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Loving is Difficult: Part 2; Shredded muse

Photo by **Magda Ehlers** from **Pexels**

It had been 15 days and Dele stench from the loss of inspiration. He was finding it hard writing a word, and the publishing house needed a manuscript to publish; Dele had to play his part in the capitalism. Dele hid himself in his multi thousand-naira apartment in Ikoyi, that had all the needed for a man to write

This particular day, he knocked on my door, his eyes were soggy and bleeding with sadness. His right hand was holding a bag loaded with clothes. I stood by the door, and saw this man so miserable that it made me wanting more of him.

“All day I just seat and try make something, but I can’t, there is this part of me that is not here”

“But you are here”

I opened the door wide for him while I stepped back into my house. A smile is drawn on his face. I took the bag from his hand, he slowly entered into the house.

“Have you eaten?”

“Not really”

“I would make some toast”

There he was just looking lost like he always is; he would turn his head to the other direction, thinking of a lot of things that I find weird when I listen to him speak.

“Come on, I am your girlfriend, not even a kiss on my forehead” I turned to him with my eyes dripping with pity. Then he moved closer and held me firmly. He placed his hands on my waist and kissed me on my mouth. I dragged his hands on my buttocks, then he swirled it. I placed my fist lightly on chest and pushed him forward.

“Let me go get the toast”

“All right baby”

I tip toed to the kitchen. I was flooded with excitement. I would not lie, this is what I always wanted, to have a little fun time with my boyfriend. Dele would sit on his chair and for hours pressing on his laptop. He only calls me for sex, and sometimes he is afraid to say it out, he is a complicated man. We would lie on the bed for hours and dream of the stars, and reminisce on how beautiful it is, we only had each other and it was enough for me.

***

Some days earlier he kept on calling me on how troubled he has been.

He is a journalist, he got tired of the same routine as a mere reporter, he wanted something more that made him more of a writer. He quit his job and started ficiton writing, he got pretty good at it then he got a publisher for his works, as opposed to being a journalist, he could dictate the terms than working like a regular bureaucrat.

The day we met was blossom. The day was coming to a close and I chose to spend the night with my girls at a bar. He came to that bar that night, he was in search of inspiration. I saw him and how weird he was, he would glance at people from time to time, then he would raise his phone to his face and hit on his keypads as fast as he could.

He caught my stare that night, and for those few moments we were stuck. The only way out of this was if one of us had the audacity to approach. He carried his hand and waved, and forced a smirk. I said “Hi” as softly as I could and threw my palms halfway as long as my hands could stretch. Dele was still lost, tilting his head to another direction thinking as deep as he could for some seconds. He turned back his head to my direction and waved his hand to me. I shrugged. He had no option but to come, that is if he truly wanted to talk to me. He was this 6’1 man dressed with a polo T-shirts, pants, brogues shoes, and a smile.

“My name is Dele”

I chuckled, I was shy

“Dolapo you mind if I steal you for a moment”

“Steal her forever” Laide shouted, she could not hold control the alcohol she was taking. It was embarrassing for Dele, his face turned red and innocent as he tilted it shyly away.

Love making was spectacular, he had style, but I know it is from the frequent pornography he watched. His hands are cotton, soft and relaxing that would leave electricity lightening your every moment. He was always gentle and reminded me of how soft and tender a woman body must be treated. He starts with the foreplay, his lips crashing sweetly on every skin of my body, I swirl and moan on the bed, as its forces causes destruction on my body. The next phase is when he swirls his tongue around my clit, it feels so good, that I press his head deep into it. Then it is the thrusting, it is simply heaven.

Dele always stressed on how simple he is, but I know deep down on how complex he is. He wakes up at 4am, seated on the couch with his legs crossed, watching the news on NTA. He says it helps him think about the situation of things better.

I prepared toast and placed them on the dining table.

“Dele” I yelled. He came out with my towel wrapped around his waist, with his hair still holding water, his face was bright and stress free. “Baby, go and dry up, you are still wet”

He leaned forward to me and forced a swift kiss on my lips. He put his hands on my face and smiled for some few seconds, feelings of despair began to fade, I noticed it in his eyes. He walked out of sight.

Dele, he is the sweetest man I know, he is always reassuring. He’d hold me close to him, and just look at my face; he’d tell me that the answers he was always looking for was located in my eyes.

15 days I have been with this man. He helps with the dishes and some house chores. He told me it helped with his thinking. He cooked not so nice but manageable food every day, it was fun being with him. He’d hold me by the hand whenever we seat before the television.

***

This morning he told he has been harboring something, a vital message in him, he was swelling of it. While we ate our breakfast, I fixated my gaze to his eyes. There was something he said about the eyes. It was a poem that tore straight to my heart and cut deep into it, creating me a new.

The eyes are the doors to your soul,

It tells me the most beautiful story of the galaxies.

The eyes are the windows to your soul,

Its as beautiful and innocent as the history of earth and the stars,

The clashing and the gliding of rocks that built life was a result of time.

I was still staring at his eyes, trying to see whatever message he was passing. His eyes were hostile. He wouldn’t reveal. Dele would just tilt his head and let out a smile to contain the situation. He was blurry, and a little bit uneasy.

Food dropped from his spoon.

“Fuck” he said silently.

The innocence that shielded him made him cute. He tried so much not to wear that garment of his condition, this broken man searching deep in his unconscious for the mood that is hiding in his wild mind.

He would talk to me in weird songs

“If I wasn’t in love with you, I would love to be a tree in a very deep forest, planted on the ground and receiving the beauty of nature for hundreds of years”. He just told me that while we watched football a particular day. I couldn’t stress that moment, I got into it with a weird man, and as it seemed he was giving me the peace of mind my heart yearned for. I finally was getting the affection that I needed. My family couldn’t provide for the emotional health I needed. I spent my primary school to till the end of uniben inside hostels, there was this feeling of abandonment that housed in me, and when Dele came, my only prayer was for it to last long enough; I would not lie, I really needed the affection.

***

I could not sleep a particular night, I had downed a couple of cups of caffeine to get through the day, I turned on my Tab and check on some funny YouTube videos to escape reality. Dele just folded himself on the bed, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, he was deep into it. He was exhausted, the snore steam that poured out of his mouth could not lie about it. I just laid my tab on the bed, removed my airpod and watched my man. I could inhale the fresh air the air conditioner sifted out slowly, and let it crumble out of my nose. My body chemistry could align with the world it’s had conflicts with, and just the weirdness of a man could bring that.

Dele Screamed, “Ah” for some couple of seconds. It shrieked me that I vibrated instinctively. He held on to my arm, he was shaking in an anxiety. His body was warm.

“It’s not coming, nothing is coming… I am just an empty, worthless man…”

“Dele, you are just going through a phase.” I replied him

He turned his head to my face “But you… are going to leave me.”

I just shook my head, tears hung on the base of my eyes, I had to contain it than allowing it stroll down my cheek. I stylishly use my hands flick the tears away from my eyes. Dele was a gift and also a curse. He was a loving man that every soul needed, but then again, he was strange; He would trek for 500 meters and come back puffing with sweat. He’d tell me that, he is trying to refine his soul. He’d go to a far street talking to area boys, there was a time his face was painted with bruises, he escaped a near death experience when a drunk area boy confronted him; he was so happy that day, he said he needed that experience to boost his confidence.

Dele began to shiver. He was suffering, I knew that the from the moment he knocked on my threshold.

“I don’t have any meaning of this life, baby” His eyes were gushing with uncertainty. “If I can’t make anything of myself, then what is the point of living in this world, this fucked up place, I am tired baby”

I took a hold of his head and wrapped my hands all over it. This man started flowing with tears, this was the first time I saw a man express his truest emotions to me. I was sobbing too, trust me. But I was happy, for one, this man was not scared to show me who he truly was on the inside, guilty and sensitive, calm and steady, and also, he was very understanding.

***

(Dele’s fighting feelings)

They say emotions are strong, and you must control it, so that the surge ,the waves won’t come crashing out on you, wiping everything you once called your existence, then you become a slave to emotions, to your feelings; my art.

I am Dele, I am weird beyond measures. There was a time I was purged from all muse I owned; so I let the night be my day, and my night be my night. I moved not an inch from my apartment for a month, I had to find my muse; the elixir that is needed for me to see carve life the way I always wanted.

I tried littering my heart on white paper, blood was not gushing enough, even while part of me was deeply hurting.

This particular day, my girlfriend had to be there for her friend in a birthday party. I just did not want to come, for a particular reason; discomfort. I folded myself on the bed. My phone was placed on the cupboard, far beyond my reach. I had to land my thoughts on a foreign space, let me lay my worries on the day that I met my muse.

