Kaycee clutched the hands that had interwoven themselves with hers. The bus queue was long, typical of the first Friday of the month in Lagos. Buses were usually hired to convey church attendants to the Redemption Camp at the outskirts of Lagos and that left most commuters a little stranded, scrambling for the few buses that came by. None did today and for once, this didn’t bother her. The brisk after rain wind blew across her face sending cold shivers down her spine. She knew it was more than the cold that made her shiver. It had everything to do with Lanny who had said nothing for the past thirty minutes. Not after she told him the news. Read the rest of this entry »
It was the day before yesterday. I remember clearly because I wore the shirt I disliked. I remember strutting down the hall with my hands in my pocket, feigning confidence which was already lost in that shirt. I saw him; albeit for a split second. But there’s no mistaking it was him. His brief statue darted down the stairs and I was caught in my tracks. I exhaled the air I wasn’t aware I was holding. Something about him sent creep waves my way. Not only mine as I turned to see a woman and her son retreating from his way. Read the rest of this entry »
‘One day at a time’, Laila said to herself as she turned off the alarm she had snoozed three times already. She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders as she sat up on the disheveled bed. She couldn’t remember sleeping. There had been a lot of crying and drinking to drown her fears and she fell asleep somewhere in the middle. The pain still gnawed at her heart while she silently whispered ‘Help me God’ Read the rest of this entry »
I remember our first date. We were having coffee. I sat across from him, miles away. He didn’t even know me, but to me, he was an open book ready to be feasted upon by my ever curious eyes. I searched through depths of his mind- reading post after post. He was intriguing, I thought to myself. He became the muse and today, I’m borrowing his concept to bring DTM. Read the rest of this entry »
She, like anyone else had baggage. Admittedly, she was a hooker and everyone knew it. She’d hear the whispers whenever she passed by. But really, how was a pretty girl supposed to make money and get by? Of course she wasn’t happy about the turn her life had taken. She always wanted to marry and well, have kids. But who was she kidding; she was just a sex worker.
Something about him drew her close. He wasn’t like the others. He was- different. She observed him. His eyes were so transparent, she could see his heart. There was something there…something she had never seen. Was it love?
Sneaking into the elite party, she found her way to his seat. His eyes still held that thing for her. It thawed the ice inside of her as her tears began to fall in torrents. She knelt at his feet and cried some more, then pulled her silky hair loose to absorb the tears. With the one expensive Miss Dior bottle, she sprayed his feet till the entire room took up the beautiful scent.
He looked at her with compassion in his eyes. Saw all she had done but didn’t judge her. He forgave her despite the pile up of sins. He loved her and she in turn reflected his love like her eyes reflected his.
She loved much because she was forgiven much. –Luke 7:47
You know why some of us still have the time to judge others for their sins or place ours on a scale and see whose is the heaviest? Well, because we love little. Thanks to God who loves us so much that He sent His son to die for us. In so doing, He set an example of what love is. He was sinless and had every right to judge us but he didn’t.
Why then do we see others who sin and think it’s unforgivable? We put them on the stand and sentence them guilty. This, they’ve gotten used to. And for this reason, they won’t change. We will judge them anyway!
You can’t say you love and find it so hard to forgive.
We love much when we understand the gravity of our sins and the extent of His forgiveness. We love others when we realize we’ve all sinned and fallen short but God loves us anyway. This love, He expects us to extend to others.
It’s Valentine’s season and I couldn’t help dropping a message on love. Let’s love much because we know how much we’ve been forgiven.
Happy Valentine’s Day friends! ❤❤
Song of the week: You Love me Anyway by Sidewalk Prophets.
The hair on her neck prickled, she got a feeling that there was something hovering, weighing on her. She shook it off-she was NOT superstitious, forget she grew up under a superstitious mother. Still doing the dishes, she began to whistle a happy tune and bob her head from side to side.
Instantly startled by the heavy pounding on her apartment door, just behind her, she dropped the dish she was holding. For some reason, her heart pounded and the banging on her door persisted, a tiny voice whimpering ‘please, please, help me!! He’s coming’
She turned, heart pounding, frozen. But a force pulled her towards the door-what if, what if she could actually help? What if she put herself in danger? As thoughts raced in her head, she heard it again, a sob, a whimper, just against the door, please help….
