I initially wrote this for Jeremy Target’s blog,you can see the original post here.
Anyway, I thought about making this into a sort of series, but let us see what we think about this first. If you are a lover of Espionage and spy thrillers and of course, if you are familiar with the awesomeness that is Codename: Ali then you are welcome.
East-West road, Choba
“Move you fool! Is that all you are capable of? You giant lummox of a fellow! Come on, move those feet ma fren! Would you call yourself a champion? Would you call yourself a leader of men when you can’t achieve a single goal? Run fool!”
Cars whizzed past him on both sides in the early morning light, their headlights making wavy yellow lines in the misty harmattan morning. He jogged on the median of the road, the white nylons and trainers a blurry piston to the pedestrians and motorists. At this hour, the sidewalk and the median, which had become a sudden favourite for pedestrian commuters, was mostly empty. As far as he could see in the mist, he was alone on the median, just how he liked it. Ahead of him loomed the big Setraco mile marker. The stone block was his goal, only two hundred yards from him, but still so far. Essien was alone with his thoughts, and his voice to berate him.
“How do you ever hope to be reckoned with? How will you raise your head above your peers? You fat, ugly, un-fit fuck! Run! Don’t stop now, the goal is no further than the next step idiot!” he cursed, the words puffing out his lips with each breath in small clouds of mist as the mile marker seemed to belie his words, retreating further into the mist.
“Now, I have found self-flagellation to be a suitable motivator, but never so vehemently,” came the smooth voice beside him.
Ashes float by my eyes as the wind whips at my hair and the acrid smell of smoke and death burns into my nostrils. The killing ground is quiet now; bodies litter the grass and puddles of blood lie splattered in every direction.
I move towards the desolate sound of a trumpet far in the distance. My tread is heavy; I’ve lost a lot of blood. From a wound on my head, blood threatens to run down my face. I want to wipe the blood out of my eyes, then I remember. My arm is gone. I look down at the limb, for it is a mere limb now. I imagine I can detect faint twitches as though it is still alive. But it is not. The stump in my shoulder is still bleeding, though the pain is mostly gone now. But my right hand is dead. It looks funny just lying there on the blood-soaked grass still gripping the hilt of my beautiful sword Araéndule.
I toss the spear I have been leaning against to the ground, its tip still bright red with the blood of the foe who took my arm. Kneeling painfully, I release my sword from the death grip of my lifeless arm.
Gripping it tightly in my left hand, I step forward. I stagger slightly but I regain my balance on time. The gods kept me for a reason, I will not die. I have to live. I take another step and somewhere in the distance I hear the sounds of thundering hooves. My heart beats faster, adrenaline surges through my veins, and I whirl in a perfect roundabout twirl, my robes flapping all about me, sword hand at the ready…
And the Director yells, “CUT! Roll tape. It’s a wrap people. Somebody get that prosthetic and please switch on the lights and cue out that ‘hoof’ theme. Nice job people..”
Yup! The warrior was an actor, and yeah, it was a movie..
If you’ve read, the Jeffrey Archer collection of short stories, you’ll have an idea what’s about to happen. But for the rest I’ll spell it out. Starting 20th May, you dear reader, will be thrilled by different writers to different stories and poems from every genre, with only one underlying factor: each will have within it, the most unexpected twist.
No? Well..lemme introduce the writers and maybe you’ll understand what I’m talking about..
In no particular order, and with each throwing various gang signs, kido sigils and Illuminati symbols, make welcome:
Moonlight bathed the hidden grove in a swathe of silvery light. The rays from the Night’s Candle sifted through the branches of the tall forbidding trees to reflect off the fallen leaves on the forest floor, bathing the surrounding in a sort of eerie glow. It was fitting. For the events that were to occur that night were unlike any before, but the final participants of these actions were as yet unaware. In fact, they were very unaware of anything else at that moment. Anything asides, of course, their own bodies.
The figures writhed in mindless ecstasy, their bodies merged as one as their muscles thrashed and twisted searching for higher plateaus of pleasure. The man grabbed her waist and pulled her even closer, burying his face in her bosom while his pelvis rocked back and forth violently, seeking to immerse himself as deeply as possible. The acolyte girl murmured in a curious mix of pleasure and pain, her sounds muted, yet loud, as she threw her head back and surrendered to the endless savaging.