The first time I met my muse, I could remember; My parents planted me in a boarding school when I was in primary four.

This was what happened

Sometimes when everywhere is dark, and every human had gone in for shelter, I would stride through the window, that had a torn net. Then I would run through the hole and there I would be, inside this noir night with this innocent figure in form of a girl my age. Whenever she smiled, her teeth painted a section of the night white.

She would hold my hands and seat me on the rock. She would point to the stars, where she would read me the stories she had carved from the galaxies.

There was a night I wanted more from her, so I took a big note book with me, with a pen. I was uneasy as I raised my pen.

“What are you doing” My muse looked into my eyes with a smile to lessen the already awkward moment.

“I don’t want to forget whatever stories you tell me. In case you are not around to read the me the stories, I can always read the stories and remember your face”

She held on to my arm and. Hugged it, then she rested a part of his face on it.

“I am always a part of you… Wherever you go… Wherever you are…”

She held on to my head and began stroking it, allowing those soft hands with tender emotions stride through my scalp.

***

(When there is no meaning to life):

She was not around, she had to see her parents. Dele had to know she is never a competition. There was no need to be selfish about the whole scenario. He was hurting deep inside, but that doesn’t mean he should be selfish with another person’s time, someone that he wholly claims to love.

That night Dele was deeply bleeding with sadness. His phone was on his chest, his vision was on the white ceiling. Dele thought of his emptiness, and how blank his life is. He thought of killing himself, but that would be too much for his girl to bear, he scratched it off his mind.

He had another idea in his mind, beers and cigarettes. He promised his girl he had stopped, he promised himself too. But he could just stop only when she was around to heal those parts of him that was hurting. If she couldn’t be there, he had to result to the old therapy, booze and cigarettes.

***

Dele laid under the shower and waited while waters splashed and poured on his skin. Traumatic thoughts splashed his mind; the emptiness that he felt while growing up, the feeling of his muse abandoning him forever.

“It is burning me up, it is burning me up. Dele take it easy. Dele be calm” he mumbled to himself.

The room was as cold as antartica, the Air conditioner was controlling the weather in the room. Dele didn’t bother to take a towel. He bumped out of the bathroom; his naked body still dripped of water. His nostrils were blocked, he had to breathe through his mouth, he didn’t care about the whole situation, what was hurting was stronger than the cold he was feeling.

He slowly walked to the bed, like a zombie, with nothing, no intention, no purpose, he just felt a blank shelf, an empty space inside of him. He crashed his head with his face down.

Then…

Sobbing… This man lay on the bed, allowing the room feel a little of his pain, he was crying gently and calmly. The bedsheet soaked his sorrows and tears.

He stood up from the bed, used his palms to wipe off his tears. Dele strolled to his wardrobe and picked out his ironed black T-shirt, his trousers and those nice Italian shoes that his girl bought for him. In his own mind, no matter the adversity a man is going through, he must still own his style.

***

Dele ordered for a bottle of Beer and a pack of cigarettes, the therapy session had resumed for him and he had to be ready for what was coming. He stood up drunk, picked up a bottle of bear and flung it on the wall.

There was a deep sense of confusion from everyone inside that bar.

“You all don’t know how it feels like… to be nothing, because you all in this pathetic bar are nothing, that is why they sell you fucked up meat and washed-up beers”. He took the last cup and gulp of his beer. He moved disorderly. All eyes were on him, people moved their attention from the champions league that was going and were focusing on a man that seemed to them, foolish. Maybe he caught his wife cheating, or maybe he gambled his money in a ponzi scheme or maybe he’s angry at a friend or something, but that was different, he was just a man that has lost his muse, his meaning to life.

He glanced at his cup; he stretched a smirk on his face. Then, he flung the cup to the wall. Two men came forward to him, they were muscular, twins, the owner of the bar that Dele is Defiling.

They walk closer to him, one of the twins held Dele by the arm. Dele brushed this off and landed a slap on his face. They became angry, dragged him off his feet and pushed him to the ground. There was a surge of pain that came to Dele’s way; brooms, sticks, fists and wires landed on his body. Dele laid on the ground like an innocent dog infected with disease on the streets. They dragged him and threw him to the gutter.

***

Untitled Me: Feeling child

The love I feel for this boy is immense. In all the journey that I have been through, my feelings have played a huge part. People have broken up when love was not just enough, but when it was never enough, I and Dele still nurtured our dreams on that fertile soil. When the differences were too much, there’s always a separation, a retraction that forbids something coming together.

I was just coming from my friend’s birthday party and I was driving through the night till I could get home. On my mind, “Dele” could not stop popping through my head. Dele, a full-grown man filled my thoughts with hopes he has not done anything childish, or stupid.

I glanced at the other side of the road, and I saw Dele sleeping next to the gutters, I knew it was him the moment, I could just feel it. My worst night mare has come to past. I folded myself to feel a little warmth, I placed my hands on the steering wheels and thought about the good life.

I once read a poetry by Voodoo, an extension of David Tells, it has it songs planted in my mind, whenever I want to organize my mind, I grasp its story. It goes like this;

It can’t be this difficult,

This passage seems like a cult,

When it becomes endless and hoping on a false story.

If you keep on running to somewhere you are not familiar,

There might be a passage through time,

You’d evolve to see fit the flourishing of your life.

The end.

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A NORMAL DAY

Tunde just lay on the bed like an innocent dog, like one without the troubles that life gives as a price for living. His mother entered the room and walked as silently as she could to Tunde’s bed. She placed her palms on him and gently tapped him. Tunde woke up gently stretching his body as lazily as he could. He opened his eyes for some seconds. “Good morning, Mom”.

“Wake up, we are going for a visit to your uncle’s wife, Uche. James just left her like that”

Tunde opened his eyes “For how long?”

“For three days now”

Tunde stood up from the bed and placed his palms on his waist. He twisted his palm, hoping for the remaining story.

“I don’t know what that guy is up to” His mother, Gladys, sighed out, she was forced to frustration.

“Mommy, have you called the police?”

His mother hissed. “It’s not a detective or a mystery solving issue. It is just James being a child “

Tunde scratched the back of his head; he is still not getting the issue. James had just fled his wife, on the pretext of him finding out who he truly was. That is what happens when you take a lot of social media quote too seriously. James was this mischievous man, that never cared what people around him were affected by after taking this decision. His wife, Uche, for instance, has been patient ever since. Gladys had always troubled her, and told her to explore other options. Gladys would always tell her, marriage is not slavery, and it should not be treated as such.

Gladys and Uche have been close friends for a long time. Uche Married James, Gladys husband’s brother. Gladys husband, Damilola was still baffled on how close the two were. For one, Damilola wasn’t really that close to James. It baffled the brothers a lot. But Damilola came up with the conclusion of women building friendships in the weirdest conversations, and he didn’t really bother about it.

Damilola walked into Tunde’s room.

“Good morning, Dad” Tunde greeted his father.

“Good morning, Son. Can you give me your comb, my hair has grown a little long.”

“Daddy, Mommy is just telling me about Uncle James”

Tunde went to his drawer and brought out a comb. Damilola rushed to the mirror hanging on the wall and checked himself out.

“I heard about it, and your mother stopped talking to me because of it”

Damilola gave the comb to his father. Damilola combed his hair gently. Damilola still adopted that younger side of himself.

Gladys hissed, and stood up from the bed. “Tunde meet me in the car in thirty minutes”. Gladys could not handle the amount of irritation in the room. She walked out of the room.

“Daddy, is it a must that, I go, I mean I am 33 years old and should be able to make my own decision”

Damilola held his son by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. “Son, as it is, your mother is going to behave like this for the next two days. I can’t do anything more to extend that behavior, a man like me has needs. You would understand one of these days” Damilola threw a salute at his son as he strolled out of the room.

Tunde and Gladys in the same car was Gladys seeing her son as her therapist as she expressed her annoyance of the world for him to hear.

“Mummy, I still think that this is something for a couple to address without any form of interference”

“Well, where is he?” Gladys twisted her face, looking for an answer.

“Mummy, I still think, it is an issue for them… you know as a couple to solve, maybe therapy”

Gladys laughed at her son when she heard about therapy; one thing that she knew was that Nigerians, whether rich or poor, never believed in such.

“Or a family meeting or a pastor, whatever they can do, so that I won’t be present” Tunde angrily explained to his mother. He went to a party late at night after coming home from work, and came back drunk. He had just had some few hours of sleep and he wanted more, but he was stuck at the wheel as a driver. It annoyed him so much.

