The Journey + Please Sign Petition

Hello. We’re all aware of the current situation in Nigeria. We all need to do whatever small part we can to ensure the girls are returned safely. That said, before reading, please take some time to sign this petition and this one as well. God bless.

I stared out the window, watching the lane markers on the stretch of seemingly endless road ahead become less visible by the second. The sky that had just seconds ago boasted one of the most beautiful sunsets I had ever witnessed – a glorious display of God’s artistry; dark grey clouds breaking up from a thicker gathering into smaller, more individual, beautifully unique shapes, dancing and quietly racing towards a bright orange tomorrow somewhere beyond the trees – steadily transformed into a solid darkness, illuminated only by soft clouds lazily drifting by, lit by far off city lights that promised an end to what had been a slightly grueling, deeply emotional trip.

About nine hours on the road, my bladder was almost full even though I’d had nothing but a can of malt all day, my legs were beginning to dislike the space they had been occupying the entire trip and were dropping subtle hints of discomfort, my butt had lost all feeling, and my body had decided I had slept enough for the day. Never mind the fact that I looked a complete wreck. The worst of it was the sky I had relied on to keep me entertained for the duration of the trip had abandoned me in the dark bus with people I had no interest in, leaving me to fall back on the thoughts I had spent the day trying to escape.

Despite putting your life in the hands f a complete stranger, who could very well be a mad man, speeding down and expressway, totally disregarding almost all traffic/driving rules, and acting like he and his vehicle are oblivious to the speed bumps and potholes on the road, road trips often aren’t so bad. Especially if you’re smart enough to go with a companion or you’re a sociable person who just makes friends with everyone on the bus and then basically becomes a nuisance offering unwarranted opinions and making a whole lot of unnecessary noise in a much too small bus. Unfortunately, I am neither. More often than not, I find myself travelling alone and have taken some sort of solitude in these happenings. I’ve never considered myself a sociable person, in real life, and thus don’t even bother to engage any of the fellow passengers any more than a polite nod or handing them some toilet paper – as I always travel with a roll in my bag. Besides, I always have my laptop and/or a book on hand, so I’m pretty covered as regards entertainment.

However, the circumstances that had led to me embarking on this trip had prevented me from adequately preparing and so I was left companionless yet again, and without my laptop or a book to keep me distracted. For the first time in what seemed like ages, I was on the run again, from another one of the kind of situations I almost always find myself fleeing from – emotional. My problem, the way I understand it, has always, and probably will always, be that I am a lover, not a fighter, if I were to sugar-coat it. Basically, I fall in love with someone, get upset about it, and then run away. This body, mind and soul was not made for confrontation, and I shy away from it like an open discussion is the sun and I am a vampire who has spent five decades living in caves drenched in darkness, and never once in all that time having gotten a glimpse of sunlight.

So, here I am. On a bus with about 12 people I do not know and lack the will to interact with, no sky or visible scenery to pretend to be deeply interested in, a tape of some supposed comedian reading terribly rendered versions of stolen jokes from a script playing over the speakers, and left out to dry by the sandmaster in conjunction with the driver seemingly deliberately speeding across speed bumps, causing the bus to jerk violently every now and then. Realizing my options are limitless, I decide the most suitable course of action is to strongly monitor my thoughts and prevent them from straying towards what I really should be thinking about.

Leaning back into the not-so-plush seat, I close my eyes and focus on thinking about the amazing week I had, driving extra energy into the “amazing”. I smiled as I remembered karaoke and game night, and chuckled a little within myself as certain conversations came to mind. Sometimes you never realize just how much you really miss people until you find yourself surrounded by them again. I let my mind wander from that to accessing how much a lot of people have grown, and how tragic it is that some have just managed to pretty much stay the same while everything and everyone around them changes; basically living their lives as living testimonies to the old saying “You can take a monkey out f the bush, but you can’t take the bush out of the monkey.”.