Around them, watching on wooden stools made of the strongest iroko, sat quiet men, whose faces bore lines of wisdom and age, and whose eyes shone in fevered excitement. All except one. They were twelve in number and he was the true reason why they were all gathered for this ceremony.
Clouds gathered and the grove slowly became darker. The bodies continued to move, naked black skin pounding against black flesh. The sounds were unmistakable and with the old men who sat watching in languid silence, there was more than one with a slight stirring of the groin.
The spirits should not be trifled with.
The Otumokpo, he was the one whose countenance did not shift, brought out a tiny drum from the folds of his George robes and began to beat a soft cadence. The leather skin of the sekere drum vibrated with the tension and the ancient beads woven around it shook with a strange intensity. A slight breeze picked up, shaking up the leaves and whipping around the ankles of the old men as the ancient rhythm of the ritual chant rolled with each strike of the sekere. As one the old men tightened their wrappers around their body to ward off the chill, their gazes fixed on the ritual before them.
The girl had begun to moan. A soft sound at first but gradually rising in intensity. The man grunted, his entire being pulsating with an excitement and a desire he knew was not his own.
“It has begun,” hissed the Otumokpo in a voice that could not be heard.
The forest is old. The leaves remain green and the black sands are soaked in the blood of the spirits.
The land is old. The air is pure and the winds are thick with the words of the ancestors.
Whatever it was in the green liquid he had sipped from the black calabash beneath the coconut tree at the home of the Changa Priestess, it has taken possession of his body. All these the man thought while he watched his body tear away at the acolyte whose screams has taken on an infernal snarl. The winds whipped up in intensity and lightening flashed.
Seven rings of Odumu, the nine dogs who roam the land, the yards of black cloth would never be sewn, and to the magic, new souls we bind.
The gods are never mocked
A shriek arose from the mouth of the acolyte and she pointed to the sky and screamed. A shrill scream it was, piercing and loud. The bats in the trees took off in fright and the owl of Sambiana, that does not make a sound, hooted in surprise. A figure leapt from the tops of the trees. The old men scattered, each tripping over his stool in his haste to escape.
Half monkey, half beast, the figure tore at each man with amazing speed, severing his limbs from his body till the blood flowed red and the forest floor was soaked in the life of the sacrifices. Eleven sacrifices. The Otumokpo remained, his fingers still caressing the sekere drum, the rhythm of the chant constant as the beast turned to circle the man and the acolyte.
Lightening flashes and for a second, the grove was lit. The bodies of the eleven lay strewn about in a rough semi-circle and circling the Otumokpo, the man and the acolyte was a fearsome beast, with eyes as black as night and teeth that glistened red. It was like a black dog but with the tail of a cat and the limbs of a monkey.
The Garinja. Messenger of the Spirits. Harbinger of death. The dealer.
The man stared, his organ now as limp as the plantain when fried in too much oil. The beast circled closer. The acolyte clutched at his arm, the pleasures of the past few moments all but vanished from their minds and their thoughts filled with nothing else except the pure terror that comes with certain death.
The old men, princes of the land. Patriachs of the purest bloodlines, now dead and bleeding all over their expensive ankara and George robes. Sacrifices.
The Otumokpo could remember how this all began. When the deaths started in the village, he had appeared before the council in his white robes and with his staff rattling.
“Four days! Four days!” he had cried in a shrill voice, and they had believed him. A young man and women to the sacrificed in the Somba forest, before the eyes of the Spirits and in the presence of the dark Ones. A representative of the eldest families to oversee the ritual. Eleven old men. The true sacrifices. Blood.
Blood and air, of the baboon and the cry of the jackal, the seas rise and confuse the bufoon, the stars light the way, the kolanut is not shared but struck, the rocks path in a way and water is all.
The beast, the garinja, lets out a bloodcurdling yell and rushes for the man and the acolyte. His speed is a blur, as fast as a thought, but in seconds it is over. The garinja is on the floor, torn in pieces and the Otumokpo stares in wonder, his fingers frozen above the sekere.
But Man is higher that the Forces and his actions shape the world.
