Right in front of Taju, the woman's left heel snapped.
His own reflexes surprised him. In a blur, he'd covered the paces between them and caught her before her collapsing frame went to ground. She was extremely grateful and couldn't stop appreciating her Knight in Sharp Reflexes immediately she recovered from the initial shock of her snapped stilettoes. It soon became clear that she'd twisted her ankle and was requiring some assistance to get to her vehicle parked just in front of the eatery.
After an eternity of "Thank you so much", Taju watched her drive off and promptly returned to his business in the eatery. He was there to meet with a "prospective client" who was interested in yanking off Taju's hand a super-secure chip Taju had developed.
The chip had the double-barrelled advantage rare in the tech community. It was a chip primed to revolutionise the cyber-security industry in a way hitherto unimagined. Taju had demonstrated that much to this high-profile client by scaling their company's previously unbeatable firewalls and holding their security systems to ransom.
It was the age-old style of announcing oneself and becoming notorious. A style known from time immemorial. You looked for the biggest cat in the game and you gave him a red eye.
When everything the famous REDBRIDGE CYBERGUARD (RC) threw at his ransomware failed, he knew he'd got their attention. They responsively negotiated an exchange at a meet. That was why he was at this eatery. And arriving early gave him ample time to prepare. It wasn't as if he wasn't prepared long before today but now that the meeting was imminent ...
His ringtone buzzed, butting into his thoughts. It was Dr. Deji Williams, CEO and co-founder of RC, a fiercely proud innovator and as shrewd a businessman as they came. It was Deji that had told Taju to go to hell when at first it was discovered that the latter's invention had breached RC's defenses. RC had believed they couldn't be beat. Initially. And finally, it was a more contrite Deji that negotiated with him for a settlement.
Taju looked at the screen for a bit before heaving a sigh of confidence and picking the call. It was short. Deji wanted him to be on time as he was running a tight schedule and barely had to make it for their meeting.
As Taju made to return his phone to his pocket, he noticed his notification indicator blinking. He turned the screen on again and dragged down the notification tray. He checked and dismissed all notifications. Taju liked leaving his notifications area neat. It made him feel uncluttered virtually just as he liked to feel physically. He powered off the screen and was ready to pocket the phone when he noticed the light blink again for notifications. Only this time when he checked, there was no notification to see.
Tuesday, May 21, 2019
Shine
There was this rainbow colour that felt it was not bright enough.
Whenever all the other colours came out in their brightness to shine after a downpour, it hid behind their brilliance and marvelled at the spectacle. And with each passing moment of its marvelling, it reinforced its interior conviction that it was not good enough to feature in the midst of such glorious splendour. When it was allowed to see how people who see the kaleidoscopic beauty of the colours in the raiment of their glory, it felt more downcast than ever telling itself that it will have to wait until it can be sparkingly stunning before it will ever find its place among with the others.
One day while the others displayed their beauty for the world, the red colour turned around and saw the dejected colour mesmerised by the display but with a shadow over its face.
Colour Red called out, "Hey! Why aren't you taking part in this splendour?"
But dejected colour shockingly looked up and was at a loss as to explain its demeanour.
So, momentarily leaving its place in the spectrum of the rainbow, colour Red walked over to the dejected colour and the most remarkably wonderful thing happened. The closer it got to dejected colour, the more resplendent colour Red became and by the time Red was helping dejected colour to stand and bringing it to join in the array of the rainbow, its red quality was blindingly bright.
Colour Red explained it to the stunned dejected colour.
"Alone, we don't appear that bright. But," colour Red insisted raising a finger to drive home the point, "when we all shine in our different shades and colours, together, whether bright or grey, brilliant or subdued, when we all bring those qualities peculiar to us into the pool of our beauties, nothing is brighter, nothing is more beautiful."
Dejected colour was only just starting to understand when it noticed that it was beginning to glow as well. It began as a little warmth at its core, but as that joined the vast array of the other colours that were beautifying the world below by their different shades, it had become a burst of joy inside of it. At that close proximity with other colours, it realised that they were not all the same. Some were darker than it thought when it saw them from a distance. Others were blinking their colours and not as constantly as the rest. Some didn't have a colour of their own but reflected a mixture of the colours around them. But one thing was certain and it found it in the final words that colour Red said,
"Only when we bring the little in us - that part that no one else has because no one else is us - only when we bring that to the front does it make a difference to the world."