Some part of my sub-conscious records the fact that the bus hasn’t moved for a while, and I snap out of my reverie. Everyone on the bus is talking excitedly and horns are blaring from every imaginable angle. Outside the window, I notice a long line of red lights ahead of the bus, also not moving. Before I have time to really register what’s actually happening, three sets of flashing blue and red lights speed past the bus, leaving behind a trail of sirens piercing through the deafening horns from cars tired of being on the road and anxious to get to their destinations. Personally, I’ve never understood why drivers who can clearly see that NO car is moving continue to toot their toot their horns instead of remaining calm and probably seizing the opportunity to grab a quick nap, considering flying cars are yet to be invented as several movies and cartoons promised us years ago. What I find even more intriguing is that the fellow passengers on my bus, who are coming from a place that has often been referred to as “traffic capital”, were forming agitation.

In their defense, some actually had to make continuing journeys that night, so their annoyance was somewhat understandable. Luckily, I had no place I was in a hurry to be at so I just leaned back into my seat and dragged my thoughts back to where I’d hopped off; memories of smiles and laughter, conversations late at night, movies, and other, precious, irreplaceable, simply indescribable moments of simple bliss and profound ecstasy. Soon enough, we started moving again and I resumed staring out the window. We were closer to the city now and the roads were lit with streetlights and lights from one or two buildings scattered down the way. Grateful for the steady crawling of the vehicle, I rest my head on the window fully confident that my head will not be banged against it anymore at the pace we were moving.

A few more hours to go, I sat in my chair, staring lustfully at the road, still unsure if I’d done the right thing, plagued with thoughts screaming to be let out of the box I’d locked them in and unfinished stories playing out over and again with different endings, most begging for a chance to be told



I kind of sort of stumbled upon this while going through some of my old stuff. Started writing this early last year. I don’t know why i didn’t finish it and i can’t remember where i was going with it. 


“Acrophobia, Teni.” He kept sting at me with that blank look on his face, failing to understand why bringing me to the amusement park and trying to get me to go on a ride I was certain would end my life was not his brightest idea.“ I’ve told you this before, sweetie.” I say with a sigh. “I can’t go on the ride, because I’m afraid of heights.” He looks crestfallen, but I’m still uncertain about whether or not I care. As far as I’m concerned, I was dragged out of the comfort of my home, taken to an amusement park against my will, and forced to endure the sun’s blistering heat. I am not happy. And as sure as my name is Ogechuchukwu, I am not putting my life at risk by getting on any of the rides available at the park.

Using my let palm as a shield from the sun, I glance up towards the particular death trap Teni is trying to get me to go on. As I watch a group of three people I assume to be friends get into their seats and strap themselves in, I start to wonder if maybe I’m being just a tiny bit too hard on Teni. I mean, he just wanted us to go out and have a good time, which I guess isn’t so bad. The machine starts up, and I can hear the hinges creaking as the chairs are lifted and eventually left suspending loosely between two poles. The chairs swing back and forth slowly for a little while, and then they suddenly start spinning. Hinges groan and creak as the chair is spun in every possible direction. At some point, the chair is turned upside down and suspended for about five seconds. I didn’t realize I had held my breath until they’re moving again. Sweet, thoughtful romantic gesture or not, nothing could compel me to get on that thing.

Quickly pasting a smile on my face, I turn and wrap my arms around his shoulder. Things between us have been rocky for a while and while I appreciate the effort he’s putting in, I think I’m honestly just tired. He stares down at me and plants a soft kiss on my lips. “Let’s go.” I hate the way it sounds, but sometimes using my whiny baby voice is the only way to get Teni to do anything.  Cloud rolls over the sun, providing us with some momentary relief, and he takes my hand in his. He smiles that smile that always melts my insides. His lips are moving but I don’t hear a sound. Obviously realizing my lost, he takes my face in his hands and turns me towards the ride I was only just staring at. The small cloud that had covered the sun seemed to have stretched across the length of the entire amusement park, and darkened. Rain? I thought to myself before turning to Teni to repeat the question out loud. Where Teni stood just a few seconds ago was now empty.  “Teni!!!” My eyes dart around frantically, searching for him as the wind begins to pick up. Empty soda bottles, candy wraps, pieces of paper, tiny pebbles, and sand are being picked up off the floor and flung at me as the world around me continues to darken.