The smell of blood is in the air and the sacred grove is fouled by the stench of it. The Otumokpo adds to that stench when his bowels give way as the man turns towards him.
“No, no..” he murmurs. It was not supposed to be this way.
It is over in seconds and the sekere drum is buried deep within the chest of the old priest. The Otumokpo is dead and as his heart gives way, its last tremors ignite a slight percussion and stir the beads of the sekere.
The clouds part and the rain begins to fall in fat drops of warm wetness. Only the acolyte remains, naked and trembling among the leaves of the forest floor. Her black skin is spotted with splotches of the Otumokpo’s blood as he was killed. Her full breasts heave up and down in fright as the rain falls upon them, and her dark nipples stay taut with the excitement of danger and the scent of death.
The man stares at her, his black eyes now flecked with red slashes. They rove around her body, taking in every line and every mound. His organ hardens quickly and he advances.
DISCLAIMER *The titles, places, incantations and whatnot are not real oh..and regrettably a mere figment of this writer’s warped imagination.
*I do not dabble in the juju oh! Though I have a fetish for the fetish.. -___-
Would use this medium to appreciate all those who helped out with celebrating my birthday last week. Promise, Sunshine, Jerry, Jazzy, Lambert, Ebere, Nolly, Eric, Ujente, Obire, Ikenna, Blehbleh, Justice, Chadni, King, Tchyoma, Onyeka, Motunrayo, Vincent, Explosive and the rest of you too numerous to mention. Really amazed I could pull off that crowd in six short months. Thank you..
First of all, I want to apologise to all who waited for this final instalment. The delay, and any others previously experienced were not entirely my fault. The rumours concerning my incarceration at a certain State CID cell are nevertheless, not entirely untrue. That haven been said, please read on, enjoy, have fun and uhm..yes, this episode is gonna be quite long..but then, it’s the last episode!
#np Skyfall – Adele
This is the end.
‘All things that begin, end, all flowers that grow, die..’ I read that somewhere once. I write it down now, so I shall read it again.. The writer scribbled on, the words coming in bits and spurts. The dim light from a Nokia Torchlight phone illuminated his orange diary, leaving his face in shadow. His mind churned, the gears whistled, and as the ink flowed, the characters lived and did and died.
These events occurred simultaneously between the seconds of 12:15:24pm and 12:15:49pm.
Paul dropped the i-Pad on the bed and twisted to get a cup of water from the bedside table. A cold and yet hot shaft of pain suddenly tore mercilessly through his back like the steel edge of a wicked blade.
“Arrrrgh!! Nurse!!” He screamed.
The car swerved suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” Tony asked sharply.
“I don’t know,” replied Rebecca. “If I didn’t know better I’ll say my baby kicked.”
“Let me go!” She screamed, but all that came out was a muffled sound, the words choked behind the mouth gag. She squirmed in her bondages, he hands and legs well trussed and lashed to the burglary proofing on the window. The muslim man continued what he was doing.
The great Noetic scientist and crank billionaire Paul Temple, believed that thought processes rule the world. Freud also theorized that emotions are key to our individual and group psychology. He qualified this under sexual urges and quantified the force as libido. In the Bible it is called Faith. In this world I call it Fate.
He was frozen in place. To lean back was to invite excruciating pain, to lean forward any further was to suffer mind-numbing aches.
“NURSE!” He hollered again. He was out of breath. He couldn’t take in a single breath. To breathe was too painful and he could take no more. Two nurses rushed in, shocked and pale as white sheets. Somewhere in his pain-wracked mind, he realised it was the pretty one with the nice massages that entered first.
“15ccs Demerol,” the second nurse cried. “And call for Dr. Akpan.”
The injection was jammed into his neck and immediately he began to feel woozy. The pain vanished and then, all feeling went too. Before his eyes the faces of the nurses swam and his last coherent thought before he blacked into void was, Am I going to be paralysed?
“Your baby..” murmured Tony.
Rebecca glanced at him, her hands on the wheel. “What..?”
Tony grinned. She didn’t. She knew that grin. That was the grin for when he wanted to say something essentially foolish and he wanted you to think it was a joke.
“So you really wanna keep it?” He grinned. Aha! “Of course I wanna keep my baby! And don’t call my baby a it.”
