Tag Archives: pain


This is a really short piece, I hope you enjoy it. Kindly leave your comments. Thank you. Have a lovely read.


Come by once,
Stay a while,
Touch me,
Ease the pain.

With your clumsy hands,
Unfold me like rose petals,
Layer after layer,
Fold after fold,
Till you get my core.

Leave your mark,
Make me yours,
Say it loud,
Say it proud,
Only you can,
No one but you.


Posted by on October 15, 2014 in Rants


Tags: , , ,

Of Love and Pain

Disclaimer: This post is purely fictional. Any resemblance to any real life situation or event is purely coincidental. It is just a work of my imagination.

He knew he loved her from the moment he saw her. The rain was heavy and there she stood at the bus stop all alone, lost. For a moment he hesitated as it was Lagos and one cannot be too sure, but he took the risk. She also hesitated, but had no choice. She had already flunked the job interview when she refused to show the manager her boobs. Adding to that experience was the rain that had started on her way to the bus stop, she was drenched by the time she got there. It seemed out of place for her to be all alone in a shed during such a heavy downpour, but it was the last thing on her mind.

It was definitely not the hard nipples prominent through her wet blouse that set his pulse racing nor was it the lips that seemed to beg to be dipped in caramel before being kissed. It was her innocent eyes and the way they shone when she said thank you. He could tell from her eyes that at every point in time, she would have something clever to say, but wouldn’t. He felt the earth move when he looked at her, her words held him in a trance when she spoke. He was lost in her presence and nothing could describe those 20 minutes they spent during that drive.

She gave birth to their daughter. It was a day he would never forget. Though she was born premature, he knew they will dote on her. They finally brought her home after she spent 3 weeks under intensive care, the home was filled with joy. They had a blessing for their union.

It was shocking when on the third day, she stopped breathing. They had left her in her cot and gone to bed. He woke up in the middle of the night just to check on that bundle of joy, but noticed she was not breathing. He woke his wife and like a maniac, he drove to the hospital not minding how many traffic laws he broke. All that mattered was his daughter. She was pronounced dead on arrival, there was nothing to be done. She threw herself on the floor, sprawled, rolled from left to right and cursed the day she was born. She was inconsolable.
             “Why would you let me have a child and take her away from me?” she asked.

He tried his best to hold the tears but they flowed out like a river. He could not bear to see her so distraught, sprawled on the floor and weeping like a baby who had just had their best toy taken away. Her screams could be heard from miles. She had to be sedated and kept under observation at the hospital. He drove home in silence, though he screamed on the inside.

It was a trial, something they would move on from. It had been six months since their daughter passed. Two months since she returned from the psychiatric hospital. The death had left her devastated. She could not cope but he stayed with her. She was back home but he could feel the distance between them.

She still looked out at the cot as if the baby would miraculously appear in it. She still held on to the clothes in the hope that she would feel her baby’s warmth. It was heart-breaking. She was emaciated. He tried his best to get her to eat but it seemed to make the situation worse. He appealed to her family, they all tried to talk to her but it fell on deaf ears.

He came back from work one day to find her naked on the floor of the kitchen. He feared the worst.


No news is good news he thought as he sat at the reception of the hospital. At least she had a weak pulse when she found her and there had been no suicide note. He felt relief even in that dire situation.  
    “She was just dehydrated but there will be more scans” the doctor told him.

She was out of danger, he sighed and felt an air of relief blow over him, and it calmed him. He walked into her private ward, and there she was, still with those beautiful eyes that had brought him so much joy and pain. He could remember how she brought tears to his eyes as she walked to him hand in hand with her father the day they got married. It had been a small ceremony with few friends and family.

She smiled weakly at him as she saw him enter. It was her first smile in months. His heart fluttered with joy. All he saw was his wife. The intravenous fluid hanging by her side was a blur, the tubes around her were non-existent to him. He just saw his wife.

She apologized. But every time she did, it annoyed him and made him die a little bit inside. It was not her fault. Yes, she could have handled it better, but how does one handle the death of an offspring? She cried. He hated to see her cry. Slowly but confidently, they made plans to try again. They would have that bundle of joy but he could tell she was still scarred. Who wouldn’t? He still had nightmares about the night but he had to stay strong for her. They felt reconnected and planned to renew their vows. They had been married for five years.

The phone lit up and her name appeared. He had just thought about her and she called. They were in sync. He would never forget the quivering in her voice that day.

The news left him numb. Just like that, without warning or premonition, they had to battle cancer. She had been feeling fatigued, bloated and the back pain had been unbearable. She had gone to get tested in the hope of being pregnant.

Stage ІІa ovarian cancer was what she had. The appointment with the doctor left them happy and sad. She was one in seventy-three women to have ovarian cancer, but she had a survival rate of 78%. It was the silver lining in their dark cloud. 78%. 78 became the number of hope and faith.

She started chemotherapy, and slowly, her hair began to fall off. Friends became few as they could not relate with their sufferings. She begged him to shave off her hair and save the torture of watching it fall off. He kissed her bald head when he was done. The tears streamed down their faces as they both whispered 78.

She had gone into remission for only 2 months before the cancer came back. Her survival rates dwindled has the cancer had spread to other parts of her system. They had weeks or months to spend together.

