Showing posts with label Nigeria. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nigeria. Show all posts

Friday, June 5, 2015

Day 5: A Choice of Deaths


IntShoWriMo 2015: Day 5 Prompts:
Use this plot in a short story: Darkness held a vague terror among these people, even the bravest among them. - Chinua Achebe

Write a story about the end of the world as we know it in which the undead - vampires, werewolves and zombies - dictate the scheme of things. But somehow, one group of the undead gains the whip hand over the others. - Akpan

Word Count: 2k+








Akpan

Monday, June 1, 2015

Day 1: 200 Kinds of Fool


IntShoWriMo 2015: Day 1 Prompt: "Write a story about a lady who buys a picture in a pawnshop and then kind of falls through it into a parallel universe. (From Stephen King’s “On Writing”)"







Akpan

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

IntShoWriMo 2014: Last Words


First of July represents two important events in my life; on this day, roughly nineteen years ago, my father (who I called Sir) passed on. He once told me, while he was still around, “I fear for you. I fear for you because you set your heart on a cause and don’t quit until you turn the subject on its head. What worries me is if you eventually, turn out as the bad guy.” His many words of encouragement inspired the next event which feeds import into the day in discussion; IntShoWriMo grew out of my childhood writing habits. And in a sense, I guess I did turn out as the bad guy. If you take my choice of genre into account, that is. Horror (as Stephen King puts it) “appeals to us because it says, in a symbolic way, things we would be afraid to say right out straight, with the bark still on; it offers us a chance to exercise emotions which society demands we keep closely in hand.”

International Shorts Writing Month 2014 aka IntShoWriMo 2014 officially expired at 23:59PM yesterday June 30th, 2014. I’d like to thank the websites that provided invaluable resources by way of incitive prompts posted on their blogs; thanks go to WritersDigest.Com especially, Brian Klems, the online editor for the weekly writing prompts, and not forgetting CreativeWritingPrompts.Com run by Shery Russ. Isn’t it a nice coincidence this site is a one time winner of the Writer’s Digest Top 100 Websites for Writers? I’d also like to acknowledge the Admin of Poets & Writers (PW.Org) for the great prompts served up on that site. Also deserving thanks are members of the greatest online writing community, Writing.Com especially, the StoryMaster and StoryMistress for the most rousing one-liners obtainable anywhere on the cyberverse.

Writing those short stories without the writing prompts, would have been the equivalent of chopping up century-old timber with an axe. So, thanks. I’m also acknowledging you guys who participated including those who attempted but didn’t quite make it. You got credit for trying. This year’s IntShoWriMo was such fun and when my hands got tired of typing all those words, I decided to paste scanned copies of the written drafts because impossible is nothing.
            2015 is just over the horizon and its gonna be inundated by the stack of the short stories cause we’re gonna churn ‘em out in their thousands!

Keep your pens bleeding.


Eneh Akpan,
July 1st, 2014



Monday, July 1, 2013

Signing Out



It's the first day of July, 2013 and it's goodbye to a successful IntShoWriMo 2013; I posted my 30 short stories for IntShoWriMo 2013.

During this year's IntShoWriMo, I churned out a total word count of 49,026 words. That's forty nine thousand, twenty six words, which means I broke the previous year's record. I did blog about IntShoWriMo before the challenge commenced officially. Nevertheless, it wasn't meant to be an official invitation but to create an awareness. In point of fact, it’s the reason I didn't bother posting the prompts for each day’s challenge ahead of time. I had to convince myself I could do it a second around.

Next year I plan to give an all-out invitation; though and if you're interested you can join in the fun.

Thanks, and see you in 2014!


Eneh Akpan
July 1, 2013



Enhanced by Zemanta

Saturday, June 29, 2013

DAY 29: Smoke and Mirrors

Atfalati Park in Tualatin, Oregon, USA. Restroom.
Courtesy: Wikipedia

Today’s Prompt:
You get a message, it is obviously for you, but it is scrawled in lipstick on a mirror in a public restroom. It’s unexpected but now you know exactly where the killer is hiding. It’s time to find him and, hopefully, your friend (and hopefully, your friend id still alive.)