The car was in silence for a few minutes. Rebecca took the Oshodi turnoff.
“I’m sorry,” Tony apologised.
“It’s alright. I’m pregnant you know, all emotional, like PMS,” she smiled.
“So have you told the Senator?”
“Hell no! Not yet. Dad would kill me.”
“You do know you have to tell him sometime..”
Paul doesn’t know either, thought Rebecca.
Tony was thinking the same thing. How on earth did she plan to do this? Take her ex-boyfriend in tow while she broke the news of her pregnancy to the father of her unborn child as he lay on his sick bed. He would fall into a coma.
“What did you say?” He asked.
Rebecca trafficated. “Where is your mind? I said, I really wonder who Sharon is.” Sharon?! “Huh?”
“Sharon na! The girl I told you called me with Paul’s phone. I spoke with her a couple of more times. Her name is Sharon.”
Tony laughed. What are the odds? “What is it?”
“Oh nothing,” he replied. “Don’t worry your pretty head. She’s probably his sister.”
Rebecca sped up as the road cleared. That’s exactly it. As far as she knew, Paul had no family.
Dr Akpan pored over the charts. What had they missed?
The patient lay on the bed, the tortured expression on his face detailing that despite the sedative induced sleep, Paul was definitely fighting demons in that head of his.
There had been some strain on the spine as the patient was retrieved from the crushed vehicle, but the swelling had reduced. Oh God! He should have ordered an X-ray.
Where the hell was this man’s girlfriend at a time like this? The visiting needed to be called off! Not today!
There are certain paths to life. Each man is born at the fork of the road. The path which he takes is his choice and his alone. But a man must be decisive and choose his path or with the flow of other travellers it would be chosen for him.
Silver Cross Hospital
“Shh..” He murmured even though he knew she could make no noise. “Stay still, you don’t wanna ruin this do you?”
Sharon’s eyes widened as she saw what he was holding.
2 hours earlier…
The thought had been paramount in his head.
We are who we are. We do what we do because we must. This is who you are. This is what you must do.
Then she stepped into the vehicle.
“Silver Cross Hospital,” she said.
She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Her hair glistened in he sunlight as the strands wafted in breeze as the taxi zoomed down the streets.
He had muttered prayers under his breath, seeking answers to his weakened resolve. And finally the voiced heard him.
“Silver Cross Hospital,” he heard himself say.
Perhaps it had been the way he said it, but whatever it was, she had become spooked. He could see it in her eyes; distrust had suddenly begun to radiate off her being.
His new life had begun a few years ago with a bump to the head. Not everyone can claim they joined a fascist militant group after being hit by the car of the benefactor, but that was his story. Two years into the group and it was his first mission. The Muson Centre. 2:00pm. But that was before he met this girl. It was a sign. He would be used as an instrument to return the sick souls to his bosom.
Abdul spliced two wires together and plugged them into a socket. The digital readout came on. It was armed.
Silver Cross Hospital – Upstairs
The tunnel pulsated with an eerie light and the sound of rushing air and water, such as one hears when listening to a sea-shell. He couldn’t see his feet, maybe he had no feet, maybe he had no body, but somehow he knew, somehow he was aware. Childhood flashed by in a blur and he was reminded of all achievements, all joys, all losses. Love, guilt, fear, sadness and triumph flowed through him as one and his heart beat rapidly. Or maybe it didn’t. He had no heart. But there was a severe pain in his chest and he suddenly felt breathless.
Dr. Akpan pounded his chest again.
“He is flatlining!” yelled a Nurse. The pretty one.
The doctor was flabbergasted, but he kept his cool. Already, the patient’s face was beginning to look gray and pasty. Recognising the signs of suffocation, the doctor opened Paul’s mouth, tilted the head at an angle and blew air down into the man’s lungs. The EKG whined. Warris all this?
Mile 2 – Badagry Expressway
“We’ll pass this way,” announced Rebecca.
Tony nodded. His phone rang.
“It’s me.” It was her. The pretty girl.
“What’s up? I don’t have this number.”
“I know, I’m calling from a payphone.”
“Okay…” Tony frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t go with her Tony, I think something is about to go wrong.”
“I don’t understand.”