It was a lesson dejected colour didn't forget in a hurry.
So, you may feel too small, too unprepared, too young, too this or too that and that is why you don't want to come to the front. But, in so doing, you deny the world what it could have gained from your presence. That which only you can give to it, because you are unique and you are different from everyone else.
Agreed, you may not write like me, but there is something you can write about which will never occur to me because I'm not you. And when you bring that uniqueness out, the world is a better place.
Don't wait till tomorrow. The best time to start was yesterday. The second best time?
Today.
Whenever all the other colours came out in their brightness to shine after a downpour, it hid behind their brilliance and marvelled at the spectacle. And with each passing moment of its marvelling, it reinforced its interior conviction that it was not good enough to feature in the midst of such glorious splendour. When it was allowed to see how people who see the kaleidoscopic beauty of the colours in the raiment of their glory, it felt more downcast than ever telling itself that it will have to wait until it can be sparkingly stunning before it will ever find its place among with the others.
One day while the others displayed their beauty for the world, the red colour turned around and saw the dejected colour mesmerised by the display but with a shadow over its face.
Colour Red called out, "Hey! Why aren't you taking part in this splendour?"
But dejected colour shockingly looked up and was at a loss as to explain its demeanour.
So, momentarily leaving its place in the spectrum of the rainbow, colour Red walked over to the dejected colour and the most remarkably wonderful thing happened. The closer it got to dejected colour, the more resplendent colour Red became and by the time Red was helping dejected colour to stand and bringing it to join in the array of the rainbow, its red quality was blindingly bright.
Colour Red explained it to the stunned dejected colour.
"Alone, we don't appear that bright. But," colour Red insisted raising a finger to drive home the point, "when we all shine in our different shades and colours, together, whether bright or grey, brilliant or subdued, when we all bring those qualities peculiar to us into the pool of our beauties, nothing is brighter, nothing is more beautiful."
Dejected colour was only just starting to understand when it noticed that it was beginning to glow as well. It began as a little warmth at its core, but as that joined the vast array of the other colours that were beautifying the world below by their different shades, it had become a burst of joy inside of it. At that close proximity with other colours, it realised that they were not all the same. Some were darker than it thought when it saw them from a distance. Others were blinking their colours and not as constantly as the rest. Some didn't have a colour of their own but reflected a mixture of the colours around them. But one thing was certain and it found it in the final words that colour Red said,
"Only when we bring the little in us - that part that no one else has because no one else is us - only when we bring that to the front does it make a difference to the world."
It was a lesson dejected colour didn't forget in a hurry.
So, you may feel too small, too unprepared, too young, too this or too that and that is why you don't want to come to the front. But, in so doing, you deny the world what it could have gained from your presence. That which only you can give to it, because you are unique and you are different from everyone else.
Agreed, you may not write like me, but there is something you can write about which will never occur to me because I'm not you. And when you bring that uniqueness out, the world is a better place.
Don't wait till tomorrow. The best time to start was yesterday. The second best time?
Today.
Living Dangerously - Part 3
As she hid there, she listened intently to any sounds that would indicate the whereabouts of whoever was entering the house. She wished she had not left the bedroom in the state it was and that she had hidden the cake and costumes. What will become of her surprise now? Then, it struck her that it might not be her brother coming in. What if it was his newfound lover? Or worse, what if he was coming home with her for some night-time trysts? She’d awkwardly be in the way of her brother’s orchestrated rendezvous for some pleasure, wouldn’t she? Why was nothing going according to plan this night?
In the perturbation of her mind, she’d not noticed that after the door opened, there’d be no audible sounds to signal the presence of another person in the house. When it occurred to her, she found the silence unnerving. She felt it was going to be better to quickly announce her presence and just pass the need for any surprises this year. She had a full year to plan for what she was going to do next year. This one was already a big flop and there was no need to carry it any further. Her mind so made, she was just about to move out from behind the kitchen’s door when the racket of clanging utensils stopped her dead in her tracks.
It was so sudden the disturbance that she jerked in unconscious reflex as a soft exclamation of “Jesus!!!” escaped her lips. But the noise of the commotion was louder so her exclamation wasn’t heard beyond the confines of the kitchen. She quickly peeped through the open kitchen door and saw the silhouetted form of her brother bent over in the corridor. From the sounds she could hear, he seemed to be re-arranging some items on the floor beside the door between the dining room and the corridor.