Word Count: 1,092

‘Mo kicked in the door and dashed into the restroom guns out and pointed business end first. His eyes panned across the room, the guns following his movement. He breathed heavily and had bloodstains on his clothes. He was banged up but he was alive and that meant he lived to fight another day. He kicked open the door to the first cubicle—empty. He went down on all fours guns pointed out and scanned for feet beneath the gap under the doors. Nothing there, either. He raised himself off the tiles and advanced forward, kicking in door after door. He heard tiles fall off the wall as the door slammed into them. besides that the room was empty of people.
                “Damn!”

‘Mo inquired of folks he’d met on his way down.
                “Did any of you gentlemen happen to see this guy and this lady drive by this town? Last I heard from them, they were headed in this direction.
He’d received positive responses. “I sold ‘em gas,” the guy at the fuel station had said. “Nice fellow, that one was.”
                “You don’t know the half of it,” ‘Mo said to him.
On his way to the restroom, he’d spotted a green farm truck and waved it down.
                “Sorry to trouble you sir.”
                “Sure, no problem.”
                “You didn’t happen to see a red caddy with a man and woman riding south did you?”
                “Yes sir, I seen them alright. Parked in front of restroom, they was.”
Farmer Joe had directed ‘Mo down to this place. “Keep your eyes to the east, not far from here there’s a restroom. You can’t miss it.”

He holstered his guns, trotted to the sink and started washing his face; ridding his body of the drying bloodstains. A wall-to-wall mirror had been screwed into the wall in front of the washbasin. ‘Mo finished washing, grabbed some paper towels and began dabbing at his face. He was going in for the last swipe across his face when he noticed the inscription on the mirror and froze He’d recognize the handwriting anywhere. Sophie had left him a message; she knew he was following their trail. The inscription looked awkward like it’d been made by trembling hands. ‘Mo knew exactly where they were going.
                “Time to nail the bastard.”

He dropped the paper towel, rushed outside, jumped on his bike and scattered grit as his tires dug into the sand and hit the asphalt with blinding speed.
                “You’re gonna get yours,” ‘Mo muttered to himself. “You’re gonna drown in your blood, you psycho killer.”

What ‘Mo didn’t know was that Ibak (/he back/) had anticipated his coming. Ibak who threatened the farmer in the truck to tell ‘Mo he saw his caddy parked in front of the restroom, had also forced ‘Mo’s girl to make the inscription on the wall. So far, all worked according to plan, Ibak’s plan. ‘Mo was heading into bottleneck drama.
                ‘Mo wasn’t half a mile from the restroom stop when gunshots rang from behind trees and underbrush which lined the road. He canted his bike at an angle and flung himself off to one side, rolling as he landed on the asphalt to lessen the effect of the impact. Gunshots bust the afternoon quiet, scraping asphalt and throwing up grit. ‘Mo imagined it was only a matter of time before a slug blew up the bike’s tank and blasted him to Hades and he pitched for the trees.
He was trapped, after all. Ibak wasn’t jaunting alone. He’d left a trail of lies behind him as he traveled through the town, giving ‘Mo hope that he might catch up with him and rescue his woman.

                “You were never a match against me, ‘Mo. I just been playing with cha.” He punctuated his speech by unleashing a barrage of lead into the trees. “What took you so long? You kept me waiting. I never work alone, ‘Mo. You should have known me by now.”

‘Mo didn’t answer. He also felt betrayed. All those people cowards everyone of them. they sided with Ibak and led him into a trap. But I can’t really blame them for what happened, can I? these guys are armed with weapons of mass destruction and they know where those folks hang their hats. I can’t blame but I still feel betrayed.