Everyone is gone and I’m alone. I raise my arms to shield my face as I break into a run. I can still hear the creaking of the rides.  Are people still on them? That can’t be… SMACK!  My thoughts are interrupted as I slam; face first, into a wall. My collision sends me tumbling to the ground, and I lay there writhing in pain. In the midst of my agony, I feel something hot against my leg, and force myself to look at it. Light. I blink a couple of times in attempt to adjust to the brightness, but it doesn’t really help.  A part of my mind is wondering why there’s a ray of light hotter than anything I’ve ever felt before focusing on my leg, and the other part was wondering what on earth was going on.

And then I heard it. It was really faint, and had I not head it a second time, I would have believed it to be in my head. But I heard, steady, strong, and unseen. ”Öge.”

4: Ogamma

PROMPT: Write about dancing.


I watched her hips move freely, seemingly unhinged from her waist. The amber glow of the fire licked her ebony skin as her bead-shackled ankles danced excitedly around it in swift, fluid movements. The rattling of her waist beads mixed with the pounding of the skin drums and sailed up to the starlit skies as one melodious sound.

The excited murmurs and chants from the other onlookers just faded along with the music as my mind gave in to the enchantment before me. Her slender frame twisted and shook in time with the beat freely, without any care or restriction – never mind that she was clad in nothing but beads that dangled loosely over her perky breasts and privates. The fire seemed to enhance her already prominent facial features and her beauty radiated. Her eyes were closed, and she looked peaceful – happy even – loosing herself entirely in the dance ritual, unhindered by the burning coal beneath her feet.

Every year, I would come out with everyone else to watch the Ogamma dancer of the year, and wish and wonder and shudder at the beautiful intensity of it all. I imagined what it would be like to be the one chosen to dance for the village. An incredible honor it would be, but would I have the courage to pull it off? How would I even get my body to move like that? The ritual was very precise – every twist, every turn had to be properly timed and prosecuted, every hand movement signified something. The slightest mistake could render the whole night void. Would I be able to handle such a responsibility?

The beating of the drums intensified and my focus returned to the dancer before me. This was the part of the dance where everyone’s heart got caught in their throat. We all watched as her pace picked up and the coal beneath her feet burned a brighter red. Eyes still closed, she hopped and twisted and turned around the fire, never missing a beat or showing any signs of pain. One turn, two turns, and then her eyes sprung open on the third. She was gone now; her sunken eyes signified that Ogamma herself had taken over.

A gentle calm washed over the square as we watched the priestess dance to a gentle hum that she herself radiated. She seemed to just float above the coals, her feet never quite making contact with the surface as she moved systematically around the crackling flames. The humming stopped as she went full circle and there was a collective gasp as we watched her throw herself into the fire. We struggled to stay calm as the drumming picked up slowly, although I’m not sure if the drumming was from the skin drums or just our collective hearts beating simultaneously against our chests.

And then she rose from the flames, to a slow steady applause from her appreciative audience, an acceptable offering to Ogamma. Now forever marked and protected, dedicated to serving as the village priestess for the next year.


PROMPT: Write from a dark place. It could from any area of your life. Remember to go with your first flash and just write for 5 – 10 minutes without pausing.

I ain’t ever done no wrong

Well maybe I have…

But help me Lord. Help me

My heart… it hurts

It weighs a tone and a half

And yet, it feels kinda empty

How is that even possible?

I’m worried it’s too big

Will you please take it way?

Yes, I’m willing to trade

I’ll trade you my heart for someone to hold

Or just someone to talk to

To laugh with and tell all my lame ass jokes

A friend or a lover, doesn’t really matter

Heck, I’ll take a stranger for a night

As long as I’m not alone

I’ll make the night last forever

At least in my head we can be together forever

Blissfully basking in the glorious warmth of my memory

My treasure

What am I saying?

Can one be happy without a heart?

