the moment explained the source of the first lady’s stupendous wealth and influence.
A video of the first lady having sexual relations with an unidentified man was too much for Victor to take. Something was not right. The hidden camera had captured every detail of the liaison, he wondered if it was staged. At 16:42, according to the timer, the face of the first lady’s sex partner came directly into focus. Despite the full beard, there was something familiar about the features of
Madam’s lover. Like a leopard raising its head to regard the distant hyenas, the lover looked briefly at the camera before taking another dig at his quarry.
There was enough evidence on the memory card to destroy the first lady of Benue State.
Victor wondered how Mr Oden had come into possession of these files. He knew that the man was not beyond blackmail but this was a highly dangerous territory. Victor made up his mind to leave Calabar immediately he had delivred the passports to Mr Oden.
After making sure he was not followed, Victor made his way to establish his rendezvous with Mr. Oden. At Channel View Hotel, two things caught Victor’s eyes immediately he walked into Mr Oden’s Hotel room. A half concealed handgun with the butt poking out from under one the pillows, the next was a Reader’s Digest Magazine similar to the one that had disappeared with Sylvia. Mr. Oden seemed to be only interested in the passport photographs. Once he had received them, he gave Victor a long stare as if to read his
mind, but said nothing.
“But this is only a month’s wages sir!”
“Yes it is and you should leave now for your own good” Mr Oden menaced.
Victor did not hang around after that. As he left, he wondered if the butt of the gun had been deliberately left in view to threaten him.
Victor Isidor arrived Port Harcourt at about 11.00pm and had barely switched on his phone when it started ringing. It was Uncle Sunny. He told Victor that he had just received information that several gun men have stormed Channel View Hotel and murdered Mr Oden and his girlfriend. The female who later identified as Sylvia Bali. Rumour has it that she was the daughter of a former Aide to one the first ladies of the Middle belt.
“…Some say she came with the gunmen but other eyewitnesses claim that she was already in the hotel premises when the assailants struck…”
“Whatever you do, don’t come back here, you can even go to Ghana till things calm down”
“Don’t worry uncle, I’ll be fine, I know exactly what to do”
Although Mr Oden was not a model of morality, Victor always felt a strong attachment to him, he felt he understood his eccentricities quite well and was deeply hurt by his demise.
If they got to Mr. Linus Oden so quickly, they were probably on his trail already. Vicor also wondered whether Captain Frank and his unit had been infiltrated or compromised by ‘bogey’ soldiers?
Victor soon uploaded the sextape on sharebeast.com. It did not seem wise then, but he was glad now that he had made a copy. Then he registered a twitter account and posted the link. Tagging all the major news houses he could google, Victor gradually twit-pic’ed the hidden treasures.
Victor had left Chinda’s flat before day break. Fugitives must learn to be nocturnal he thought as he hurried towards ABC Transport Company, he had to be on the first bus out of town. The headlights of a car blinded him briefly as he neared the bus station. His thoughts were suddenly stymied as the vehicle that pulled beside him. He never believed in ghosts until he saw Sylvia seated on the passenger seat. Behind the steering wheel of a Tata truck, a look of amusement over his rugged features, a familar voice greeted him softly.
And like I promised, the lead vocalist of Ogbomosho for Christ lead guitarist of 20 Minutes to Ogbomosho, and moin-moin champion, Wana..enjoy..
He looked around, and had no idea who he was, where he was, and why his mouth tasted of Pepper. As he regained full consciousness, he noticed he was in a laboratory and could count about five men in white lab coats. One of the noticed him and voiced out via a speaker:
“Test subject is awake. I repeat, test subject is awake.”
Still a bit groggy, he tried to understand who this people were, and why he was a test subject. He was still gathering his thoughts when he heard a loud explosion from somewhere near. All of a sudden, red lights were flashing everywhere, and instructions were blasting from a loud PA. “Secure the subject! Secure the subject!”
Suddenly there was another explosion just right behind him, and four teens walked in carrying a large black box.