He heard the sound of something rubbing against another. Something was sliding down the tree he used as a refuge. He raised his gun up, pushed himself away from the tree with his legs and released slugs into the branches. A man grunted and fell out of the trees. The man had a chance to take him out sitting up there in the branches why hadn’t he taken the shot? Unless he had his orders—Ibak wanted ‘Mo alive. Either Ibak still believed he had access to the money or he wanted the pleasure of torturing him and watching him die slow. ‘Mo sprang to his feet and hooked himself to the tree only after retrieving the dead man’s rifle. Looking out from the top of the tree improved his view. ‘Mo positioned the M-1 rifle and locked its barrel on Ibak. Damn, if this wasn’t poetic justice at its peak, he thought to himself. He could take Ibak and his men from here, picking them out one by one like green bottles.

Ibak had hunted and picked off his family one after the other because he busted his shipment of dope across the border back in the day when he used to work as a customs officer. And now he’d taken Sophie captive. The bastard deserved to die.

Ibak was having the best time of his life when he heard the report of his own death. The sun bore down on the middle of his head on the Friday noon he met his doom. He waited for the men he placed on top of the tree to bring ‘Mo to him. He wanted to watch him die slow. Cause him as much pain as he’d brought on him through the years. He’d make his wife watch it all and then he’d take her out as well. These was the highpoints of his midday reverie when the high-caliber bullet bust through the trees, slammed into his head and drilled a hole large enough for a kid to put his hand through in his forehead. But not before tossing him several feet into the air. The shot flap down Ibak on the shoulder of the road like a discarded fold of newspaper.


Eneh Akpan
June 29, 2013


Enhanced by Zemanta

Thursday, June 27, 2013

DAY 27: Outlaw's Hideout

Courtesy: nigeriamasterweb.com

Today’s Prompt:
You’ve just moved to a new house and are trying to fix it up. In the process of painting, you find an odd crack in the wall. As you explore further, you find out it’s a secret passageway—and you have no idea where it leads. You decide to grab a flashlight and go exploring.

Word Count: 1,253

I moved into Outlaw’s Hideout precisely six moths ago. ‘This house is meant for you. I can feel it.’ My agent muttered as he gave me a tour of that place. I can’t tell you I didn’t feel a bonding when I stepped inside that apartment.
                “What happened here?”
                “What do you mean what happened here?” the guy who put the house on the market asked.
He knew. I could smell the truth on him. The bastard knew and pretended just sell me that haunted piece of architecture.
                “There is a potent trace of mystery in this environment. This room vibrates with electric potential; the electrons in the air are battering each other and giving off peculiar warmth. Don’t you feel it?”
The guy swallowed spit. I think he didn’t want to own up to the palpable and he didn’t want to deny it with a flat out lie. I sort of had him pinned in a tight spot.
                “Well, this place has been known to be capable to spur uncanny activities.”
                “‘Uncanny activities,’ does the phrase X-Files jog your memory?”
He deferred.
                “Thing is, you deserve this striking beauty, don’t ever let doubt alter your initial course of action. I don’t dig the shit and I don’t wanna go on and tell you lies but this house has got a history and it’s none of your business unless you make it.”

After we finalized the deal, I came around some fine evening to clean out Outlaw’s Hideout and my neighbors—practically the whole street, if I gotta be frank with you—were out watching me, with awe pasted on their faces, like i was a rabbit hopping out of a hat. A few of them mustered up the courage to say ‘Hi’ to the guy who inherited a lunatic’s memory and I Hi’d them back. That was my first day at Outlaw’s Hideout.
                Around the back of the house was a shed for storing tools intended for basic house maintenance. I found some old but still serviceable paintbrushes in there. My first day alone in the house was uneventful. The electricity I had felt on my first visit was poignant in the air. I could feel the vibrations but besides that nothing peculiar turned up. One of my neighbors finally got over his cold feet and came over to the house on the third day I was out there. I was in one of the rooms painting.

