I Had the Chance to Live Twice
Life is a journey of no return. There’s nothing like ‘let me try both paths’. The path you choose is what you must follow until the end. You have got to live once so live it well. It was then that I realized I nearly lost my life due to carelessness. And that’s probably why I then chose to live my life well.
Tears at a Funeral
The grass dances to the dirge, the solemn farewell songs of the birds, but for this and the tears of his one true lover, all was silent. As the story goes, he had slipped on his drunkenness, missed his footing and tumbled down the stairs, rolling down till he bled out his last at the foot of the stairs. They don’t know the truth, they know how his wickedness led him to his own grave. They don’t know the truth of his heart and the sins of his one true lover. It was a cold windy night when he stepped into the house, reeking of alcohol, smoke and a woman’s perfume. Every night was the same, painful grips and blows that left hate on her pretty face. She had to run from the one she loved, she could because she was afraid he might push her, she could not sing.…
Empty
Aminu Mohamed woke this morning agile and strong like he always prayed for at the mosque. He strode out of bed immediately he finished reciting Suratul Fathia, he made for the bathroom and did his usual thing. He didn’t leave, he took his bath as quickly and as best as the cold weather would allow. He came out and passed by the phone, he was surprised he didn’t receive any calls throughout the midnight. He strode to his bed and flung some clothing on, his stethoscope strapped around his neck. He went to the table and made some tea quickly and thinly. But the more he saw that telephone on that table, he grew nervous that he could not read through the papers he had prepared last night like he had planned. He grabbed them and knocked off his almost empty cup of tea but he didn’t wait to pick…
For the First Time
It is hard living in a home where a father does not act as a father, don’t you think so too?
oddFelix is a fan of storytelling and he wrote this. He is a very gifted storyteller and he brings you slowly to the realities of life in a dreaded home with a brutal father.
2nd Place Blankpaperz Intern Contest Winner: Abdulai Halidu
Congrats to our 2nd Place Blankpaperz Intern Contest Winner: Abdulai Halidu!
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FOR THE NIGHT IS DARK AND FULL OF TERRORS We toiled in the brightness of the day Under the scorching sun and rain ensuring our hands were busy but clean To make returns to the family we bore but while men slept They trippled our efforts With activities that eyes nor ears could fathom It’s true some of us also toiled the night For the job demanded thus Yet our hands were pure and uncompromising But while men slept They took to their guns and ammunitions Swift as the wind into homes they went For there their businesses laid We conceived and brought forth on the same morning The day which marked an end to our months of discomfort and travail For our rewards we held in our hands Grateful for the pains we went through For on our laps the objects of our joy laid But…
The Edge
I was sitting in the waiting room again, this time I felt better than everyone else around. As a matter of fact, I was. I was there today by myself. I looked around at the faces, every one of them bore a peculiar emotion, some amused, others depressed, few indifferent. I was once one of those amused faces, laughing at things only I knew from a perspective oblivious to every other person except they shared the same ‘case’. Waiting. I dislike waiting. It makes me nervous and takes my thoughts to very dangerous edges of my imagination so I have learned over the years to make the best of every moment of waiting. I either read or write to ease the anxiety and nervousness. I forgot to pick the ‘wondrous Love’ that I was reading and my writing pad so I decided to use my phone notepad. I picked up…
Sour Oranges
My father’s second wife stopped treating me with so much hatred. Few years after my mother died she stopped the mistreatment and even said I could go back to school. She became strangely kind ever since I started hawking or as she’d rather call it “selling oranges”. Even my dressing soon improved. She brought new ones every week. She had told me then that “looking good is good for business”. My fears rose with the setting of sun deep beneath the dark horizon at the dusk of everyday. I would be sent out again; to be devoured by those hawks. I was too scared to refuse or say no to my step-mother or Uduak as I’d rather call her. She would starve me for three days and I’d be left to sleep on the varender for three complete nights even when it rains. The first night I sold my oranges…
Cry No More Poor Child
The poor child cries not because of food but because of his future. He cries because he has no assurance of success. He’s been left in doubt as to whether life is being fair or not. And this has been the headache of his parents! But hey! Poor child, let me brief you on these: When you are born to the poor, there’s nothing like ‘choices’ in your dictionary. You will always have to accept what life gives you. As a poor child, forget about being the preference of people. Always remember the world will only be in your favor when you are rich or famous! A poor child will always be blamed for any little mistake he does. Unlike the rich who is ignored for his numerous wrongdoings but praised for the little good he does! At a point in time, your own parents might apparently seem to be…
Forgotten (Episode 4)
I got into mama’s room to find Hannah mopping mama’s face again. She had tears in her eyes, and mama, she lay too still. I stepped closer, placed my palms on mama’s forehead, she was cold and her earlobes seemed to have been oozing blood. I also saw similar redness beneath her nostrils. mama, mama. I wanted to know if she could hear. She didn’t answer or move an inch. Hannah returned her gaze to me, her eyes inquiring, wanting to know what was next. But I was as blank. I thought to run to doctor paul, but he was never in his clinic on weekends. I tried to call his cell but it didn’t ring – I should have known. He wouldn’t have his phone on by 07:15am on a Sunday morning. My gaze strayed around the room, hoping I’d see something that would give me an idea. Boxes…
The Blackness of Eru
Have you read The Blackness of Eru yet?
Ngunan Ioron Aloho is a social activist, an educator, an entrepreneur, a writer, a YALI Fellow, and so much more. Ngunan has fought and sacrificed a lot as a social activist, defending and helping child marriage victims. In the Blackness of Eru, Ngunan will take you on a sad but short journey to witness the life of a young girl who suffers the pain and burdens of early child birth in which she is not prepared for.
We, at Blankpaperz are very proud of Ngunan for using words to tell stories that matter the most.
Suicide Can’t be an Option
Suicide can’t be an option. Suicide is far from the escape lane to the blissful plane. Let’s encourage people. Let’s motivate our society to re-innovate the ways of solving our problems. Our problems must not mull us into the mud.
Love on Time!
It is quite sad that we do not know what we have until we lose it. It is funny how a man suffers all his life with no help from family or friends. But his burial is a pricey ceremony of friends and enemies, giving a pep talk of his life on earth. What good is it now? I observe that the best deeds of a man are recited at his burial ceremony. Also, that much love is shown to a corpse or a man on his deathbed.
Tell me, what harm can this do? What harm can love do?
Guys check out more stories by me on blankpaperz.com. And you can follow me on wattpad @blackpenz. Thanks guys.
Note: Much love to all who support and read my articles. You all push me to bring out the original in me.