“If you go with her, your ex, something bad will happen.”
Tony rolled his eyes; jealousy.
“Nothing bad would happen, okay? I think I wan control myself reasonably enough. I’ll talk to you later.”
He ended the call.
“Who was that?” asked Rebecca.
“A jealous chick,” he replied, staring out the window at the Festac boulevards.
Abdul strapped the vest on Sharon. The bands of wires twisting from every corner, red, blue and green, ending in circuits which were connected to fused diodes. The fuses in turn encircled the two sticks of dynamite and plugged into the 20g C4 explosive. The satchel lay on the floor, empty.
The tears flowed freely out of her eyes as she contemplated the end of her life. Oddly in those moments, she didn’t think of Paul or of Tony or of any of her previous boyfriends. She didn’t think of GOD or Jesus or attempt any prayer for salvation. Despite her hardy outlook on life, she didn’t even envision escape or make any such plans. And it never crossed her mind to wonder at the loss of life that would be evoked in the hospital, or the carnage which would ensue as her body exploded. Sharon thought of her father, the Bishop. For no reason at all.
As the tears slowed down her face, her misty eyes imploring the muslim man, her hands tied helplessly behind her, her thoughts bent to her father. For no reason.
She didn’t remember him playing with her, or dancing or even talking. She just remembered him. Frustration tore at her very fabric, she was helpless in her fate. She would die this day.
Abdul saw the tears. They didn’t move him. “Tears are a part of life. They are the last proof we are human. When we cry we cleanse, when we cry we purge, but most importantly, when we cry we regret. You are past human, my son. You have been mandated by God. You cannot regret. You do not know tears.” Taking out the gun, he checked the magazine. It was full. Twelve rounds. It was enough.
The patient snorted. Dr. Akpan sighed in relief. One of the nurses fainted. Another nurse blurted “Halleluyah!” But Paul was back online and breathing, although shallowly.
The door opened and an orderly wheeled in the respirator machine. Dr. Akpan just glared at him.
“No more morphine!” the doctor barked.
Until the understood the reason for the crash, this patient was staying off all barbiturates and painkillers.
The lights of the tunnel had vanished. All seemed calm now. For some reason though, he felt he had to wake up. Wake up from his dream. There was something to do. Someone to see. But who?
Sharon regretted. Instinct had warned her right from the can, but she had ignored it. As she stepped out of the cab at Silver Cross, he had followed her. She had heard his footsteps closing in as she walked down the corridor behind the staircase. As soon as the corridor was empty he had grabbed her from behind, clamping his hand over her mouth to cut shut the scream. He then dragged her into an empty room. Her head had crashed against the door jamb and she blacked out. When she came to, she was lashed hands and feet to the burglary proofing with a gag over her mouth. Try as she might, no one could hear her scream. The door was locked and he was making a bomb.
The doors opened and Tony and Rebecca strode into the lobby of the hospital. The air was saturated with disinfectant and the sickly smell of drugs. Upstairs, Dr. Akpan watched his patient breath raggedly. Suddenly a woman screamed. Tony looked up and saw Sharon wearing some sort of bomb vest, a bearded man in a small prayer cap stood beside her, holding a gun. The sight of the bomb on Sharon and the image of the gun had barely registered when the muslim man raised the weapon and fired at the orderly beside the door. The report was deafening. In the ensuing silence that followed, broken only by the sound of the orderly sliding to the floor, his body leaving a trail of blood across the wall, three things happened at the same time:
Dr. Akpan cursed and ran for the door; the patient, Paul, jerked suddenly and in Rebecca’s stomach there was a violent jolt as her baby seemed to kick.
All this while, Tony stood transfixed, staring across the lobby at Sharon’s tear-streaked face, her mouth gagged, her eyes imploring.
The muslim man shouted; “Allahu akhbar!” Tony lunged.
TO GOD BE THE GLORY..hehehe
Appreciation (In no particular order)
And every other person who might have helped one way or the other with the creation of this story so far.
Disclaimer * I never really knew what I was doing with this piece. The characters just seemed to grow by themselves and well..I hope we had fun.
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.
“Hello?” A girl’s voice? “Hello?”
“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.”
Disclaimer *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”
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.