                “Hello, there.”
I turned around and there he was looking dressed up for manual labor in his pink polo shirt and jeans shorts.
                “Hello, buddy. How do you do?”
                “The name’s Effiong (/eff young/). You the new guy, right?”
It was more a statement than question.
                “Yeah, I’m Udoh (/hoo dor/) been nosing around a little trying to create some sanity out of this mess, I gatto admit, shit is more than I can manage alone.”
                “Want me to come give you a hand?”
                “Sure, I could use an extra hand. If it don’t bother you, why not?”
                “What do I gatto do?”

There’s the guy who let me in on a little secret about my house.

The first man who lived in Outlaw’s Hideout was military—a retired soldier—one of the first batch of soldiers sent in on peacekeeping mission during the first Liberian civil war. “He was a nice guy, the first few years he spent here,” Effiong said. “He raised this structure from the dust. I think his family sold it off after his demise. Akam (/arkham/) used to have a beautiful sense of humor that was before his wartime memories caught up with him. It’s like he never got over the war.”
                “What ever happened? How did he stop being nice?”
                “First thing we discovered was the fact Akam spent more and more time alone inside his house; he severed ties with the outside world. He didn’t have a wife. I suppose she divorced him shortly after he returned from serving in Liberia. And I rarely saw anyone visit at his place. But when he first arrived here, he used to come by the house and we would talk. It was such fun cause he was a loving man.
                “Something happened to Akam that most of us—his neighbors—have come to believe can be traced to this building, Outlaw’s Hideout. We cannot verify our assumptions but we feel we don’t have to. The last days of Akam’s life is all the proof we need. His entire life bogged down the day he took that kid out while screaming his head off in Liberian tongue, finishing him off by pumping hot lead into his head.
                “The kid belonged to the Jacobson’s, they moved out of the hood a few weeks after the incident. The stain nevertheless is pasted on the air of this town like a stamp.”

That was my first taste of the Hideout’s peculiarity. My time would come to have a scuffle with the source of Akam’s psychosis. And I dreaded it with every atom in my being.

I was painting over the east wall of the guest bedroom when I chanced a crack in the wall. When I jimmied it, I discovered it pried open a bigger fissure, which eventually turned out to be a secret passageway wide enough to allow a man. I had my doubts but I knew that sooner or later, the urge was going to be irresistible and I would take a walk down that mystery corridor behind the wall.
When the day came around, I grabbed a flashlight and set off down the path that spelled out my doom. I wanted to know the experience that changed the soldier called Akam.

The tunnel led to a dark, damp and extremely creepy room. It was Akam’s memory room. Photographs—souvenirs from Liberia—of corpses in grotesque poses. Farther down the room, in a corner where the sun will never shine, a rack packed full with weapons, firearms and rifles of varied make hung down a wall. The object that transformed me into the thing I am, stood atop a shelf layered with dust; a shotgun shell. The slug displayed markings etched into its shell. Each marking I assumed, represented death. Probably, the total count of people this unfortunate soldier offed in field of battle. On the other hand, it might signify innocent civilians caught in the crossfire.
Akam definitely, never forgot. He lived with the pangs of memory his entire life. When I touched the bullet, strips of film, horrendous images, flashed before my eyes. I stood inside a war-torn zone, watching slugs whizz by and tear up flesh, human flesh. Akam had learned about the disease called war the hard way and it had turn him against himself; corrupted his own sense of humanity.

When I let go of the shell, I knew I had inherited Akam’s memory; his curse had been turned over to me.
This is what I saw, never-ending devastation. Women, girls, boys, men, pregnant mothers, babies ripped out of their mama’s womb—death that stretched on without the promise of exit. I felt right there pulling the trigger on these vulnerable creatures. I saw familiar faces distorted in terror; saw the ammo on the rack by the wall in my hands; saw me gunning down people.

It wasn’t just a feeling, I’m almost sure of it. I must have killed all those people or I would not be writing this from behind the bars of a jail cell.