Since, he had his back to the kitchen and will not notice her move from where she was to the second entrance to the dining, she thought if she was to keep up with her aim of surprise, this was the best time to move. She wished she could move to the bedroom rather than the dining room but any moves in that direction will only end up in her revealing her presence to him and that’ll be the end of all her efforts. As she made her move, she prayed silently that OB didn’t enter the bedroom.
She was almost at the door when she noticed OB move swiftly. She quickly ducked, camouflaging her presence by the dark area around where she was and the presence of the ironing table. She forced her body to remain motionless even fearing to breathe as OB’s hearing could pick that up. She listened intently and was relieved when she heard his light footsteps go past the area where she was crouched and in the direction of the sitting room. Her fears returned however when the light was switched on in the dining room.
But, OB didn’t linger. He walked straight into the sitting room where the lights there were switched off. She had succeeded in not causing him to be suspicious of her presence. She took a deep breath and quietly exhaled to relax her tensed nerves. She was doubly pleased that he didn’t go into the bedroom as well. Everything so far had worked to her favour. She was glad she didn’t break her cover by revealing herself earlier. Now, it was time for the surprise. She heard the hiss of the TV as it came on. It was time to get her surprise on the road. She rose from her hideout.
In very slow, measured and stealthy steps, she walked from the dining room into the sitting room. To make her surprise so perfect, OB had his back to her. He was obviously waiting for the DSTv to boot up and had the remote control on his left hand which should have ringed odd to her if she was paying attention. And he was also standing up, another pointer if she was attentive. But all her focus was on not giving up the element of surprise. She concentrated on being extremely quiet as she moved to a position just behind OB. Satisfied that she could leap on him from where she now stood, she took another deep breath, crouched a little to gain enough force to propel her body and powering her muscles, she leapt into the air in the direction of her brother.
What happened next was in a blur for Juliet.
It was as if OB was waiting for the jump. He spun around the moment her feet left the floor. She then saw him raise his right hand in that same motion with which he turned. She looked at his face and saw what was the most unfriendly countenance she’d ever seen since she came to know him as her brother. The hand which was being raised was not empty. It took a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a second for her to recognise what it held. The business end of the barrel was pointed directly at her face. The motion carrying her toward this pointed barrel was no longer within her volition. Her flight path had been spelt out the moment she jumped and nothing she could do now was going to stop her.
As she noticed her brother’s finger move within the enclosure of the trigger, her chest tightened in acute fear. She wanted to scream, to tell him it was his sister Juliet and that she was only trying to surprise him. She opened her mouth for that exact scream, but nothing issued forth. The air to even scream had been sucked out of her by the shock of what she was witnessing. As she choked on her attempt to scream, she saw the new look on her brother’s face. It drained what life was left in her. It was contorted in the pain of recognition. Her brother also opened his mouth in a scream!
“Juuuuuuuuuuulieeeeeeet!” OB heard his voice but didn’t recognise it. He didn’t even ask it to scream. It was reflex. Totally voluntary. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The figure he was firing at was no assailant. This was his sweet sister. This was the only person he had in the world in whom he could confide. She was the one who always made him remember he had a birth date and was always full of surprises in an endless array of making his day special. The only one who would stay up late at night to make sure he was safely in bed. And he’d not fired with a mind to disarm. He’d fired with the intent to kill. How’d he have known she was here. Why didn’t she announce herself when he walked in.
That was when it dawned on him. That smell. Yes, that different smell he’d perceived. It now clicked in his mind. That was Juliet’s perfume. If he was not so distracted by the fear of there being a criminal in his home, he’d have deciphered its origin. It was his sister’s. His only sister. His mother. His blood. His family. He had pulled the trigger. If he could turn back…
The velocity of Juliet’s jump carried her through and she, still stupefied in shock, rammed into the still, equally shocked OB. The force sent both sprawling over the centre table and boisterously rolling over and crashing on the sitting room floor.
OB was first to react.