“Hahahaha… He’s stark naked. Cover up, Fe!”
Just then did he become aware that he had been stripped naked by his captors, but couldn’t do anything as his hands were chained. The tallest of the kids, a blonde-haired boy named Steve, spoke next. He pointed at the chains and called to another of the kids, Bruce, who had green paint splattered all over his face. “Smash.”
While Bruce was getting at the chains, the other 2 kids, a boy named Clint and a girl named Fri, quizzed him about his whereabouts.
“Where you been, Fe? We been looking all over town for you! How did they get you?”
As Bruce broke the chains, he fell the floor. Clint helped him up and gave him clothes to put on. Fri was the first to resume questioning him. “Fe! We missed you! What happened?”
Not sure what to say, he decided to gather as much information as possible first. “I’m a little blank at the moment, so I don’t have many answers. Why do you call me Fe? Is my name Fikayo?”
Clint & Bruce burst out laughing. Fri was shocked. “You mean you remember absolutely nothing? Wow!”
He tried again. “Is it because I produced Fimile for Kas?”
This time everybody was laughing.
Steve gathered himself and spoke first. “You don’t remember anything about yourself? Even your addiction to Harvey Spector & Mike Ross?”
He was beginning to feel bad and have a headache. “I don’t! Just help me out here!”
Fri decided to finally help him out. “Hahahahaha! How can you not know who you are? You are …”
The door to the laboratory exploded open, and the lights went off. Steve barked out orders immediately. “Everyone! Take cover! Bruce! Protect Fe!”
He didn’t know what to do, and hid behind the the black box the kids had brought in. Bruce was nowhere around him. Then suddenly, the lights came back on. It was a scene of pure carnage. Dead bodies lay strewn everywhere. He felt a weight on his leg, and looked down to see Bruce’s lifeless body covering his leg. As he tried to fight the tears, he looked round and saw the other kids, all dead. As his sadness turned to rage, a man with keys on the lower part of his pants walked in flanked by soldiers.
He heard shuffling in the corner, and saw Steve click a button with his last strength, opening the black box. “Good luck, Fe. It’s all on you.”
As he saw the contents of the box, it all came back to him. He looked at the man with bloodshot eyes, and spoke softly. “You may have tried to erase my memory, but you have failed, because now I know.
“I know why my mouth tasted of Pepper. She’s my girlfriend. I know why I was stark naked. That’s my surname. I know why they called me Fe. It the symbol for Iron. I know why I love Harvey Spector and Mike Ross. I love making Suits. I am Tony Stark, I am Iron Man. You are Loki, and you are dead.”
With perfect poise and a soothing voice, Teleola..
It’s June again. The rain never stops. It just keeps pouring and pouring relentlessly out of the sky, cloaking daylight with sombre greyness. Money had been missing in the bank today and no one had left till it was found, resulting in my arrival at 10:30pm. Wole wouldn’t be angry, he wasn’t that kind of man, but he wouldn’t be happy either. I had made him promise to be home early today and look where I was. I parked my car infront of the gate and sprinted into the house. The brightly glowing electric bulbs were a miracle, the TV was on in the living room but Wole wasn’t there.
“Wole” I called, dumping my handbag on the floor and kicking off my shoes. The tiles were cold and goosepimples covered my skin instantly.
“Wole” I called again, climbing the stairs and unfastening my shirt buttons. God, please, let him not be sulking, I prayed silently. He couldn’t be angry. He knew I was looking forward to our being together this evening as much as he was. I got to the head of the stairs and launched into a full apology as I walked towards our bedroom and opened the door.
“Wole, i’m sorry. Money got missing and I…”
He wasn’t on the bed. Where could he have gone and left the TV on? I decided to change into dry clothes and as I entered the room, the lights began to flicker. Of course, they had to interrupt power when I was looking for my husband. But instead of complete darkness, the lights dimmed. Sounds from the TV stopped as it went off because the voltage was too low.