Eneh Akpan
June 27, 2013


Enhanced by Zemanta

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

DAY 25: The Treatment

Courtesy: vultravideo.com

Today’s Prompt:
He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw…
Courtesy: Writing.Com

Word Count: 1,200

He turned the key in the lock and opened the door. To his horror, he saw the thing rolled up inside fabric that could have been Egyptian mummy wrappings, if the circumstances were a little different. Except, were they not?



SPECIALISTS, INC.
We kill unwanted visitors!
100 Easy Street off PDB Drive, Ikeja.

A soft drizzling rain fell on the fine June morning he decided to take his friend up on his suggestion. The drizzle never could get anything in particular wet even if it tried. It was Mother Nature’s excuse for keeping folks fussy. You wanted to get out of the house and you were like should I take an umbrella along? Would it stop at this or would the rain morph into a downpour? He had not bothered to bring his umbrella even though he had one sitting in his car.               The man glanced up briefly at the inscription etched into a small metal plate and screwed into the exquisitely carved entrance door as he made his way up the stairs. The walls leading up to the office floor displayed framed portraits of sample pests— mosquitoes, bedbugs, roaches, rats and so on—the Specialists smoked out of folk’s homes and offices, but the man saw beyond the smoke screen.

He stepped into the posh office and there sat a man in the reception lobby where a woman might have been better suited.
                “Hello, Mr. Mene. My boss has been expecting you.”
Mene surprised himself and balked. “How did you know I was coming, I never told anyone?”
                “Oh, but you did.”
                “I did?” he rubbed his chin and then recalled telling his friend.
The receptionist saw his face brighten. “Your friend Calvin called in to say you were coming in. Go on, my boss is waiting for you.”
Mene stepped up to the door behind the receptionist and turned the knob. The view knocked his breath out of him. The office was state of the art complete with a wall-to-wall built in TV screen. On a far corner was a sofa possibly for the executive visitors.

                “Hello, Mene. I have been expecting you. Come, make yourself comfortable.” A man sat behind a plush giant office table. Mene wondered what else he did on that table besides office work.
Mene took the seat on the end of the table and waited.
                “You saw our offer and decided to come check it out?”
                “I wouldn’t put it that way, Mr. Max…”
                “Max, please. Call me Max.”
                “Max, I was wheedled into it by a friend.”
                “I see.”
                “Calvin said you turned his life around. Said you helped him out of a delicate situation. I was wondering if you could do the same thing for me. Except, I ain’t getting my hopes up; I’ve tried everything I could and I don’t wanna trust too much in your strategy and be let down.”
                “Well, I commend you for making up your mind to come see us about your problem. We’ll come to that shortly but first, you must sign the form. Without it, we can’t do business with you.”
Mene waved it off. “Oh, please, forget about the money…”
                “It’s not the money, Mene. It’s protocol. Just in case anything ever goes wrong we at Specialist Inc. want to know that our interest is preserved and protected.”
Mene scanned the form quickly then signed it.
Max plucked the document out of Mene’s hand when he offered it up, got out of his seat and clapped him on the shoulder.
                “You have made the greatest decision of your life. You will not regret this, I guarantee it.”
                “If you say so. I don’t know. But if I have to face it one more day, I’ll self-destruct.”

Max fetched a remote off his giant desk.
                “The pictures you are about to view show some of the methods we apply in the treatment of pests. You will see stuff that’s unconventional to educated society. Mene, according to the form you signed, you are not permitted to discuss what you see with anybody outside these walls. Not even your wife.” He paused then added for emphasis. “Especially, your wife.
He made sure the reality of what he said sank into Mene’s mind and then pressed the remote.