CHAPTER THREE 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?”
“*sharp intake of breath* Nothing..?”
“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…
Disclaimer *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.
Okay, last post was a little too long, but then, it was the premiere episode. Anyway, being the wonderful, magnanimous guy that I am, I hereby declare that todays post would not be long! *holds for applause*..Okay. Well, a few rules while we go on, you see Tangles is written in uhm..a sorta weird sequence (I’m sure it has a name in Literature), so, events occur in real time, but they do not literally follow sequence. You get shey? Ah well, just read sha, you will understand somehow.
*soundtrack of towncrier ringing large bell* Tangulu! Tangulu! Tangulu!
*background voice, sounding suspiciously like @JNyX_Melah* Tangles, a tale of twisted emotions…
Four months earlier…
Victoria Island, Lagos
The man in the red cape stretched his hammer towards the heavens. In that same instant, the air crackled with electricity and lightning streaked from the skies to curl around the great metal head of the mighty war hammer. Without missing a beat, the cloaked man hurled the bolt of lightning at his opponent, another man in a red metal suit. Instead of shrieking in pain, the metal man trembled as though he was infused with some additional strength. All about them, the air sizzled with electricity and the forest shook with the clashing of the two foes.
Tony dipped his fingers into the popcorn pack and risked another glance sideways. She was still there, and still beautiful. She was light-skinned and slim, as far as he could tell, and the nerdy Ray Bans she had on gave her a perfect chic look. She was pretty, and she was not noticing him. He concentrated on the movie.
The red metal man had smashed the red cloaked man into the side of a mountain. Large boulders the size of SUVs crashed down, sending a shower of sparks and rubble. Suddenly, the cloaked man spun, his thick blond hair flying about like the mantle of a god, and kicking off the surface of the mountain, sent both of them hurtling back through the treetops to the forest below at amazing speed. They struck the forest bed in a tangle of bodies, somersaulting head over heels. The impact was such that trees were uprooted whole from their bases. The metal man recovered first. Rearing up…
Tony continued to watch the movie, but his concentration was split. Often, his thoughts drifted to the girl beside him and he glanced at her. She seemed to be enjoying the movie far more than he was; giggling at all the jokes, ‘awwing’ at the right moments, while watching the action sequences with such rapt attention sometimes her hands remained poised over her popcorn pack.
When the screen showed a sallow-faced, pasty-eyed white man in robes listening from behind a glass-walled cell to a tall, one-eyed black man, Tony decided to use his chance.
“Hey,” he whispered. “What’s up? My name is Tony.”
The girl turned to him and smiled teasingly. M’lawd! She’s really pretty!! “I thought you’ll die of shyness before talking. My name is Sharon.”
Ogba, Lagos. 2:32pm
“Oh fuck it!!”
She stood in the middle of a mess that was entirely her own making. Tins lay strewn all over the floor; sardines, baked beans, sausages, tomatoes, forming a sea everywhere she looked. She heard a low chuckle, and looked up. She wasn’t alone in the aisle. Staring at her through amused eyes was a tall muscular man, and he was literally shaking with laughter. Obviously he had been watching every step of the show, right from when she had stretched to retrieve the tin of sausages to when she mistakenly toppled half the contents of the shelf.
So he had been watching all this while, and he didn’t even offer to help her get the tin ehn, with his height and muscles and all. She turned her back to him and set her mind to picking the cans off the aisle floor before an attendant came by and worsened her embarrassment. Suddenly, without any warning, there he was by her side bending down to help her pick the cans.
“I’m sorry about that, and for laughing,” he added as an afterthought. “I should have helped you get that can.”
His voice was deep and warm and soft at the same time. And somehow he had read her mind. It was suddenly hard to be angry with him.
“It’s alright,” she replied. And please shift! You’re standing too close.
At that moment an attendant walked up. “What happened here?”
“The tins were probably not stacked properly, and so they fell,” said the man. The attendant said nothing, just got down and started stacking the tins with amazing speed.
She looked up at the man. He was still smiling that yeye smile.
“Thank you, you didn’t have to, Mr…?”
He just kept smiling. Ah! Go jor!