“Wole baby, please, do not scare me right now. You know you’ll regret it”
The last time Wole pulled a scary prank on me in the dark, I had slept with a long knife for a whole week, not trusting him, and he had been truly sorry because his testosterone levels had soared during the time. I walked to my panty drawer for fresh underwear as I dumped my shirt in the laundry basket beside the bed but what I saw on the floor made me freeze.
My husband was sprawled on the floor on his back, a dark stain spread on the front of his shirt and already seeping into the rug. A naked baby with the same dark stain smeared across its mouth was sitting on the floor beside him. We did not have a baby. The light was too dim and I couldn’t see clearly. If Wole’s chest was rising and falling, I couldn’t see it. The baby took in my appearance and as if it knew who I was, it smiled a toothy smile. More dark coloured stains in its mouth.
“Wole” I whispered, “Baby” No answer.
Slowly, I took a step back in an endeavour to leave the room and the baby stood. I paused and tried again and it took two tiny steps towards me. I turned and ran out of the room, jamming the door behind me. As I fled down the stairs, I heard the tiny patter of small hands beating on the door followed by whimpering and then crying. I ran through the living room to the kitchen and felt around till I found my trusted knife, then decided to call my friend, Bisi, and tell her something was wrong.
Dashing back to the living room to get my mobile phone, the voltage rose and the bulbs brightened for a few seconds but my heart fell. There were tiny bright red footprints on the brown tiles, leading to the kitchen I was coming from. The lights dimmed again and thunder roared and that was when I was sure that Wole was dead and that this baby would kill me. Our baby. The baby I had aborted when Wole didn’t have money to marry me.
A sniffle near me caught my ears and I looked down at the same time that lightening streaked across the sky. The baby was looking up at me, raising its hands up for me to carry it, tears streaming down its face. It had a nice head of hair, large eyes, brown skin; couldn’t be more than eighteen months. I wouldn’t kill my baby a second time and if it would kill me, it should be beside my husband.
I dropped my knife, swerved swiftly towards the stairs and in my haste, I slammed my upper abdomen into the sharp edge of the bannister. The one whose wood had broken off the top and left a keen edge. The one Wole was always fixing tomorrow. The pain was immediate and intense, blood began pouring from the hole and my mouth. I had punctured my lung. Gasping for air with red spittle flying from my mouth, I crawled up the stairs to the bedroom wearing a bloody bra and a bloody skirt. How I didn’t die on the stairs, I don’t know.
Wole promised to die before me. Promise fulfilled, baby. I dragged myself to his side and my head began to spin. I wanted to sleep. This was the end. I would die on Thursday. A cold wet Thursday when money had gone miss… Wait a minute!
Thursday. Bisi had asked to drop her nephew off so she could run some errands and we were to pretend he was ours. The lights flickered and the voltage became full. I saw fries scattered all over the floor and under the bed. No. No. Wait. Is that ketchup?
Then I remembered: Wole, the man I love, is a terribly deep sleeper.
And for today’s feature presentation, we have noble Paetir with his offering; of the gods and of Ragnorak, of murder and twisted souls..
It is said that a true ripper never dies.
He will surely come back,
To reclaim life once lost,
One that may no longer be his to take,
But he doesn’t care, he will take it anyway
For you see, the ripper is always at war
He has never known peace
For peace is as alien to him as the sanctity of life
Everything alive must one day die
For what is the worth of a life?
If it cannot be taken with the swing of a sword..
Another sits on his throne
He claims right to the throne by birth
But now he’s trapped.
Now he has to make do with what he has.
And who says he can’t have some little fun?
Men worship gods
But gods must serve man
For a god is a manifestation of man’s dreams
And heights he will most likely aspire to
Dreams are what they are
I am god.
He creeps around in the dark
Creep Creepy little weevil
I bear the brunt of his revenge, for he is Cain.
The sun might just rise a little too sooner than the 6th hour.
A blood sucking duckling he was
A man of striking and destructive worth
He awoke from thousands ofyears in slumber
He roared at his throne from the pits as a disgraced dragon.
Her name was Trina
A girl in her teens who loved older men
They were after all more understanding
She lived her life as she saw fit.