The jumbo screen came alive and a picture floated to its surface.
                “I want you to meet Mother-in-Law #1. This mama had all the knacks of a dinosaur. But we managed to cut her down to size. She wanted to bathe the baby, bathe the baby mama or talk her through her bathing time. Can you feature that? When does the man enter the picture when Mother-in-Law #1 is always a step behind the wife? The man was a complete wreck when he visited our office and this close to suicide. We helped him and now he, not Mother-in-Law #1 is the man of the house.”
Mene had a strong desire to squeal and yodel but he found out he’d lost his voice when he gasped instead. His throat was dry and it made a clicking sound when he tried to talk. The woman on the screen had no face. Where a face should have been there was a horrifying specter of a Halloween mask, cooked raw. Her teeth lay bared because her lips had been clipped off.
                “She learned her lesson the hard way. When the man’s kids couldn’t stand the monster their mother-in-law became, he had to put a halt to her visits.”

Click.
The next picture was of a woman strapped to a metal chair—possibly an electrocution chair.
Mene let out a bone-chilling scream and clapped both hands over his eyes.
                “Enough. I’ve seen enough. Turn the damn thing off.”
                “Oh, but you haven’t Mene. I’m just warming up. There are pictures in this film that will freeze your blood.”
The woman on the screen had begun to assume strange and grotesque positions.
                “We did try to warn her from hanging around her son-in-laws apartment but she would not listen.”
                “What kind of beasts are you?”
                “The Beast from the East, Mene and we’ve come to right what’s wrong with your marriage.”
                “By killing innocent people?”
                “They made other people’s marriage and lives miserable; they had to be taken out of the way before they pulled off more havoc.”
                “You are sick. And same goes for everyone in this establishment from hell.”
                “No Mene we are here to save people like you from their mothers-in-law. And here’s the next picture…”
But Mene wasn’t going to wait around and listen and watch one dead person after the other. He rushed out into the rain which had finally opened up the skies in a downpour.
                “You signed the form, Mene. You can’t turn tail and run.” The receptionist called after him. “We will do our job. Make sure you’re ready to pay up when we finish.”


He stood on the threshold, staring at the form inside the Egyptian mummy wrappings, and wondered. Back at the Specialists office, he’d seen a picture on Mr. Max desk, it began to gain substance in Mene’s mind. With substance came realization and then terror.

It was the picture of his mother-in-law.


