#wordfeastchallenge. Welcome to Day2. Incase you didnt see the results for yesterday, Ill quickly state them here again. Team Jerrida wrote Story 1, Frightened ears. -31votes. Team Kennife wrote Story 2, Serious Business. -21votes. Thanks for voting. Wed appreciate a lot more critiquing too.Thats the whole essence. Todays theme is DILEMMA. STORY1: ETHICAL ISSUES Ayo heads towards Church Street, her face dull as the coffee black mini-gown she chooses to wear on this potentially eventful night. She is going to meet Gandoki, her “waste disposal contractor” for the past ten months. There is a new assignment for her. She gets to the hotel where they usually meet, they enter Room A19 and he hands her an envelope. The picture of the mark is inside. Make no mistakes. Remember the rule; the one who fails to kill, will be killed. Call me when its done, He says in his usual firm, flat but husky tone. He then exits the room, looking at Ayo with an expression that combines disapproval and mischief. Ayo looks at the brown envelope in her hands, a name is boldly written on it: FEMI. She opens it to see who the unfortunate one is, and shock is the dominant expression that greets her face. Its Femi, her best friend and “elder brother figure”, the one who has looked after her since she watched her parents drown in that boat mishap six years earlier. Eliminating him would be the greatest expression of ingratitude, but her line of business is one which provides no room for sentiment . Emotion, or Business Ethics? She throws the envelope, the photo and herself on the bed while Gandokis warnings replay in her head. She gets killed if Femi’s obituary is not published by the next day, but for her, Death is a much better fate compared to life without Femi . She would decay on the inside, she will be a walking cadaver, a soulless mass of flesh. She pulls a gun from the envelope, puts the nuzzle of the .25 semi-automatic in her mouth, slowly shuts her eyes and pulls the trigger. STORY2: DATE WITH DEATH. It ripped through the silence like a thunder crash. A disturbing silence followed. Her face was masked with terror, and as her mouth began to open, my mothers palms clamped down on it. With feral agility, I leapt instinctively out of bed, my every pulse throbbing, and then crept to the window. What I saw turned me cold. The deadly swipes of the glittering blades in the hands of a dozen turbaned men slashed through flesh and severed skins. Startled yelps and screams descended to agonized whimpers and sickening, life-battling gurgles. They had come. Allahu akbar! came a hoarse voice. A sea of voices echoed a response. No, it wasn’t a dozen men but a sea of men. I was in for it. The voice cut through my frantic thoughts, Today, we take this town Swords clashed against swords, bullets tore through the breeze and horses whined in frenzy. I shot a terrified glance at my mother and wife. They were huddled against each other, my mother’s hand still on her mouth and my wifes hands grasped around her protruded belly. Our door pounded and I felt my knees melt. The back door! I barked at my mother and we scurried over. The door pounded again as we tried to force the back door open. I could hear my wifes laboured breathing. She slumped and at the same time, the front door crashed open. I glanced wildly at my old mother and my 8-month pregnant wife, then at my 2-seater Vespar motorcycle. My mothers eyes were pleading. My wife was writhing in pain. They were coming. “Mama...” I didn’t have words. Confusion raged in my belly. Go! As I mounted with my wife & rode off, I heard the piercing cry. I knew it was at my mother. Kennedy Illuminaliterati Akpoveta Farida Adamu Jerry Chi
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 16:34:13 +0000
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