Mr. Mark had just moved in next door
With his wife Vivian and daughter Margaret
They were a strange bunch
They kept to themselves.
Trina liked him,
Trina liked older men.
The Norse ‘deified’ ideals of strength.
He deified extremes instead
Pushing the envelope
Testing the boundaries of chance
This is the life he chose.
Mr. Mark was always home
He never went out
So naturally he was the first stop when Trina needed to do her math homework
She knocked, ‘Come in’ He said
On the 14th day of May 2013 they fucked.
He kept screaming ‘Ragnarok. Ragnarok. Ragnarok’ as he came
Trina watched him in awe,
He made love to her like no other
He took her to heights of pleasure
Heights she never even imagined existed.
He was the perfect lover,
He had a very weird smile, one she had never seen before, one she would never forget.
Let he who is free test the wrath of the father
For freedom seeks bondage after all.
The devil slumbers,maniac awakens
He pisses on family
He was asleep while you did it,
But yet, he pisses on memory.
Mr. Mark woke up that night,
Strangled his wife in her sleep
And hit his daughter in the head till he could see her brains pop out like ice-cream
He waited till his family bled to death while he watched his favorite tv show.
Then at exactly 6am in the morning he screamed and barged out of his house.
‘Trina Trina’ He kept shouting, he had no idea why,
In a few seconds he was at Trina’s, hitting at the door furiously.
When she opened the door, she was as shocked as the words that refused to escape her mouth.
She saw Mr. Mark in blood stained clothes, eyes blood red, she let out a harrowing scream.
‘Trina it’s me, it’s me’
Immediately Trina’s dad came in and tackled Mr. Mark below the waist, they tumbled across the front porch and down the stairs.
A scuffle ensued and the two men were left struggling for their lives while Trina watched in horror
‘Who are you? ’ Mr. Mark asked.
They all thought he was insane, maybe he was, they had never really known him.
All these crazy people that their Landlord let in his house. One had finally turned on them.
After a few minutes, the police came along and whisked Mr. Mark away like a stray dog.
The whole neighborhood was abuzz , a man had after all murdered his family and tried to do the same to his neighbors.
It was a good day to be a journalist in town.
“Cain, a maniac.
Dog as a devil deified, lived as a god.”
That evening, Trina’s family ate in fear.
They talked in hushed tones.
Trina’s father seemed to be in a particularly good mood.
While they were eating, He flashed a smile at Trina and said ‘Ragnarok, I know what you did yesterday’
Trina was shocked, she began to shiver where she sat, she had never heard her father say ragnarok and she definitely recognized that smile, that weird smile, the one Mr. Mark had on his face after he made love to her, confused she began to stutter.
She lost consciousness.
Loki smiled to himself, he enjoyed playing games with humans, as they usually entertained him. For what was the use of living as mere mortal if he couldn’t have some fun eh?
Don’t answer that.
But then he rushed to get her up and to the hospital, after all he was her father right?
LOKI = Norse God of Deception and Chaos.
In case you don’t get what happened, Loki was Mr. Mark, he slept with Trina, murdered Mr. Mark’s family and somehow transferred his consciousness to Trina’s father’s body leaving Trina’s father’s consciousness in Mr. Mark’s body to take the fall. Confusing shey? Don’t worry, now go read it again.
Did I not tell you guys?? A twist within a twist eh? That’s another level of Twist. You know, the deeper you go into a Twist, the less time it is in the real world. A three level Twist is dangerous, then we have a four level Twist where it all just breaks into chaos and disorder. After that is the Limbo twist, where you see things like ggjdsgfviubwivbwigbw.kgvdjgvbuvbvwgvugweihiffvdhj.
That you took the time to read all that shows how much faith you guys have in this blog. And for that I appreciate. hehe.. 🙂
Follow on Twitter @janus_aneni and don’t forget to stay true to your boos, and ignore body counts and bedpost notches.
We continue tomorrow with the uber-sensitive and thoughtful @Paetir *sic*