Eneh Akpan
June 25, 2013


Saturday, June 22, 2013

DAY 22: Up All Night

Courtesy: Wikipedia

Today’s Prompt:
Shh! Hear that?” “I didn’t hear anything.”
Courtesy: Writing.Com

Word Count: 1,037

                “Shh! Hear that?”
                “I didn’t hear anything.”
                “Listen.”
                “I did. There’s nobody out there.”
                “Shh! Just listen for a minute, okay?”
                “I told you, there’s nothing.”
                “Yeah, but ain’t that strange?”
                “How do you mean?”
                “There ought to be somebody out there.”
                “So, let’s make a break for it. Better now than later.”
                “What? Are you out of your mind? You trying to get us both killed?”
                “I don’t see nobody out there.”
                “They might be hiding; like trying to call us out.”
                “Way I see it, either us or them is gonna come out in the end. One of us is gonna tired of playing hide and seek, or get hungry or just damn sick for home.”
                “My point exactly. That’s when we get in and hit ‘em hard then make for the exit,”
                “Why the hell do we gotta get them? I thought we was supposed to hide from them?”
                “Tide has turned; it’s a whole different game, right now.”
                “Different? How is anything different?
                “They know.
                “Everybody gotta know something, sometime.”
                “They know we’re here.”
                “Big deal. We know they are there, too. What has that got to do with the price of oil in Bakassi?”
                “We’re hiding. Have you forgotten so soon?”
                “The hell we are. So are they.
                “I’ve got a plan.”
                “Another plan? What happened to the last one?”
                “This one’s better, you’ll see.”
                “Oh?”
                “What do you mean oh? This is the part you’re supposed to say, ‘Bring it on, bro,’ encourage me for a change.”
                “Do we have any other options?”
                “What other options, do you mean?”
                “Like ‘Don’t bring it on, bro,’ for example?”
                “I ought to have your tongue, dummy, for running your mouth like that.”
                “Ouch! What you gotta do that for? What the hell you smacking me for when you is the one talking shit?”
                “Quit fooling around and listen up. Damn, what is that stink?”
                “My bad. But don’t you worry about it; the wind’s gonna flush it away in a jiffy.”
                “Where have you been all your life? In a cave?”
                “Sorry, I tried to hold it.”
                “Don’t you touch me. Why the hell you gatto act up every damn time we make a jaunt?”
                “I wasn’t acting up. I released excess air. Forget about that, this plan of yours gonna work? I really gotta be home before dark.”
                “Should have thought about that before you came out here without a Plan B.”
                “Hey, don’t take your stress out on me. ‘Sides, you are the think tank, ain’t you? It’s your fault we’re stuck in this rut.”
                “I didn’t hear you say that.”
                “I better get moving looks like you used up your best ideas.”
                “Sit your ass down, jigger.”
                “Let me out this mutha, we’re sitting ducks sticking around nurturing muscle cramps.”
                “What else can we do?”
                “We can get the hell out of here?”
                “You’re trying to blow us both out of the water. Is that what you want? You don’t want an A anymore?”
                “No. That was you all the way. I wanted a B.”
                “Way I see it, ain’t none of us getting anything but an F if we don’t stick to the plan like glue.”
                “Seems we’re stuck with your plan again.”
                “Soon as Sherlock Holmes there gets that dog of his around the corner…”
                “Oh shucks.”
                “Will you just listen to me, dude? Like I was saying, when that security personnel rides wide with Scooby Doo…”
                “Tell me, is that a leftover from Plan A or the highpoints of Plan B?”
                “What damn difference does it make if it’s Plan C or Plan Z? As soon we can persuade that class act to roam wide…”
                “Ain’t nobody moving but us until 7 A.M. in the morning, at least.”
                “How come you know so much about the damn situation, Samwise?”
                “Because I did a stake out job before tonight, you asked me to, remember? That security stays there all night long till morning light.”
                “Why the hell didn’t you just say so?”
                “I tried to tell you but you were occupied with your tongue and so into your hiding business I dared not interfere with something so trivial.”
                “I guess that means our ass is stuck, tonight.”
                “No, we got an option.”
                “You don’t say; what exactly would that be?”
                “We can walk right through this wall of flowers and hand ourselves over.”
                “Come here, knucklehead, I’m gonna teach you real life lessons; you never turn yourself in unless you’re caught in the act. Do you understand me?”
                “Cool, that means we gon’ sleep in the brushes tonight with the skies as our ceiling. Man, that’s some romantic shit; I wish I had my girl by my side.”
                “You don’t have a girl and nobody’s sleeping out here, not in these bushes. Things might come out. We gatto find a way to get that guy distracted.”
                “If you was thinking of busting some windowpane, forget it. There’s security up there, they gon’ handle it just fine. His ass is not leaving the entrance. He’s got his orders.”
“Think. For once in your stuck-up life, think. You might be surprised what will happen to you.”
                “Ain’t nothing happening down here but nightfall… and mosquitoes. We used up our chances. Should have gone in when I cued you.”
                “And then what? Get caught?”
                “My option is still open though.”
                “Which is?”
                “Hand ourselves in.”
                “Dude, you wanna get shipped off to the tank? You don’t wanna see your mama again in a long time?”
                “Okay, I’ve had about enough of your crap about getting caught. I’m going in.”
                “What?”
                “Think you need that A as badly as I need the B?”
                “I guess so.”
                “This ain’t time for thinking, soldier. Let’s take ‘em down!”
                “Hey! Wait a freaking sec. What’s gotten into you? What are you doing?”
                “Saving your life and getting you that A, throw in a B for me somewhere down the line.”
                “Not like that. Wait up, we need a plan.”
                “I already got mine.”
                “You’re gonna get us both expelled. Don’t do it, you crazy fool.”
                “Nope, ain’t happening. Been trying to tell you all along; security over there’s been expecting me. He’s my big brother.”


Eneh Akpan
June 22, 2013


Enhanced by Zemanta