Doesn’t seem like a fair trade Gosh,

I feel so lost

So hopelessly stranded

Stuck behind a sky-high fence I sat and watched everyone else build around me Imprisoned by my own thoughts

Strangled by failed dreams and unrealized potential

Alone forever with no way out

Feeble cries, lowly whimpers

Unnoticed and unheard, but mostly ignored

Pounding on the bricks until my fists bleed

Praying for someone, anyone to save me

It’s getting boring looking up to the skies

Not to mention desperately pathetic

Went ahead and dug a hole to bury my soul in

Somehow, I ended up crawling even deeper

Stop this insufferable rambling


Help me Lord, help me


Image Credit: Katerina Bodrunova

Image Credit: Katerina Bodrunova

When we dance, it’s like magic

I can close my eyes and just imagine
A perfect time, the perfect place
No distractions, No regrets
Two souls intertwined; you and I
Happy; as in love as we both could be

The world is gone; fading

And I can’t breathe

But none of that matters

Because when we dance, it’s  like magic

Jar of Hearts


So, I wrote this listening to Christina Perri’s ‘Jar of Hearts’. I wrote it from a different perspective than I normally would and just tried to let my fingers do the work instead of over-thinking it. I enjoyed writing it, and i hope you enjoy reading it.


Tonight is darker than most at the cabin, mostly because the power is out. Once again, the store owner has been unable to pay the light bill, and we’ve been cut off. No worries though, we’re used to the dark now, as it comes more often than not. Thankfully, it’s the rainy season and the weather is a bit cool. I especially enjoy being seated just opposite the one window in the small store. It’s flung wide open tonight, and I embrace the wind that wafts in freely from time to time. Yes, I’m perfectly fine. I’m more worried about her, really.

She’s hunched over her tiny desk in the corner of the store, pawing through pieces of paper by the dim light of a candle that will either burn out soon or be put out by the gusting wind. She’s been at this for nights o end now, searching frantically for her whatever it is she’s been so keen on finding. It hurts me that I can’t help, that I can’t reach out and hold her. I will her to turn around, to come embrace me like she does when she’s really depressed, but she doesn’t. Instead, she keeps going, pulling drawer after drawer open and emptying the contents.

The sound of thunder tears through the silence in the shop and a crack of lightening briefly lights the room. The shelves rattle briefly, jars clink and I shake along with them. The thunder seems to faze her as well. The candle she’s holding slips out of her frail hand and hits the floor. The light goes off, and we are once again drenched in complete darkness. The soft sound of rain hitting the roof is joined by sobbing. My heart breaks and I desperately want to go to her. Another crack of lightening lights up the room, and I can see her tear-stained face staring right at me. It hurts me to see so much pain in her eyes, but as much as I can’t go to her, I can’t look away.

I can’t hear the rain, or her sobs. The room is eerily quiet. I just know something’s coming. What I don’t know is if it’s good or bad. It seems like forever since she’s been this way. Undoubtedly, constantly being on the move has had its toll on her, but we’ve learned to survive; to be fine. Now, it seems like our past is back to haunt us.

“Open up!” The pounding rivals the sound of the raging thunder outside the shop. “I know you’re in there.” Shaking again, I’m genuinely frightened.

She glances at me briefly before lifting herself off the floor and going to the door. Sighing, she places a hand on the knob and turns the key. Before she can pull the door open, whoever s on the other sides pushes hard, knocking her backwards and causing her to stumble a little. Composing herself as best she can, she squares her shoulders and stares right at the visitor. “Why are you banging on my door like you own the place?”

The laughter that fills the room is unsettling. It is deep and soulless, and fills me with chills. “Lady, if you don’t have what I came for, then I do.” His words might as well have been knives.

When she speaks, I hear her struggling to remain calm “I don’t have it yet… I need more time.”

“More time?” A low chuckle that’s just as empty as his laughter “Guys, you know what to do.”

A group of men I hadn’t noticed troop past him and into the store. In the blink of an eye, they are pulling shelves down and sweeping the table, wrecking everything. “You can’t do this!!” I can hardly hear her midst the chaos. Everything is crashing down around me. One of the men appears in front of me and reaches out. “No!” She screams “Leave that alone.”