“Tunde, I didn’t ask for your opinion” Gladys started to boil with anger

“Mummy, I need this Saturday to sleep, but I am stuck in this car with you” he replied

“Well, next time, you would know that it is not a good thing, coming back from work, drunk”

“I work 9-7 everyday, and I come back home smelling of sweat, can’t I just have a night to myself”

“You can just as well get your own house, and pay the bills, if you think you can do as you like”

“So you are punishing a 33 year old man”

“Yes. Now, hear me complain and just drive the car”

Tunde sighed heavily. There are some certain battles you cannot win against Gladys. Like her making sure that, Damilola didn’t buy the G-wagon he always dreamt of. Damilola wanted to promote his brand like he would say, and expensive cars are a good idea. Gladys thought about it as being an avenue for him to get younger girls and flirt with them. Gladys would always say the only thing that you can never do is trust a man.

“Men, they just feel like they shouldn’t do anything about critical situations if it doesn’t affect them” Gladys shrunk her face with anger

“Mummy what are we supposed to do? Remember, it does not affect us”

“He is your uncle, your father’s brother”

“He is also a 53-year-old man, that is fit to make his own decision. Who are we to stop that from happening?”

“We are family, you hear me, we are family”. Gladys yelled at her son.

“Mummy, you don’t even care about your own family, when last have you seen aunty Idrine?”

Idrine was Gladys elder sister; she died from a car crash, after stealing her father’s car to meet her boyfriend. Good roads sometimes cause accident. Idrine was driving like a mad woman that night; she never knew when she collided with another car. They could not bury Idrine. Gladys’ father once loaded the car with two 25 liters kegs of petrol, fearing there might be a black out. The collision created a spark and the bomb blast was looking like the final stage of World War 2.

“Idrine is in the grave and probably in hell for what she did to my parents” Gladys said. “My father had two strokes”

“Mummy. Okay. Just okay. You are moving away from the point” Tunde tried to evade the topic. He has already opened Lion’s Den, and there is no escaping from it.

“How am I moving away from the point, you asked a question. Do you know what she did, while she was dead, my parents forgot I even existed”?

“Mommy, sorry about that, but that happened 20 years ago, and even before then you stopped talking to her and you are somehow exaggerating this too much”

“Because, she was acting without her senses”

“But she was family, and you not talking to her might have, I don’t know, maybe caused her death”

Tunde glanced at his mother. Gladys face has changed to something else. Her eyes squinted, and her face wrinkled. Tunde gulped in the air. He was in trouble; what could save him from his mother’s rage is unknown.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing”

There was a pause. Tunde’s chest was moving back and forth.

“Tunde?”. Gladys called his name with a stern face.

Tunde just looked in front, trying to evade eye contact. He knew what the look meant to him. That look always had its way of instilling fear into Tunde.

“Yes Mom”

“What did you say?”

“Mummy, just try to calm down”

There was this outburst from his mother. She would not let the moment go. “What did you say”. Gladys shouted.

“I didn’t mean what I said, I am so sorry”.

The afternoon was hot. Gladys came out of the car and slammed the car door. Tunde rested on the steering wheel; he sighed. Tunde was drowning in an ocean of guilt. “I should never have said that” he thought to himself. But the deed was done; he can never undo it. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

Idrine and Gladys history was because Idrine had a drinking habit after her divorce. Idrine had caught her ex-husband on multiple occasions cheating with younger girls. She told Gladys about the situation, and Gladys persuaded Idrine to divorce him. Gladys would confront the guy and make a mess of him. Idrine took her sister’s advice and divorced him. The man could not handle himself and committed suicide. Idrine could not handle her urges after meeting another man, and, well, you know that story.

Uche and James lived in glamour; there was a large pool dug, a spacious car park. It is like seeing a mansion right in front of you. Inside the living room, there was an 85-inch television, seated on an expensive cabinet. There was a bear rug laid on the floor. There is a mini library at the angle. At the other angle was a standing ac. The floor design was upper class American. Chandeliers hang on the wall. The sofas and chairs were expensive. One would wonder what went wrong that made James leave this life.

Uche was seated on the couch, sobbing heavily. There was a tissue on her hand that she used to wipe her snort once in a while.

Gladys entered the house, and they exchanged embrace.

“I don’t know what got into him” Uche talked with exhaustion from crying.

Gladys carefully took her hands and guided her to the sofa. Uche had finally seen someone to talk to. She explained the full incidence in details. James, she said, was acting immature. He turned down the chance of being the chairman of the company to pursue a career in music. His story was one complicated one. James was having an income that was more than 95% of people living in Nigeria. but he was not really feeling the money, as he wanted that dream of becoming a Fuji artiste, even if it meant quitting a job from one of the biggest companies in Nigeria.

“A fuji artiste, that is so hilarious”. Gladys burst into laughter.

“That man is 53 years old and he wants to become a fuji musicians, is he on drugs”

“I don’t think so, or maybe” Uche shook her head.

Tunde came out of the kitchen; he was holding a food tray of sandwiches, an orange drink, and a can of beer.

“Mummy, what time are we going” Tunde asked his mother.

“Tunde, I beg you, don’t annoy me, and I have not still forgotten what you said”

Tunde went to the sofa and placed the tray on the sofa. He picked up the sandwich above his mouth and dropped it into his mouth. The women stared at him with amazement.

“I think it is better if you go to the dining table” Uche suggested.

“Mrs. Uche, I promise myself to behave while I am seated, no crumbs on the couch, no splash of juice on the couch, and I won’t make it obvious when I am drunk” Tunde talked childishly. This was his way of making things more complicated. Everyone would have to leave him alone.

“What is his problem?” Uche faced Gladys.

“I don’t know, I am very sure something is wrong for someone that is 33 years old” Gladys had a smirk on her face as she faced her son.

Unable to hold back the annoyance, Tunde brought about a piece of his mind “Mrs. Uche, I guess you should maybe persuade your husband, and talk to him, instead of getting my mother involved. Because my mother might give you an advice that would make you end up dead, and I don’t mean it figuratively”

“What is that supposed to mean” Uche faced Tunde with a great deal of anger.

“Yes, what is that supposed to mean” Gladys looked at her son.

“Well, it is just the fact, and I won’t feel bad for stating it”. Tunde walked stood up angrily, and walked out of their sight.

“He is a spoilt child” Gladys said with disappointment written all over her face.

Tunde came back to the living room and took his plate back. He could do anything for food at the moment. “I forgot to take this”. He packed the food, and munched on it while he walked out of the living-room.

The ladies stared at each other. To Uche; that was the of the weirdest thing she had seen that day. To Gladys, it was her son being a spoilt brat, at 33.

“Gladys, what is wrong with your son”

“The men from the family we married into are going through a phase, and we are deeply affected by it”

“Gladys, my son and my husband are perfectly fine”

“Your husband wants to become a fuji artiste. I mean is that normal?”

“Something is bothering him, if I can just talk to him”

“That something that is bothering him is the phase he is going through, we are both saying the same thing”

Uche sat properly and rested her elbows on her knees. She felt her intelligence had been insulted, from Gladys and her son.

“What is the problem?” Gladys asked.

“Nothing is the problem. I feel like this is being exaggerated”

“What is being exaggerated?”

“It is better you chase me and my mother away from your house”. Tunde shouted from the kitchen. He was seated in the washing machine, and was stuffing his mouth with food, using the beer to wash the food in.

“Tunde are you out of your mind, go to the car and wait for me”

“Mummy, no, you can’t just boss me like that, I am a 33-year-old man, and not 14”

“Well, you are not acting your age, you are acting like a brat”

“Mommy, if you say that again, I am going to take the car home, and not care if you followed me or not”

It is not a good thing to dare or threaten your mother. She is your mother and she knows how to break you. The wrath of a mother is similar to a dragon; Tunde knew this.

“You are not acting like your age; you are acting like a spoilt brat”. Gladys said slowly.

“Well, if you weren’t my mother, I would have left you”

Uche has had enough of this. She slammed her hands on her knees, and stood up.

“Gladys, I think I need sometime for myself to think to myself”

“Thank God” Tunde could not hold his excitement.

The unexpected happened, Damilola came in with his brother James. Uche ran to James and hugged him as tight as he could. He kissed her head; it was starting to look like a fairy tale. Her face turned hard suddenly and there was a slap on James.

“Uche, why did you slap my face?”

“Because, you put me through a lot”.

“I told you that I was traveling to sign some Fuji artiste, I told you I am entering into Fuji music business.”