She had planned to visit Paris before her death, but now, it was not possible. They had depleted their funds, and she was even too weak to fly. He tried to bring Paris to her with the help of a recipe he found. Even though it was disastrous, she loved it. He tried for her. He made an effort for her. They spent each day knowing fully well it could be her last.

Five weeks after they renewed their vows, she passed on. The vow renewal had been another low key event, just both of them, the priest and their family. It was a preface to the funeral he thought as he stared at her lifeless body in the open casket. Her death was expected but still, he was unprepared for it.  It left him devastated. His wife was gone. His best friend was gone and had felt his world shattered. Words of encouragement flew around like airplanes at a RAF air show. Where were they when it was most needed? They did not choose the battle, it chose them. He buried her and life was never as he knew it. He struggled day in and out.

He knew what he had to do. It did not seem ideal but he had to. He had to feel the same pain she felt. It might not measure up to it, but he had to feel some pain. He went through the pictures of them as the fire he lit in the corner of the bedroom was getting wilder and closer to him. The flames engulfed him and he smiled as he felt the pain.

He was gone.

He would meet her and they would be together again.


Posted by on September 29, 2014 in Short Story


Tags: , , , ,

First Cut

She stood over the body, not feeling any iota of guilt. She felt at peace – Peace that had eluded her for the past three months since she found out. She had carefully planned and thought out every single step.

Her mother, God rest her soul, would be proud of her, for her constant nagging about paying more attention to details had finally been a blessing. She would be proud of her thought process in executing her grand plan.

It was exactly three months she found that text that had congratulated him on his engagement. Engagement! She had thought with loads of excitement. Was he going to propose that night? Had he told a friend who was too excited till he did it?

Alas, reading the text further, she found something she did not expect, and it brought along with it the heart-crunching moment she had experienced with Tobore. The only difference was this time, it felt like her body had been mangled by a heavy duty truck.

Hadiza? Who the hell was Hadiza?

Her investigation skills would have put her on the radar of the KGB, it was impressive. Hadiza was the long-lost friend that had called him on that weekend trip to Obudu. She was a fool. Once bitten, twice shy was what she said after Tobore. But not this time. This time, Frank was going to pay.

She could give a vivid description of Frank’s typical day. From leaving home at 7:30am and making that 15 minutes drive to his office to having Vegetable, Moin-Moin and Chicken for breakfast, to him closing at work by 6:00pm and jetting off to the gym afterwards. She knew it all, his routine.

9:00pm was the time to settle the score. Plans were in motion, execution was key. She sat in the chair that faced the door, eyes fixed on its knob. She watched until she heard the key-tumbler turn. That was her cue. With two long strides, she was at the door just as Frank opened it to let himself in. In the blink of an eye, she pushed the button on the Taser and as he convulsed on the floor, she laid down piles of black nylon that he had saved for garbage disposal, tied his hands, legs and mouth with duct tape.

Frank woke up to see her with a scalpel in her hand. She saw him blink back to consciousness and bending over him, showed him a picture of Hadiza on her phone.

“Who is she?” she asked as the yanked the duct tape from his mouth.

Frank gasped for breath and without savoring the sweetness of it, he let it out just as quickly as he’d taken it in. “J-Jesus! What has go- What the hell is going on? What has gotten into y-you? Are you cra-?”

“WHO IS SHE?” she screamed this time cutting him off. Her voice was laced with frustration and anger as she thrust her hand forward and pushed the scalpel against the skin under Frank’s jaws.

“M-my friend,” he replied as blood trickled down his neck and nestled on the collar of his favorite work shirt.

She replaced the duct tape, screamed wrong answer and drove the scalpel into his right knee. His blood gushed out like she’d broken a dam and hit her hand. She didn’t expect it, but the warmth of it delighted and comforted her. The more the blood gushed out, the more she felt at peace. She did not bother to clarify further. He had nailed the coffin when he lied.

That first cut into his knee felt so therapeutic she could not deny herself the pleasure of getting that high. His pain was her drug. It soothed her and she loved it.
She enjoyed every bit of cutting him open. Seeing his eyes pop out of their sockets in excruciating pain pleasured her. They bulged wider as she drove the scalpel deeper. He pleaded with his eyes for her to stop. But no, his pleads only brought more pleasure, and she cut wider.

His every wince and groan paid for the deceit, his eventual death – her salvation.


Posted by on March 10, 2014 in Short Story


Tags: , , , ,

Another Night

Another night, another woman

Another trophy to possess,

Keeping my bed warm,

Killing the fire in my loins,

Making it as meek as a Lamb.


Another night, another woman

 Night of debauchery,

Forgotten at dawn,

Gone with the sunrise.


Another night, another woman,

She’s as sweet as honey,

Tight as a tick,

Still not sufficient.


Another night, another woman

Lost in the sea of pleasure,

Devoid of intimacy,

The supreme feeling of empty.


Another night, another woman

Making me vulnerable,

Giving the illusion of comfort,

But reality of pain.


Another night, another woman

The vicious cycle,

Scheming and preying,

Gets mundane.


Another night, another woman

The thirst for intimacy,

Makes pleasure unsatisfactory,

Debauchery becomes a chore.


Another night, another woman

Superman had Lois Lane,

Romeo had Juliet,

About time I find my heart. 


Posted by on October 29, 2013 in Rants


Tags: , , , ,