She lunges at the man holding me now, and he smacks her across the face. “Don’t be stupid” Stepping over her, he walks towards the man I now know is in charge. “Look at this.”

I’m trembling now, more out of fury than fear. Seeing her on the floor, shaking and crying, helpless, it sparks something inside of me. The man with the evil laugh comes closer and examines me “You’ve been holding out on us, ey?” He spits on her small form. The straw that breaks the camel’s back. As he reaches out to collect me from his comrade, I let myself slip. Neither of them is fast enough to catch me, and I come crashing down.

With all that is within me, I will myself to burst. It works and I find myself in a million separate pieces. Fuelled by rage, I shoot myself upwards at her assailants, burying myself in their eyes and exposed body parts. I’m not sure if it’s enough, but I hope it can at least buy her some time. I can barely hear anything and my vision is getting blurry. I manage to hear the men retreat, and I think I can see her still curled up on the floor.

The sight is somewhat enchanting, her lying there on the floor, surrounded by the coins that were once mine to protect. Suddenly, it gets really warm and the coins start to glow. Not just the coins, but the entire room. I’m overwhelmed with a feeling that’s neither joy nor sadness, trapped in a neutral plane of emotions as I listen to the steady crackling around us. Is this what peace is?

When I Say I Love You

When I say that I love you

I’m not just speaking words

I am saying I will go through the unimaginable for you

With you

Hold you up when you can’t quite catch yourself

Help you face your fears

Support your ideas

Your dreams

Because they aren’t just yours anymore

They’re mine too


When I say that I love you

I am giving you all of me

A little too much perhaps

But this is because I trust you

I trust that I can be myself around you

Weak, open, vulnerable

I trust you not to turn away

I trust you to do the same


When I say that I love you

I’m saying I will be your stronghold

I will cry when you cry and laugh when you do

I will help you build the empire you dream of

Show you the greatness I see in you

Because you are my star

And you need to know that you deserve to shine


When I say that I love you

I’m asking you to believe in me

To let me in

To trust me

To care about me

My hopes, my dreams

To be here

To never hurt me

At least not intentionally

I’m asking you to be the reason why I smile

To share my joy and my pain

To be my star

I’m begging you to love me


When I say that I love you


It’s like you don’t hear me at all

Picture Perfect

*** Lana Del Rey – Video Games ***

Seated at your vanity, your hand shakes as you line your eyes with the dark liquid you only despise more each day. You take your time, making sure to apply it as perfectly as you can. You have to look perfect, because he likes it just so. “Please.” He had pleaded. “Do it for me.”. Like you had a choice. You thought you would be used to it by now, but you’re starting to realise you will never be.

You’re walking down the aisle, your father by your side, towards the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. All you can think about is how incredibly lucky you are as you grin from ear to ear, and he beams back. You can’t believe you’re marrying him, because he’s too perfect. But he loves you for you. Simple, plain, timid you. He’s swept you off your feet and filled your head with thoughts and promises of an amazing future together. As you exchange your vows, you think about all the wonderful times you’ve had together and smile even more at the prospect of an even more amazing future. “I promise to obey and submit myself completely to you, as I obey and submit to the Lord.”. You can’t wait for the ceremony to be over, to be his in the eyes of God and man.

Your face is now heavily powdered, your eyes are dark, and your lips are red. The hair on your head is blonde tonight, and not the usual brunette. As hard as you try, you can’t recognise the person in the mirror. He calls out to you from the bedroom, and you can hear the impatience in his voice. It’s always a mistake to test his patience, so you wipe the lone tear that is racing down your cheek, spray on some of the perfume he loves so much, and stand. With one final desperate glance at the vanity mirror, you head for the door. Tonight you will lose yourself again, like you’ve learnt to over time. The clicking of the heels you have on echo at the back of your mind as you try to empty it of all thoughts. He grins as you open the door and stand before him in the leather bodysuit he had picked out.