Uche tilted her head; she was amazed. “I thought you said something of becoming a fuji artiste”.

“Fuji artiste?”

“Uche, I left pounded yam and Egusi soup inside the kitchen, I would love to go and eat it”

There was this settlement in spirit for the first time in 3 days; for Uche, she might have misheard what he said initially. But her husband was right back home, and that was all that mattered. She went into the kitchen.

“Where did you see him?” Gladys asked her husband.

“I just picked him from the estate gate. Where is my son? I need to fix something in my laptop”

James screamed, he thought Tunde to an intruder.

James wanted to become a fuji artiste; he invested 1/3 of his life savings and investments in crypto-currency, but the worst happened, it went into a dip. James was lucky, the email he sent to the board didn’t go through, and the cause was internet issues. He could go back to his office like nothing ever happened, becoming chairman.

Gladys, Damilola and Tunde went to an eatery. Tunde, even though he was a 33-year-old man kept on complaining about how hungry he was. His parent took him to eat Amala and Ewedu. Tunde called it “therapeutic food”.

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Loving is difficult (part 1)

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(Chioma’s Perspective)

I am just coming back from work, and what do I find? The toilet seat not taken up. I keep on telling him to take it up anytime he takes a dump, but he keeps on forgetting, it is as though he is doing this on purpose. I boil with a great deal of irritation anytime I see this. He is my husband, he is my Taiwo, I have to remember this anytime he does anything that annoys me, that is me accepting the mess I put myself in.

Loving him is difficult. We are still in our early stages of marriage, we have been married for 2 years now, and there have been moments of anger and arguments, sometimes the pettiest thing, for instance, why the hell wouldn’t he want to raise the toilet seat up anytime he is done with it? Sometimes he takes a piss on it, gosh! It is terribly annoying.

He acts like a teenager all the time, eating junk and always watching football. I just want to have a bond with him in the living room. For Christ’s sake, I have a 9-5 job, and I would like some affection from this man. He doesn’t even get to be woken up by the alarm, since he designs at home, he sometimes even forgets to take his bath. I just want one-on-one interaction with him, but it is one stupid match every damn night. Then I get angry, but he says, “baby, you are on your period, just try to calm down”, now it’s “baby, you are pregnant, just remember to be at peace”. Thank God I was not pregnant while we were dating, I am very sure that he would have left me, I know what Taiwo can do.

Mummy, you are right, men do really act like children, even worse, they are babies, how can a married man take a street football match so serious that caused him to use the wheelchair for three months, three months of being starved of sex, three months of doing the house chores and the cooking all by myself, and also taking care of him. I was without sex for three months; it caused a lot of emotional struggles.

Loving him is difficult, some days I just sit on the bed, crying for hours, and it is because of him. If I divorce, it will be another circle of an annoying man, so let me just stay with my poison that has killed me multiple times.

He doesn’t even check my phones or my chats, even when there is no password, does he trust me that much; I am sure he knows that I would never leave him, that stupid boy. I love him though, my mother always told me marriage doesn’t come that smoothly and lovely as expected all the time, but it is a marriage of two different people. He is a lovely man though.

(Taiwo’s perspective)

I wish she would sometimes stop talking about something, like how Rachel looked slutty to work, or how the C.E.O made a joke about the stocks of the company rising to a certain level, I really don’t give a fuck about it. All I just want to do is watch this match with every attention in me. But she will not understand, she would start talking about me not giving her the time she needed that she wants to share some intimate moment with me all the time; I mean, we live in the same house. I miss those days when we were dating, it was not as serious as it is at the moment; I had time with the boys to party and flirt, but now I have a nagging wife; and the sex, the sex was great when we were dating, I mean, it was fornication because it was against Christianity. Presently, She comes to bed naked, leaves naked, I am getting tired of it. She looked sexier when she came to my apartment to visit while we were dating, she would wear this mini skirt or these sexy tight jeans, at night she does not wear any panties, and that always excited me.

Sometimes I ask myself why I got married. The wedding was one of the most exciting moments of my life, I planned it very well, spent money, real money; it was in the biggest redeem church in Lekki, we even had the reception in “light-house”, it was something for me. But I had not known it would become like this, she farts in the night and smiles at me thinking it’s funny or amusing. God, it stinks and very embarrassing for me, and when I tell her, it amuses her.

Loving being difficult, anytime I come home, I meet my wife seated on the couch watching whatever soap opera she is watching and looking so unsexy, she is getting too fat, I try to tell her, she could do some aerobics or cardio.

They say after loving comes patience and perseverance. I am strong, I know, my parents always told me about the sweetness of getting married and the pains that come with it, I never paid good attention to it. My parents have been married for close to 35 years, so I always thought it would be easy and fluid to be in a marriage. I thought their ted talks were just because they wanted to talk and make a pond seem like a sea. The irony is that my present situation is deeper than the ocean, and I am drowning. I am just a little bit overthinking this, maybe we could work this out, we still have a long way to go in the marriage. The doctor said that she was pregnant, a baby will be nice, I guess. I hope so. I shiver when I remember that I am someone’s husband, I shiver more when I remember that I am going to be someone’s father.

I wish I could get a few joints to smoke or a couple of cigarettes. It would help me think smoothly and comfortably, but I sacrificed that for Chioma. No one would want to have a husband that is high all the time, it would be inconsiderate, and mom said that a marriage should be more of sacrifice than love.

I wish I could leave her and have peace of mind; it would be great for me, I would remain single till I die, but I can never do that to my baby girl, my Omalicha, my Chioma.

Point blank by David Tells

I’m David, I’d tell from the point of view of an assassin and a psychopath, a distorted version of how I feel, so if you might get weary or your mind is like the soft garden of clovers, I’d prescribe your absence from my thoughts, as fear… as something… as a real one… as your heart… There was a day I held a gun and pointed it to a soul; my heart rhythm made my arm fall down, but my goal was to shoot, so I raised it back, and everywhere was splattered with a new chapter of people who knew him. My goal was simple; my heart ought to be absent. It bothers me how it leapt out for a second, but I cage it like how God condemned the morning star.

I came out of his abode and blended back with onions and tomatoes, and the next soul was walking calmly; her voice had to be faint like Rusty Weathers, and her mind had to be silent and not worrisome, so that when I took her soul, it wouldn’t be a process of trauma; it’ll be a happy day till when she suddenly views the lights and trumpets of heaven. Until she sees everything but existence on earth.

My heart is also like the musty clay I moulded… I felt too… I flourish… not yet, but I had my heart rolled and smoked it with the morning star God condemned.

Night blues, Night Right by David tells

Anoint me; you look like Freydis, that Viking warrior. Take my soul. If I ever get in a battle with you, I would surrender and, while I surrender, take control. Shower me with the rain that comes from you, and anoint me with your holy water.

Secondly, I like it when you walk your fingers through…

See, I can go right or left with it when it comes to your body, but I can’t go wrong. I can go through and be true when it comes to your body… But my libido does not lie. Even if it speaks parables, it’s not meant to be understood; it’s like a portion of the Holy Spirit, and it charges your body with fire. Then it freezes you up, so it’s so sweet, you calmly take your breath to meet up with my tension.

I’d play the deep blues of Gerald Levert, that part when he talks on the complexities of heartbreak, so that it’ll make your legs vibrate; that adds to the flavour of what we are creating. The songs will enter essential dimensions, clicking every part of your desire, and then I watch it erupt like a volcano, burning every village it comes in contact with, and you grip the sheets; you’d hold on to it like your life depended on it. I’d add fuel to the fire by capturing your eyes with mine, caging you where I want to.

I’d put you in a position, those positions sorcerers put one in when they want to suck the demon out of them. And they say things, they whisper spells, dangerous things, dangerous spells to the ears to remove those demons, and I’d say those things to you. It’ll act as a flavour to what’s going on too.

Groovy Nights

I’m voodoo, and David too… an author

The night soaked in ink, he wore his best suit, which was dipped in charcoal, and a dress bleached in white was protruding. He wore suede loafers and a positive attitude. The groovy night was what he was stepping in, and in the groovy night, good witches flew in on their brooms and ignited the skies with histories of love. In the groovy night also, Cupid sat in the corner, there was a bureaucracy of emotions, and there was stability; people sat and talked.

He walked through a lonely road, deep in his thought, with a smile drawn on it. The moon, stars, and galaxies gave him the light to ensure he had a path. The groovy night is also entrenched by dragons, and so he could go and hop on its back and ride till he flickers what burdens him, maybe take another ride to the river, allowing the fire of the dragon to steam the waters and cool his soul. And when he is done, the dragon can air him. And take him back to where he came from.