He quickly divested himself of the firearm and turned around to look at his sister. She laid with her back to him, her head by the left front leg of one of the upholstered chairs. She was motionless. The blood drained from OB’s body. With shaky hands and the speed of a snail, he put his palms on her left arm. He thought he felt a pulse and his hope kindled. Then, it struck him that if she was still alive, speed was going to be his ally in making sure she survived what he’d just done. Just before he spun her around, he noticed that there was no exit wound at the back of her head which would have been had the bullet hit target.
So, buoyed by high hopes, he turned her around. These hopes evaporated when his left hand around her neck touched something liquid and warm. Yes, it was her blood. “Juuuuuuuuulieeeet!” another involuntary scream escaped him again as his heart skipped several beats. “No, no, no, what have I done,” the tears came of their own accord. “God, no, no!”
Then, Juliet moved her arm and tried to sit down.
It was a shocked and unnervingly petrified OB who looked at her. He quickly turned her neck around and saw the cause of the bleeding. She had a gash running the length of her neck. It was bad, but not fatal. If Juliet was going to die, death was going to have to do better than that, he mused to himself, gratefully. When he turned around in relief to observe for the first time the state of the sitting room, he realised that she’d be scratched by the protruding edge of the centre table as they both crashed into it by the force of her jump. It was a design of the table and the reason it attracted him in the first place and why he bought it. And Juliet had never liked it from day one.
He got up and went for his First Aid box.
After stitching her up and berating her for her knack for surprises, they were trying to restore some sanity to the sitting room when he saw the pistol. In their relief, it had been forgotten. As he picked it up, Juliet walked in from the toilet where she’d gone to admire OB’s dexterity with cotton-wool and plasters.
“From the look on your face, I can tell you know why the pistol didn’t kill me.”
“Bad habit,” was OB’s terse reply.
Juliet frowned. That was not the answer she thought she was going to get.
OB knew she wouldn’t understand and instead said, “Just pulling your legs.” He was smiling when he added, “The bullet jammed. And so even though I pulled the trigger, it didn’t fire.”
“Thank God oo,” was Juliet’s response. But her brother had never been a good liar. She didn’t believe a word of that explanation though she had no knowledge of pistols and guns. She let it go. She’d just come from a near-death experience. She wasn’t going to let that stand in the way of her gratitude for life. She was already rethinking the need to keep up these birthday surprises.
OB was sombre. Yet, grateful. It was a part of his being a creature of habit. He’d always carried a weapon as a security operator back then and always, always kept his guns in good, working conditions. He could clean all the weapons he carried in the period with a blindfold and his left arm tied behind his back. So, none of his weapons will ever have jammed. However, he made sure he kept the safety on. ALL. THE. TIME. And since he never fired a weapon, except for the one time he went to a firing range with a colleague, he never acquired the habit of taking the safety off. And it was this habit he didn’t have that made it possible for him to still have a sister. That kept him from fratricide.
It was a dangerous life everyone lived in the country. OB was grateful it didn’t make him go to the grave with the guilt of his sister’s blood on his hands.
- END -
In the perturbation of her mind, she’d not noticed that after the door opened, there’d be no audible sounds to signal the presence of another person in the house. When it occurred to her, she found the silence unnerving. She felt it was going to be better to quickly announce her presence and just pass the need for any surprises this year. She had a full year to plan for what she was going to do next year. This one was already a big flop and there was no need to carry it any further. Her mind so made, she was just about to move out from behind the kitchen’s door when the racket of clanging utensils stopped her dead in her tracks.
It was so sudden the disturbance that she jerked in unconscious reflex as a soft exclamation of “Jesus!!!” escaped her lips. But the noise of the commotion was louder so her exclamation wasn’t heard beyond the confines of the kitchen. She quickly peeped through the open kitchen door and saw the silhouetted form of her brother bent over in the corridor. From the sounds she could hear, he seemed to be re-arranging some items on the floor beside the door between the dining room and the corridor.
Since, he had his back to the kitchen and will not notice her move from where she was to the second entrance to the dining, she thought if she was to keep up with her aim of surprise, this was the best time to move. She wished she could move to the bedroom rather than the dining room but any moves in that direction will only end up in her revealing her presence to him and that’ll be the end of all her efforts. As she made her move, she prayed silently that OB didn’t enter the bedroom.