It’s a beautiful day in the park. The birds are chirping in the air and above you, the grass is green, the flowers in the trees are blooming, and you’re stretched out on a mat with your fiance, staring up at the sky. You’ve had a wonderful picnic, and you’re discussing your future together. You tell him you want to go on to teach at a nearby university once you get your degree, and he asks if you’re sure that’s the best move for the family the two of you are about to start. “How will you take care of our seven kids?” He asks playfully, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. It hurts a little and you flinch, but you smile at him anyway and tell him you’ll teach sunday school at the church instead. He let’s go of your hair and stares at the sky, and you think to yourself that there is no way you’re having seven kids.

The sound of your baby crying wakes you up. You’re too exhausted from the night before to get up, but he’s yelling at you to go shut the baby up. Slowly, you start to rise out of bed, trying not to strain your already sore muscles, but he’s anger takes over and he kicks you off the bed. He gets up and storms out of the room, and experience has taught you to go after him. Your heart pounding furiously against your chest, you race to the nursery and find him smothering the baby with a pillow. You beat feebly against his back, and he sweeps you aside with an arm. Better me than the baby. you think as he approaches your petite, trembling form. He picks you up effortlessly and shoves you towards the cot. “Shut her up!” His voice thunders across the room, and you pick up your baby. There is no way you’re going to let him kill her like the one before. He leaves the room, and you sit on the floor, rocking the baby back to sleep.

Carnival music is playing really loudly, and the air is filled with laughter and excited squeals from little children who have probably had a little too much sugar. Your friends and fellow church members are gathered around you, commending you on successfully planning such a brilliant fund-raiser. They are pleasantly unaware that the shades you have on are more to hide the bruise on your eye than to block out the sun. You smile and thank them as your husband’s voice comes over the PA system. You smile and wave as he implores the crowd to congratulate you on a job well done. Pain wells up in your heart as he goes on to give a hypocritical speech about how important it is not to regard women as second class citizens. You hold back tears as he uses his “love and respect” for you as an example of how women should be treated.

The baby is finally asleep, and you lay her back in her cot. Your movement is almost robotic as you make your way back to your bedroom. You enter and find him lying face-down on the bed. Carefully, quietly, you retrieve his pistol from its hiding place in your underwear drawer – you’d hidden it theremonths ago after he had threatened you with it. Of course, he’d beaten you thoroughly when he couldn’t find it, but at least he hadn’t killed you. Standing at the edge of the bed, you point the gun at him. Your mind is consumed with thoughts and memories you wish would go away. Everyone had told you how lucky you were to be marrying such a good man. You call his name once, and he doesn’t respond. You think about how much you hate the person he’s made you become. How hard you try to please him, but always seem to fall short of his idea of perfection. You call his name again. Still no answer. You pull the trigger. Once. Twice. The red below him spreads quickly, soaking the beddings, and your heart smiles for the first time in a long while.

No Title 2

So, I wrote this cuz I wasn’t sure I could still write. I don’t even have a title 😦 Suggestions are welcome though 🙂 Enjoy

The fluorescent light in the rundown kitchen flickered on and off repeatedly, leaving five-and two-second intervals between each shift in lighting change.

Lara stood motionless, staring at the food placed at the center of the serving tray, the cutlery laid delicately next to it. Steam rose gently out of the bowl containing the fish pepper soup he’d demanded her to make when he had gotten back from work. I wonder what he’ll find wrong with it tonight. At the thought, contempt clouded her mind and, for some odd reason, all she could taste was steel.

Several attempts at lifting the tray had failed pitifully. Lara placed her hands on the counter, the cold causing her to shiver involuntarily. Her bones felt weak and hurt. The skin above the bones hurt even more and was covered in bruises. Slowly, she lifted her hand to her face and touched her left cheek with her fingertips. Swollen. Liquid, warm and sticky, greeted the probes and she flinched. For someone who hated the sight of blood, she’d seen an awful lot of it over the past years. This has to stop.

She was at war with her conscience. You see, this wasn’t the first time Lara had entertained this idea, but she’d always ended up backing out. Why? She wasn’t quite sure. Fear, maybe. Or most likely the barely recognisable fragments of the intense love they’d shared at a time that seemed too far back in history for Lara to remember. Whatever it was, it had kept Lanre alive this long. No more.