Groovy night; he could speak, but his voice is volcanic, it bursts in flames, so he’d keep to himself and enjoy the night. “I’d walk in slow motion till I feel at ease,” he said. He’d take deep breaths with his eyes closed to have the air of freedom in his lungs.

Groovy nights, he called her feelings in the noir of the night, but she was slightly intoxicated; she replied with, “Dreams are better than being high in the groovy night,” but I know what she meant. She wants to take my feelings for a night ride, while I journeyed to the pop soul of Frank Sinatra and to the harsh blues of “Marvin Gaye.”

On the groovy night, she’d taste my lips, and the lipstick painted by good witches would stick a bit on mine.

Dark blue is how we talk; dark blue is like running deep into a rabbit hole that is riddled with both mystery and comfort. Dark blue is when I can see the fire in your eyes, the core of the groovy night.

Groovy night… I’d take chunks of you in my memory so that when I’m without you, I’d live in you through my mind, through my soul, and through pathways of happiness.

The colors of evil

Chapter 2: Painting Pictures

“They paint pictures because the world has dimmed whatever colors that they were supposed to be painted with. The anger lives deep in their soul, that true life purposes are paused to paint pictures. When they paint pictures, they let their anger do the designs, their rage be the mechanics. And their product might bring insanity and create questions as to life purposes.”

Aaliyah was on the bed, looking at the ceiling. Her eyelids are heavy, and our thoughts are heavy to take a lift. She has been drugged; she was semi-conscious, trying to get herself back in order. She mumbled words to herself. “Divine… what did you add to my drink?” She tried to raise her arm up; it went halfway, then it fell down.

“Divine, I am so weak.” She continued.

Divine was just seated on the bed. He stood up from the bed, dug his hand into his back pocket, and brought out a jotter. He flipped it open and opened the first page. The first page saw an outline of what he is supposed to do.

Divine glanced at the body and pressed his lips together as he slid back the jotter and the pen inside his back pocket.

He rushed to his shoes and wore them. He went to the mirror and checked himself; he tried to place himself into character and wiped his face of any form of suspicion. He walked to the bed and gently pulled her up. He placed an arm of hers on his shoulders and gently walked to the door and pressed the knob.

The attendant watched with the phone placed on his ear, his face squeezed with confusion. Divine walked hurriedly with the woman on his shoulders. He opened the hotel entrance and slowly walked out, slowly maybe; the lady on his shoulder clashed her knee on the wall.

“It… hurts so much.” She said, feeling very hazy and tired, her head bent downward. She continued, “Ouch.”

He placed her gently into the passenger seat.

She carried those tired hands and placed them on his face. She fell her neck to the other side, “You handsome devil, what have you done to me?” The palm slowly dropped down and hit the chair. She continued, “I am in so much pain, for Christ’s sake.”

He strolled the seat belt around her, and then he gently closed the door. His shoes walked on the marble floor gently till he reached the driver’s seat and pressed the car handle. He placed himself into the car and let out a huge sigh. He lifted his buttocks and delved his hand inside it; he brought about the jotter and the pen.

He ticked something there. He stretched his hand to the compartment and opened it. He placed the jotter and the pen inside of it and closed it. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel and let out a huge breath.

He just looked through the windscreen; he took in cold air into his nostril as he delved into his thoughts. His eyes became dry as he left them wide open, not blinking. Slowly a smirk is stretched on his face.

He bent his head and ignited the engine of the car. He took a deeper breath, and gently, he passed it away from his mouth.

He started steering the wheel; he glanced at Aaliyah once in a while until he reached the gate. The gate was opened while he strolled his car past it.

***

He sped through the airway with both of his hands on the wheel, and his back shot out. The car windows were wound down, and the heavy breeze poured through both; the sound of the breeze and the snore of Aaliyah competed. Aaliyah was already fast asleep. Divine gazed through the window. His car was driving on the bridge that screeched from asphalt with streetlights planted at the middle of the road. The view of suburbanization painted the night; at both sides of the bridge, illuminated bungalows and duplexes sat in the valley.

He pushed his index finger to the radio. An advertisement comes on.

“Lands and properties in Adekunle district are more affordable; with just 1 million naira you can own a plot of land, with 15 million naira you can own a 2-bedroom apartment, and with just 25 million you can own a three-bedroom duplex… At Johnson’s estates and properties, we are committed to bringing affordable houses right to your feet and over your heads…”

He switched the radio, and some Fuji music came on. Still not satisfied, he pressed it again; this time “The remedies shakomo” came. He drummed on the steering wheel, shook his head to the beat, and lip-synced to it also.

The truck entered into a pothole and caused the car to go in another direction. He maintained his composure, swerving and maintaining his lane, with his hand forced to the steering. He paused and thought to himself, he could have died, doesn’t he know? He brought out that smile again, then chuckled. He started the engine and pushed to the other lane.

***

The car became gentle at both sides of the road where there was forest. The truck swerved to the right. Nothing one could see but the extent that the headlight could shoot out. The truck was rumbling, with rocks, stones, and branches that caused obstructions.

The headlight showed a timber house, planted at a section of the forest, with trees already tamed by Divine. It was about 40×40 meters close to the trees. The car parked by the edge of the tamed land. Divine raised the car breakup. He grabbed the car door handle and jumped down from the car. He rushed to the other side of the car and pressed the car handle.

He stretched his hand to the seat belt and clicked it loose. The seat belt rushed away from her. He held her from the waist and bent down; her unconscious body fell on his shoulders. He grunted a little while he lifted her up, his hands locked around her legs; he turned to the other side and slammed the door closed.

A few meters from the timber house was a pile of firewood that burned slowly; the particles sparked as it pushed in the air. The shy moon hid behind the dark cloud. The breeze howled, and a gently cold breeze accompanied it.

With Aaliyah on his shoulders, his feet squinched on the ground while he walked to the door. He was gasping from his mouth. He climbed the wooden steps till he reached the door of the timber house. He pressed the handle of the door and kicked it open. The inside was noir; nothing could be seen. He walked inside of the house.

Something creaked, and after a while, footsteps thumped on the floor. The footsteps paused, then a flick made an LED light ignite everywhere blue. On the bed, Aaliyah lay on her back. Divine turned away from the table to the sight of the bed; he scratched his beard as he looked with both his hands on his waist.

He bent down and dragged a bucket; it clanged. The bucket was filled with handcuffs. He took two from the bucket, got up, and kicked the bucket.

Divine sat down beside the bed. He brought the back of his hand and gently rubbed her face. He placed the handcuffs on the bed. He gently raised her hand to the window railings, picked the handcuff, and locked her arm to the railing. He stood up from the bed and climbed on it. He raised her other hand, picked the other handcuff, and locked the hand with the railing. He pushed down from the bed and walked to a box at the corner of the door. He bent his knee and opened the wooden box, something millimetre. He gently raised himself up and walked to the door, the gun obvious in his hands.

***

He was inside the car driving slowly. He turned his face through the window. There were identical bungalows with a lowered fence that had light flickering; the atmosphere grumbled with the sound of household generators. He paid attention to the numbers. He stopped the car with the engine still rumbling. The house had a “17” planted on the wall; he was sure of it. He stretched his hands to the compartment and punched it open, bringing out the gun.

He pressed the car open and jumped down. The gun was still obvious in his hand. He walked to the gate and pressed the house bell. He took a huge sigh as he waited. What could be going on in his mind? What was he thinking? Still a mystery.

Footsteps scratched the ground; a man, the security guard, opened the gate. Marvelled, Divine widened his eye while he saw him. Divine pointed the gun to his head and pulled the trigger; the man fell to the ground.

Divine looked around, hoping no one saw him. He entered into the compound and quickly dragged the body inside the compound; he rested him on the wall.

The door creaked open, a woman in a robe came out, two of her 7-year-olds followed, plus the maid. She shrunk her face in disbelief; he pointed a gun at her children. He pointed his face to the mother.

“No one else has to die; I just need you to follow me. That is just what I want.” He said with a rather calm and emotional voice.

“Where are you taking my mommy too?” One of the toddlers said with tears and fear all over her face.

“Don’t worry, nothing would happen to Mommy. If Mommy wants to see you again or vice versa, she’d follow me.” His face stern to the woman, his eyes were shining. She knew he was not joking.

She nodded her head. “Judith, take the children to the house.” She turned her head to the maid. “Now!”

The maid took the children inside the house, then she locked the door with the key.