She turned away, collected a can of sausages from the attendant, and pushed away with her trolley. As she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her, and she almost swore she heard a low laugh. Feeling embarrassed and glad she couldn’t blush red, Rebecca put all thoughts of the bearded man from her mind.
He was still thinking of her.
This is crazy, he told himself. I’m supposed to be anti-females right now, not falling for the next one I see. But his mind mocked him. In his head, he could still see her smile, and hear her voice when she laughed and told him that she was allergic to bole. He smiled. But really, how can someone be allergic to bole???
Tony walked down the empty streets of his estate. The compounds on both sides of the road were quiet; the residents probably off to bed at the hour. He wondered if his uncle was awake. He certainly hoped not. The man’s complaint about Tony’s late nights was sure to wreck his happy mood, it would be best to avoid the grouch. He scuffed his sneakers against the tarred road and thought about his day.
They had fun sha. He was funny, this guy. Ajebo yes, but funny too. Who would have guessed? He was cute too sha, or God knows, she wouldn’t have answered him. And his eyes though, there was just something about them. After the movie, they had literally walked out hand in hand, laughing each step of the way like a mad pair of secondary school students. Tony had offered to buy her a drink, and of course, why would she refuse, so they made their way to Taco’s; an eatery on the second floor. Two ice-creams and half a cheese burger later (calories be damned!), and Sharon felt like she was talking to an old friend. He was so easy to talk to.
“My friends call me Shae, you should too.” That was what she told him.
She had noticed him right from the beginning of the movie. Usually, she hated when peoples phones suddenly rang beside her during a movie, but the strains of Dustbowl dance by Mumford and sons were hard to mistake. Mumford and sons as a ringtone?! Who is this guy? And that was when she first looked at him while pretending to look around.
“So what do you do Tony?”
“I just graduated as an engineer, going serving in about two months.”
“Awww..why now? I just met you.”
He had smiled one of his shy smiles then.
Sharon grinned at the memory as she kicked off her shoes. Tossing off her clothes quickly, she stepped into the bathroom. The cold shower jets stabbed her body, causing her to gasp in shock. The water coursed down her skin, soothing her; streaming down her body, tracing her curves and seeking every crevice. Then she thought of him again.
His fingers were so cool. The way he held her arm after that guy hit her by mistake, very calmly, and yet she could feel the strength in them. The guy apologized and scampered away, then he released her, but his cool touch lingered. She could feel it now even. She wondered what he could do with those fingers.
They exchanged numbers, and pins, before saying goodnight. She took a private cab home, and he jumped into a taxi. She’ll probably be home now. A car turned into the streets, the headlights illuminating Tony for a second, before it sped past him. He could see his house already, the security lights were on and so also, the sitting room lights. Uncle was probably awake.
To be continued, next week…
Dustbowl Dance – Mumford and sons
The young man stands on the edge of his porch
the days were short, and the Father was gone,
there was no one in the town and no one in the field
this dusty barren land had given all it could give
I’ve been kicked off my land at the age of sixteen
and I have no idea where else my heart could have been,
I placed all my trust at the foot of this hill,
and now I’m sure my heart could never be still
So collect your courage and collect your horse,
and pray you never feel the same kind of remorse
Seal my heart and break my pride
I’ve nowhere to stand, and now, nowhere to hide
Align my heart, my body, my mind,
to face what I’ve done, and do my time
You’re my accuser, now look in my face,
your oppression reeks of your greed and disgrace
So one man has, and another has not
how can you love what it is you have got,
when you took it all from the weak hands of the poor,
Liars and thieves, you know not what is in store
There would come a time I would look in your eye,
you would pray to the god that you’ve always denied
I’ll go out back, and I’ll get my gun
I’ll say, you haven’t met me, I am the only Son
Yes sir, yes sir, yes it was me,
I know what I’ve done, ’cause I know what I’ve seen,
I went out back and I got my gun,
I said you haven’t met me, I’m the only son.
No towncriers or bells were involved in the writing of this post.
I have still not seen The Avengers.. 😐
I actually know someone whose first taste of bole was last month.
Dustbowl dance is not my favorite song.
ff on twitter @janus_aneni
P.S: Click the follow button on the blog, thank you. And yeah, I know half of y’all skipped the song..well, you missed the MTN recharge card hidden there.