She whispered those two words over and again in the empty kitchen and felt her resolve strengthen. She knew this time was different. Lanre need to pay. For everything. She simply couldn’t afford to allow him another opportunity to lay a hand on her again. All the promises he’d made about things getting better had finally come to mean nothing more than empty words. Lanre’s constant cries and pleas whenever she was packed and ready to walk out, crooning in her ear how she was his entire world, how much he needed her, and how she was the most important thing in the world to him, meant nothing more to Lara now, than promises of another incident.

A low laugh escaped Lara’s lips as she remembered how often he’d cried and told her how much he hated himself for hitting her. How ashamed it made him. Funny how all that shame went out the window whenever he perceived another slight on her part. The fists would fly again, and no one could do anything to stop Lanre whenever his eyes and mind where blinded with rage. The neighbours had even stopped trying to come to her aid when Lanre had thrown a brick at a man who had pulled him off Lara’s tiny, cowering frame on the concrete floor of the compound courtyard. It’s either I kill him or he kills me. And me, I’m not ready to die.

A glance down at the bowl in front of her informed Lara she’d have to reheat the peppersoup. God forbid she presented her beloved husband with a lukewarm meal. As she shut the oven door and set the timer, the fluorescent tube flickered back on and she caught her reflection in the oven door. The woman before her was barely recognisable. She saw a woman who had been brutally beaten down by life, not the soft, happy features she once boasted. Gone was the youthful fire in her eyes that Lanre claimed had attracted him to her in the first place. Now, hey eyes were just cold…and dead. At that moment, Lara realised more than ever how desperately she needed that light back. And just what she was willing to do to get it back.

Retribution. She could almost taste it. She knew she was ready.

“OMOLARA!!!” Lanre’s voice startled her, but only briefly. She stopped the microwave and pulled out the food as he shouted again from the living room. “Ahnahn! How long does it take to make peppersoup?! Are you cooking for an army?!”

Lara composed herself and headed towards the living room with the bowl of peppersoup, stopping by the door to take the pestle in her other hand. She took a deep breath as she stepped into the living room. This is it. She walked up to where Lanre was seated in front of the TV and stood behind him, hoping her resolve didn’t fail her now. Lanre stretched out his hand without even bothering to turn his attention from the flickering images before him. Finally she opened her mouth, her voice a low whisper. “The food is here, Lanre.”
“Put it in my hand now! Are you stupid?!”
Lanre finally turned around, and the look in his eyes was unmistakeable. Hatred. Pure. Undiluted hatred.

Before Lanre could speak or react, Lara threw the bowl at his face. As expected, Lanre screamed and covered his face giving her enough time to steady herself and hold the pestle firmly in both hands. He managed to open his eyes just as she raised the pestle above her head, and Lara recognised another emotion register on her soon-to-be ex-husband’s face as the realisation of what she had planned dawned on him. His mouth opened, and his free hand went up in a petty attempt to defend himself, but she was having none of it. With every ounce of force she could muster, Lara brought the pestle down on Lanre’s head.

There was a loud pop and then a crack as she penetrated the skull, followed by a wet squelching sound. Her anger boiled over and she kept hitting his head with the pestle, her screaming serving as another outlet for her anger and frustration.

Anger subsided, Lara stood panting in the living room, the people in the television still carrying on with their business, and surrounded by a mess of blood and brain matter. And then she realised the full implications of what she had done. “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry. She whispered to no one. “You can’t imagine how much I hate myself for this. You’re my world. I’m nothing without you, and I promise this won’t happen again.” And then she laughed. It was loud and carefree, filled with purity and joy and the execution of darkness. Her first real laughter in years.

The sight of Lanre’s chair soaked in the remnants of what used to be his head filled Lara with unimaginable joy and a sense of fulfilment. She went upstairs, packed up most of her belongings and took her time getting cleaned up. As she headed out the door of their apartment, she glanced back at the mess in the sitting room and thought about what Lanre would say if he could still speak. “Ode! Useless fool. I’m going out. This place should be spotless by the time I get back.”