The woman turned her face to Divine. “What do you want?”

“I just want you to hop on that car before the police come, or I will kill you, go inside your house and kill your children. I have a machine gun, and I am not bluffing.”

She slowly walked to the gate. He rushed and grabbed her arm. The sight of the dead gateman shrieked her.

He took her to the truck; he opened the back of the trunk and brought out handcuffs. He slammed it closed with the gun still pointed at her.

“Enter into the truck now.” He shouted at her.

She opened the passenger’s seat and jumped into the car. He took her left arm and cuffed it to the door arm. He slammed the door closed and rushed to the front seat.

***

The cuff made her bend to the other side; she tried to have a full glimpse of a man she deemed weird. Her thoughts delved deep, trying to find a reason for all of these. She did not keep malice with anyone; she was just a simple pharmacist. She was honest, she thought so.

“Is this a prank?” She started panting.

“This is as real as you and me.” He replied to her. He pressed the steering wheel with his palm and shrunk his face.

“I am sorry about your gateman; he was not supposed to be there. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time.” He paused for a while and glanced at her. He continued, “I am sure he is a new… You are just supposed to follow me to the timber house.”

She, by the way, her name is “Miracle,” turned her face to the car down, her eyes widened. She prayed in her mind that this is all a prank. If it is not, then she might be a victim of a psychopath; these thoughts boosted the energy of her heart to beat. Fear accompanied by sweat started to moisten her face.

Divine pushed the radio button, Plantashun Boys. “Say you believe me is on.” Divine slammed his hands on the steering wheel. “Damn!”

“It was not supposed to be like this; you should not have hired that innocent man; you shouldn’t have.” He was gasping hard. He gently mumbled to himself. “It’s just a man; you can still edit the plan and make it better.” He licked the tip of his lips.

Miracle covered her mouth with her hands to prevent him from knowing she was sobbing heavily; this might be the end of her. The prayers of rescue lingered through her mind; she hoped for the police to come soon. Thoughts of her family strode in; would she ever see her children again? It all came as a flash, everything that is happening.

Her voice was shaking. “Are you going to kill me?”

He glanced at her. “What did you say?”

She took in her snort with a zap sound and made her voice clear, “I said, are you going to kill me?”

He shook his head with doubt, he sighed out, and then, “I don’t know; things we think we planned for sometimes take a turn to another thing entirely, just like what happened.”

“So, you are not going to kill me?”

Angered, he slammed his hand on the wheel. “I don’t know. I don’t know. Can you stop asking me all these questions? I can’t concentrate at the moment. This is not about you at the moment; it’s about me thinking of what to do.”

He took a sigh, trying to blow the anger away. He shook his head, then said, “I am sorry; it’s not your fault. I didn’t plan this very well.”

***

The car stopped. Miracle squeezed her face. She was wondering where she was. Divine raised the breakup and removed the key from the engine.

She asked. “Where are we?”

He ignored her, picked up the gun, then pressed the car handle and hopped down from the car. He slammed the car door closed. His feet stamped on the flaky leaves till he reached the passenger’s seat.

“I am going to release you, and I have a gun with me. I don’t want to change plans anymore.” He said, with his eyes innocent of emotions.

He dragged the car door open; this brought her to the ground. He swerved his hand with the gun to her head; this made her unconscious.

Divine stood above Miracle. The cold had blocked his nose, so he breathed from his mouth. He grunted as he lifted her from the ground to his shoulders.

***

Already cuffed her in the same bed with Aaliyah; there was a torchlight all over their faces. The torch turns away to the door. Divine walked to the door and opened it.

He was on his knee, back then, and in front of him was a generator. He rested his hands on the fuel tank and twisted it open. He dropped the lead on the floor and rested his hands on the side of the generator. He bent his head a little and checked the fuel level. He freed his hands and stood up.

He bent down and picked up the torch. He turned it on and placed the light on a gallon container. Beside it was a wooden water tank, with pipes from it that stretched into the house. He picked up the gallon and walked back to the generator. He dropped the torch on the floor, then used his other hand to lift the bottom of the container; he gently poured the contents into the generator, satisfied, he dropped the container and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He grabbed the container and put it back in its spot. He walked back to the gen and dragged the rope. The inside of the house became illuminated with yellow bulbs. Smoke from the gen started evaporating into the air.

Divine walked to the tree with the torch shining bright; it reflected two monsters, his Rottweilers tied to a tree. He untied them, and they jumped on him in excitement to see him. He lay on the ground as they licked him.

The colors of evil

Chapter 1(Paint brushes, but no colors)

Just inside an eatery, everywhere looked beautiful. The transparent glass walls made visible the wonders of love, friendship and family. Outside the walls was the impulses that came when the day forces close.

Divine, a 24 years old handsome devil. His hairy and shining face was beaming with innocence, and so as his smile. He was 6’1 tall, wearing a low cut and a cap that covered a section of his face from the strides of the bulb lights. He was reason, taking his words one by one before it passed out of his mouth. He smiled at every moment, and every circumstances. You would think innocence embedded in his mind that it made him shy away from those demons that came to hurt, so you feel secure whenever you are around him.

She felt she could go with the flow, they met on an online chat, and from there, they planned a date. Aaliyah could only see a charming man when she tilted her head to see that smile that he had on his face. She felt some aura of safety when she saw it.

“I would like a plate of Jollof rice, chicken, fried plantains, salad at the sides and a Can juice.” Divine ordered as the waiter wrote on her jotter, then she turned her head to Aaliyah.

“Okay.” Aaliyah hummed as she thought for a beat. “I would like a burger and some fries, with coke.”

“You both can have your seat; it would be ready in 10 minutes.” The waiter smiled to Divine.

Divine went to a section at the window. They both sat on the chair.

“You know what is crazy?” Aaliyah placed her phone on the table, then she rested her hands, she was feeling a little stressed out.

“What is?” He responded.

“I feel like I have known you all my life, that I have known you from somewhere. You look a fucking lot like someone I know. It is killing me; I am trying to remember.”

“It is normal, there was a time I was about to cross the road, and I saw this dude. And I was looking at him, maybe he would take me from this curiosity that was killing me at that moment. And the guy was like, omo, I no sabi you oh.”

Aaliyah showed all her teeth as she laughed.

He continued, “It kept hunting me for a long time that the dude reminds me of someone and I can’t really picture the person.”

She said “I know right.”

“Don’t stress your brain out, it might come, it might not.”

Aaliyah pressed her lips and shrugged, “Ok.”

“So, tell me about you?” She playfully turned her head to different directions, trying to get Divine’s playful side. He blushed, trying to contain the embarrassment.

She held his arm and played with it; she folded her fingers with his.

“Come on.”

“But I thought we have been texting—” He replied

“I know, but there is still more to know about you.”

“Like?”

“What makes you angry, what makes you sad, what makes you do the things you want to. You know. I want to know about those stuffs.”

He chuckled. “Well, if I started, we would be here for 2 days. Heck, they would have us rent this section.”

She stretched her hand and placed it on his palm. “Come on, you can always start from somewhere.”

A waiter walked to their seat. He carefully laid down the food on the table. Aaliyah carefully retracted her hands from the table.

Divine fixed a smile for the waiter to see. “Thank you” he said.

“You are welcome.” The waiter said while he moved out of his sight.

Divine rolled the band of his food pack. He glanced at Aaliyah, who held her burger to her mouth. She took a bite and placed it back onto her plate. Divine took some few spoons from his food. He nodded his head.

“This is the first time I am having Jollof, and it feels so good”. Divine said

“Well, you live alone, so Jollof rice should be your favorite food.”

“I don’t like buying food outside, I love home cooked meals. And you know, Jollof rice is a meal you have to take your time and energy to prepare the very best. But I have not had that kind of time, lately.”

“So what food do you then cook?”

He shrugged. “The basics, I guess. Prepare toast, Stew, soup, Porridge, spaghetti, noodles and Beans.” He chuckled, then continued “The smell of home cooked meals is just so soothing, especially when it is still very hot and just prepared.”

“A man that cooks, every woman’s dream.” She continued. “Who taught you how to cook those meals?”

“Youtube.” He laughed through his nose.

“What about your mother?”

He looked at table trying to create motion pictures inside of his thoughts. “She did most of the work in the kitchen you know, she loved it and called it hers, it is where she has the time to talk to herself more.”

“So, you were not really any help around the house?”

“I did most of the house cleaning, and my laundry of course. My mother never touched my clothes when I became just 8 years old.”

“Wow, I didn’t touch my laundry till I entered the university.”