She just got into action and unbolted the door; a small, disheveled girl pushed past her but that wasn’t the scary part, she was covered in red. She turned to stare at her, to ask the questions if her lips could utter them and the girl cried ‘he’s coming, he’s coming’
If only she knew then, what she knew now, she would have bolted out the door, herself, leaving the girl behind. She wouldn’t be staring at the hard unforgiving lid of a coffin. The clawing certainty she was going to die.
‘Who-o-o?’ she asked. There wasn’t need for an answer, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. This time, she didn’t feel a presence hovering. This time, the hot, sticky, heavy breath behind her neck was real.
I’m sharing this post written by my friend who entered for a competition. Please vote for her by clicking here.
PS: I dedicated the Fiction Friday Posts in November to my friends who wrote for the competition. Please be kind and vote for the stories you like.
Have a fabulous weekend!
I remember the day as though it was yesterday- but it’s already five years down the line. To be specific, it was in the year 2011. I was standing in front of her hostel in O.A.U wearing my favorite red Tees and ripped jeans. I had informed her the day before of my proposed visit but she tersely warned me not to bother. I went ahead anyway because I wanted to resolve the unending conflicts between us. I picked up my phone which was already beeping a warning red light because my battery was low and called her. My ears ached from her outburst “I thought I asked you not to come over? What the hell what are you doing here?” she hung up immediately and refused to pick my calls. I looked up at the pink drapes that lined the window of her room. She was on the 5th floor and I couldn’t risk taking the stairs without confirming her presence. I called her sister and she immediately hung up when she heard my name.
That was the second time I would visit her while in school. The first was a little bit weird because it was our first meeting ever since we started dating a few months ago. I was shy and so was she. We sat under a tree and ate the snacks and yoghurt she bought. I was smiling like a little schoolboy the whole time. Don’t blame me, I was in love.
She finally came out after leaving me to the mercies of the cold harmattan wind for some forty-five minutes.
“What do you want?” She asked with a stone hard face. “You’ve just a few minutes and as you can see I was making my hair before you came.”
That’s when I noticed her puffy hair tied in a red scarf. She still looked beautiful with her oily face and half-done hair.
“Can we at least sit down?” I asked while gesturing to the same tree we had sat the first day we met. Then, the flowers were lush and red but now, the harmattan breeze had shriveled their lushness and all that was left was a skeleton of what was once a beautiful tree. Just like our love.
“No” she curtly replied.
At that point, I didn’t know what else to say. All the words I had previously rehearsed grew wings and flew away at the sight of her cold countenance. I fumbled with words that didn’t seem to make any sense. I have no idea how she had such a hold on me.
“We can make it work” I finally said.
“Don’t you get it? We are not compatible”
I shifted my weight from one foot to another while looking at those brown eyes that held no warmth as they used to. Who had she become? The song ‘You’re not the girl I used to know’ by Darey began to play in my mind.
In about ten minutes, she said she wanted to leave and I pleaded, “Would you at least walk me down to where I will get a bike?” This, she vehemently refused and turned her back to me.
Without a doubt, I knew it was really over.
We were not always like this. We used to be best of friends. I still remember how we would stay up every night talking on MTN extra cool for long hours. Such days of bliss! The fun didn’t last so long as she got admitted to the ivy league university and little things I did began to irritate her. We would quibble and quarrel consistently until we grew apart.
Why do relationships get sour after ‘I love you’ is involved? Why do things that meant nothing when we were just friends become objects of irritation as soon as we start dating?
The ride from her hostel to the school gate was short. I remember shedding a few tears. I don’t know if it was because of the official break-up or because of the cold breeze, either way, I shed tears. I was sad because I gave it my best. I did everything humanly possible. I went the extra mile to make it work and used my last money to pay her the visit but it all ended with four words; ‘we are not compatible’.
That faithful day marked the day she died to me. I slowly got over her afterwards and have since moved on with my life. Her mum is still my good friend and we talk nonetheless. While her sister refers to me as ‘the guy without a dull moment’ because of how bubbly I was around them and her younger brother calls me Chief Owonikoko because of my baritone voice. I will never forget the memories she left, but as for Mimi- she is dead to me.
Written by Emar Ogar.
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