Divine looked at her, and tried to see if she was kidding. He chuckled, “you are joking?”

She shook her head.

He laid back on his chair and said, “Wow.”

“My father just thought, life can be easier. So why complicate it for no reason?”

“You have a point.”

“I play field hockey. I just like the sport for no reason.”

“That’s cool, that is cool. I play lawn tennis, it is very cool, and I just like it. Then I play the sax.”

Aaliyah raised placed her elbow on the table and listened to Divine talk.

Divine continued. “I just like the sound that comes out of that instrument. I liked jazz and fela that gave me the interest to learn an instrument. I learnt it in the church and I am very good at it.”

“Do you have somewhere you have to be tonight?” Aaliyah placed her palms on his.

He brought out his phone and checked the time, “Planning on watching a UFC match.”

“We can watch it together. I am sure you are inside of a hotel.” She shrugged and let out a smile

“Okay. But I guess I would be the one driving.”

***

Divine was driving, while Aaliyah just seated at the passengers. She connected to the car speaker and played “In da club by 50 cent.” Divine glanced at her and gave her a smile.

“You don’t like this kind of music.”

“They are my kind of music.”

“You listen to rap music?”

She shrugged. “Not particular rap music. I literally listen to every kind of music

The car stopped at the gate of a hotel. The gatemen opened the gate as the car strode in. He packed the car carefully at park section and rushed to open the door for Aaliyah.

“You are a gentleman.”

He stretched his hand to her; she grabbed it and he gently pulled her up. They both entered into the building.

She took his palm; they seemed like a couple as they walked to the door of the room. He gently shot the key into the hole and opened the door.

She entered into the room. It was one of the most expensive suites in the building, a king-sized bed, a fridge seated on the floor at the corner. Artworks are hammered in sections of the walls. The cold air that comes out of the air conditioner is soothing and calm. A large mirror is seated at the center of the room. With skin cares and grooming instrument lay on the shelf’s top.

Aaliyah looked around; she is amazed with the luxury. She went to the bed and sat on it. She brought out her phone and took some selfies. Divine walked to the fridge and took a bottle of brandy with two glasses.

“Your company is so rich if they afford this.” Aaliyah took a cup from Divine.

“We need to show an image of our company, spend money to make more money.” He filled her cup with vodka. Then he sat next to her, he filled his own cup.

“To a new beginning.” He raised his glassed up.

She clanked the glass with hers. “To a new beginning.” She raised the glass to her mouth and took the whole content down to her throat.

He took his own into his mouth. She dropped her phone on the small shelf that sat next to the bed. She laid on the bed with her back. She then tilted her head to the direction of Divine, who poured himself another shot of vodka.

“Why don’t you come to bed?” she said.

He dropped the glass cup on the mini shelf. He pulled down his shoes and placed them on the bed. They are looking eye to eye.

She placed her palm on his cheek. “I swear to God, I know I have seen you before, somewhere.”

“It is just dejavu, it happens to everyone.”

She laughed. She placed her hand on his hair, and gently played with it. “You have very soft hair.”

“Thank you.” He replied her

“How old do you think I am.” She placed her chin on her fingers and tilting it into different directions

He hummed as he carefully looked at her. “27 I guess”

She is surprised, she is 31, but the news of someone telling her she is young truly made her self-esteem a little boosted.

The colors of evil: The prologue, the Song of Songs, by voodoo

Hey there, I am Voodoo, and it’s necessary I write this prologue. Rest assured, I’d lend my voice to David while he writes this beauty. Because in shaping this beauty, he might encounter thorns, splashes of paint in the eyes, and floors that have broken glass on them. But I’m voodoo; there is a reason I am a witch doctor, a spiritual side, and everything, and the name too. There’s a reason why I enter into volcanoes where love boils and bring it out, through the cold mountain, to where it’s safe. There’s a reason why I love painting, even if it is with engine oil. I love seeing the stars with it. There’s a reason they confuse me with an invincible superhero; it’s just that my confidence extends, I’m free to talk to Zeus and Sango at the same time, and I allow them to strike me with stories of their valors.

David once told me, “I bleed with iron when I pour my soul, but subtly yearn for a woman metalsmith to heat me up and cool me down before I taste the sweet iron found in red blood.” His eyes were soggy, and he wanted to run away from the curse of feelings. He said, “While I write this beauty with your help, please give me your wings to glide through the sky, then dip me in the Pacific, where it’s cold, and let me be whole again to continue bleeding.” There was a time I continued going straight while I took him through the skies; the more I went straight, the more circles we covered, and the more there was a reason to live here in the physical and there in the spiritual also.

I’m Voodoo; be ready to be entertained. To feel, to see a one-of-a-kind story about what happens when you change the habitat of a being, allow it to run wild, and come back to be a demon.

The Colors of Evil, that’s the title. If I showed you a world of the known, why be terrified? You get scared and shriek when the unknown hits you. That means you know nothing about who you are. The colors of evil give a representation of how far we can paint colors unconsciously, colors of evil that can change the hearts and minds of people in different situations of confusion.

The colors of evil: most times having a heart and having feelings differ. With the colors of evil, the heart is painted red; it sets the tone, maps the blood rivers, and kills if it has to. But in the colors of evil, feelings are painted blue, the innocence that leads to guilt tries to see the beauty of red. The colors of evil in their entirety are the start of painting true madness in madness, madness at its core, that might even motion from being still; that’s madness.

The colors of evil: if he painted a madman on a rampage trying to create order from the disorder he created initially, how would the board react? Will it be able to hold that weight and try to tear itself apart? Maybe it would.

Remember, the colors of evil can also be a place that hasn’t been found; when colors of evil splash or are brushed through, they reveal places our soul never wanted, never needed, and never amounted to. But sometimes the colors of evil need to paint the emptiness that clouds us with blue skies. So that emptiness will stop being a song we’d continue singing.

Remember to feel and not try to understand the words as you progress. Remember, it’s the colors of evil, and paintings are meant to be looked upon and felt.

So remember these details so as not to be confused when the paintings seem strange.

Chemistry by Voodoo

It’s voodoo, there’s a question, I kept on digging deep while looking for answers to your novel and series. Listen David Tells, you might not understand, so I would sing it like a song to you.

As long as you come over for a date, and say those few words, the mating calls had already been drawn, at that moment on, the feelings were on the stove cooking. Then, David, listen… she reciprocated and told him, the first date, and when I heard you smile and talk, at that moment on feelings were drawn, and I knew the spices to add to the food, for the feelings to align and cook.

So when they both went home, the first thing was an emoji text, then the text followed with “I had a good time today”. Then he texted her back and said “glad you did, with a love emoji at the other side. Quickly, she called and he answered, they talked, the feelings was getting done in the stove. But he had not asked her to be his man, thinking to himself, that he does not want to rush it, but she could not wait for the relationship to come into fruition, and that feeling was mutual, feelings does not make sense. That’s the final stage of the food of love, served at a tray.

So David tells… tell me, does the talking stage exist? No it does not. It’s like waiting on the lightening strike, when you’ve seen the light, you call her everyday, at the slightest inconvenience, she does the same, and feels better about it, then you both can start knowing a bit of life to share from, and the closer you guys start coming to, the chemical components in your body are releasing equal elements, it makes their chemistry a bliss.

“Groovy Nights Presented by Voodoo”

I bet you don’t read Groovy Nights either. You don’t see freedom in its truest form when you groove at night. The night is that part of 24 hours, it is that part that makes you seek the meaning of life when you soul is rested from all. A few blunts could make you relax. You could take a stroll to see the world clearly, letting you calm your mind no matter the illusion that your thoughts create.

I am Voodoo, a part of David, your author. I want to take you through a tunnel, a passage that would lead you to somewhere you are not familiar with. I am overwhelmed with brighter thoughts. It is a strange land that I try to find myself in. I’d first like to present you with the art of my world in the first chapter. Let you get lost like I’ve been since David created me. I’d give you a short interlude, the moment I got dumped into a world of nowhere.

Voodoo meets aesthetics in a way that blurs all perspectives (Chapter 1).

Sometimes love comes in difficult places, when the least expected. A trip to the club will soothe your mind. Then you see a beautiful girl dressed in noir. Her face resembles the moon, and her color is the paintings of the night. She has golden eyes, and when she widens them, it is something your heart clenches onto. She does smile once in a while. She’s shy, you can tell. She always draws a fake smile whenever she is approached by a gentleman. They say beauty brings boldness, but not in her case, at least for now. She wants the conversation to end and feels embarrassed about the whole situation. I was standing from afar, and I could tell how beautiful she was. Her beauty made me distracted for a while. I glanced instinctively once in a while, then I took a sip from my glass, put my other hand inside my pocket, and tried my best to look pretty.

It’s a groovy night… There is something about me that I am still finding it hard to understand… What’s the deal with me? What’s me when she smiles back at me? I am talking about the girl seated. I can be someone you are never supposed to be with. I could carry a dagger that is meant for your throat. I could persuade you to sin all night until you are awakened by the light. Then you will know what you have done. But you don’t care and you smile back at me.

I am not thinking straight, so I will just walk to where you are seated, and order two shots of vodka from the barman. I’d let the vodka dance around my head and arrange my thoughts, I can’t seem to make it happen at the moment in my true self.

“That’s a lot for a man to drink to be able to handle me.” She stared at me while she sipped on her cocktail.

I know where this is going, but I am not afraid. I can just smile at her for a while, then thump on my phone. But I might go home a sad man, with a weakened “Self Esteem”

“I just feel like going through the night. There is a lot on my mind.” I said

“But you look fine.” She replied

“Well, you have your own problems too.”

“Tell me about it.”

I chuckled, then

“Well, I wouldn’t know.”

She laughed for the first time. There is something you should know. The first time I set my vision on the finest portrait was when I saw my mother draw a smile on her face. Her laugh was a charm. The alcohol did a beat to remove my mind’s worries. The lady’s laugh said a lot. For now, it broke loose the trauma that has been tethered for so long in my mind. My trauma still crept back when I was alone some time ago.

When the groove is missing (interlude)

I am voodoo. A lot of bees with hefty rocks have barged through my mind. I had seen the discomfort that the pain had always been talking about. How swords cut through the innocent, all in the name of existence.

Tell me something, Author… Why do I wander through the oceans as an eagle looking for chickens to hunt? Why does everything I see have aesthetics, even when I’m caged in a foreign land?

I bleed thinking all the time… then you come and harvest my blood for your creation. You paint the sky with blue, the grass with green, but my soul with grey.

Tell me something… This is my pain. My fuel is your robot, your slave… or whatever gives you the desire you’re always looking for.

Distorted thoughts (the final chapter)

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash

Groovily

I can see the confusion in your eyes… I’m pondering what to do next. Should I force my way through, like a trailer crashing into a rock? Should I do it gently? It’s like showers pouring water on my body…

As I penetrate, you hit my chest… Then you say I shouldn’t stop. Then I’d force it inside. My eyes widened… We are looking deep into our eyes… Then it’s gently. A stroke once in a while, You can’t even moan… It’s just hot air gliding out of your mouth…

The next day, you come We are not strangers anymore… I’ve learnt a lot from watching pornos. I studied styles and carefully jotted down the procedures… I know a lot about foreplay… How you can hold on to it till it parts the sea… Miracles are when fantasy becomes reality, like when you hold on tight to me in the sanctuary of love…

Firstly, I’d play those deep blues… Summer Walker, then Wizkid, and… just to feel my presence… Let me explain: the heat burns you like a volcanic eruption destroying a town…

Secondly, I’d like to request your permission to use this as a card to walk through the gate.

Thirdly, I’d hold onto your hands and walk you to my bed. My heart is pounding with a powerful bass…You let out a smile. An innocent smile tainted by sin….

In conclusion

Can I tell you something while you enjoy this groovy night? Because I am human, some parts of me were broken, shattered, and scattered. I forgot how it was to be normal, so I recreated my parts newly, with my broken parts glued and taped. People came to watch me. Then you came so beautifully.

Would you believe me if I told you how beautiful the nights are when you stand below the moon? Would you hold on to that lie while you try to figure out the emotions you are feeling? Would that be a pillow when you day-dream about us in the future? I would believe all of that if you told me so.

THE ARTS OF SEDUCTION

(Osagie’s Perspective)

Each day in my 1.2 million per month apartment at Banana Island is hellish. I have it all, money, a Playstation 5, my own apartment and a G-wagon seated at car park, but how I feel is ironic as I walk to the balcony and face the clouds traveling through skies. The sun is hell, but my mood is unbothered. Even how cool the air conditioner calms the mind; the sun is still my sanctuary.

An idea popped while I was bowing on the railings. The beach has sun, plenty of it. Thoughts danced through me, I could get my speaker, an umbrella, a mat, a bottle of water, a bottle of scotch, and those expensive Cuban cigars that keep my ego alive. Those thoughts came from nowhere, an inner instinct wants me to go to the sun, to have a feeling of the beauty of hell, to see something new and explore desires. The sun brought heat, hot rays that melted the brain and shows a difficult part that could be seen. The heat also brought fire, and fire cools desires.

The art of seduction, the feeling to be one with your lover, or someone’s girlfriend. The oceans of dirty thoughts that drowns the mind. I lick my lips, when I see your chocolate skin cheat the sun and brighten my day. That scarlet dress and white teeth have sunk me and created a dirty secret I shall now live with. Can’t just a man, wear his shades and feel the sun only. Is this why this sun called me, to see a beautiful creature stolen from heaven, and let it ignite me. The sun called me to burn me by this agent that he begged God to create.

I lay on the beach, and faced the sun, sounds of happiness from fun seekers flickered everywhere. Children playing and shouting, couples riding on horses etc. Those lovely things that are found in the beach had its presence here, I can feel it. I have a massive expectation, I burn with rage, rage of love, of hearts, of things that could not be seen, but can only be felt.

I took off my shades, my subconscious made my confidence alert. Seconds are going, but a majestic creature comes slowly, a work of art, a structure, but made with every sin I can think of. You can imagine, my jaw fell a couple of seconds ago, but it feels like ages since this painting has been in my soul, the feeling of tearing her off, makes her frame given the best attention in my life. But the feeling to come closer to her.

The art of seduction, different auras, different time, different space, you are from another universe is what I am saying. You give me cold feet even when I walk through hell. It is crazy how I feel about you. Your body is a painting, a work of art. The colors are strawberry and vanilla, when I think about how sweet you are in my mind, oceans drip from my mouth. I can not breathe well. Hot air steams from my mouth, an uneasy spirit has possessed me and taking order of my reality. I see a different perspective of life, ruled by a wide reservoir of libido.

The sun though, as bright and as trusting as it is, it makes my senses deluded. It brought me here to witness one of God’s best clay.

(Aisha is Eros)

The art of seduction, I am with every beauty that Venus governed. I am true in every aspect of your imagination. You want me without the threads on my body, just my natural silver skin you wish to defile. I would make you quest in a false journey, and the price would be your fantasy you will mightily cling on to.

The art of seduction. I would wear the silk dress that was gifted to me by Venus; I will place every thread of it, till I become one with it. The dress was made from blood of the defeated titans, its powers was crafted from the heated process of Jupiter; it has curses like Medusa.

It was a normal day for me. I will not design, Saturday is a day for no work, it is a part of me I should reveal more. There are unconscious chapters that are dug deep in the shelf of my memory, a little education about me brings about acceptance of this world, my world, and that I cannot overlook I’m staying alone in this beautiful glass apartment. The tiles are snow-white. Ceilings crafted by the finest artists, I left to explore his imagination. The sofas are soft, and the TV is on.

A Novella show won’t hurt, a little exploration of televised emotions. The novella is done with, it is time for the next phase, have a degree of emotion. It was easy, the calm effect of wizkid’s essence does the trick. The soothing feeling that the sound waves from music is always something to reckon with and that is never a lie.

Something is bothering me, some wires are sparking beneath my skin, it is pushing me to go somewhere, it is leading me out to see feel something. A feeling that I take for granted is reaching out to me with the most attention.

The art of seduction, freedom, the ability to explore the deepest sex in one’s mind, it goes deeper than the thrusting of sexual organs in the sanctuary of love. It is the fresh breeze that uplifts the soul, even in the tightest corners.

The art of seduction, nature holds no bounds. It births the day and the night, the most beautiful spaces to explore the gift of the world. The ability to see one in the most excellent form; raw and untouched, but only in their dreams.

I went to the beach and there he was, lusting, his mouth out like a dog waiting for his next meal. I know his kind; he probably owns a Benz parked just at the beach park. It is like a stroller to lure his victims to his temple of fornication. He wants to undress my innocence. He wants the electricity in the dam of my skin, a spark that would transform his self-esteem to that of King Henry.

He is coming to me, his shirts are unbuttoned, he robbed lotion on his skin, trying to reflect the beach towards my eyes. I bet he will chew on his lips while talking to me, it might be sexy to him, but it would be worth my while.