She was almost at the door when she noticed OB move swiftly. She quickly ducked, camouflaging her presence by the dark area around where she was and the presence of the ironing table. She forced her body to remain motionless even fearing to breathe as OB’s hearing could pick that up. She listened intently and was relieved when she heard his light footsteps go past the area where she was crouched and in the direction of the sitting room. Her fears returned however when the light was switched on in the dining room.
But, OB didn’t linger. He walked straight into the sitting room where the lights there were switched off. She had succeeded in not causing him to be suspicious of her presence. She took a deep breath and quietly exhaled to relax her tensed nerves. She was doubly pleased that he didn’t go into the bedroom as well. Everything so far had worked to her favour. She was glad she didn’t break her cover by revealing herself earlier. Now, it was time for the surprise. She heard the hiss of the TV as it came on. It was time to get her surprise on the road. She rose from her hideout.
In very slow, measured and stealthy steps, she walked from the dining room into the sitting room. To make her surprise so perfect, OB had his back to her. He was obviously waiting for the DSTv to boot up and had the remote control on his left hand which should have ringed odd to her if she was paying attention. And he was also standing up, another pointer if she was attentive. But all her focus was on not giving up the element of surprise. She concentrated on being extremely quiet as she moved to a position just behind OB. Satisfied that she could leap on him from where she now stood, she took another deep breath, crouched a little to gain enough force to propel her body and powering her muscles, she leapt into the air in the direction of her brother.
What happened next was in a blur for Juliet.
It was as if OB was waiting for the jump. He spun around the moment her feet left the floor. She then saw him raise his right hand in that same motion with which he turned. She looked at his face and saw what was the most unfriendly countenance she’d ever seen since she came to know him as her brother. The hand which was being raised was not empty. It took a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of a second for her to recognise what it held. The business end of the barrel was pointed directly at her face. The motion carrying her toward this pointed barrel was no longer within her volition. Her flight path had been spelt out the moment she jumped and nothing she could do now was going to stop her.
As she noticed her brother’s finger move within the enclosure of the trigger, her chest tightened in acute fear. She wanted to scream, to tell him it was his sister Juliet and that she was only trying to surprise him. She opened her mouth for that exact scream, but nothing issued forth. The air to even scream had been sucked out of her by the shock of what she was witnessing. As she choked on her attempt to scream, she saw the new look on her brother’s face. It drained what life was left in her. It was contorted in the pain of recognition. Her brother also opened his mouth in a scream!
“Juuuuuuuuuuulieeeeeeet!” OB heard his voice but didn’t recognise it. He didn’t even ask it to scream. It was reflex. Totally voluntary. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The figure he was firing at was no assailant. This was his sweet sister. This was the only person he had in the world in whom he could confide. She was the one who always made him remember he had a birth date and was always full of surprises in an endless array of making his day special. The only one who would stay up late at night to make sure he was safely in bed. And he’d not fired with a mind to disarm. He’d fired with the intent to kill. How’d he have known she was here. Why didn’t she announce herself when he walked in.
That was when it dawned on him. That smell. Yes, that different smell he’d perceived. It now clicked in his mind. That was Juliet’s perfume. If he was not so distracted by the fear of there being a criminal in his home, he’d have deciphered its origin. It was his sister’s. His only sister. His mother. His blood. His family. He had pulled the trigger. If he could turn back…
The velocity of Juliet’s jump carried her through and she, still stupefied in shock, rammed into the still, equally shocked OB. The force sent both sprawling over the centre table and boisterously rolling over and crashing on the sitting room floor.
OB was first to react.
He quickly divested himself of the firearm and turned around to look at his sister. She laid with her back to him, her head by the left front leg of one of the upholstered chairs. She was motionless. The blood drained from OB’s body. With shaky hands and the speed of a snail, he put his palms on her left arm. He thought he felt a pulse and his hope kindled. Then, it struck him that if she was still alive, speed was going to be his ally in making sure she survived what he’d just done. Just before he spun her around, he noticed that there was no exit wound at the back of her head which would have been had the bullet hit target.
So, buoyed by high hopes, he turned her around. These hopes evaporated when his left hand around her neck touched something liquid and warm. Yes, it was her blood. “Juuuuuuuuulieeeet!” another involuntary scream escaped him again as his heart skipped several beats. “No, no, no, what have I done,” the tears came of their own accord. “God, no, no!”
Then, Juliet moved her arm and tried to sit down.
It was a shocked and unnervingly petrified OB who looked at her. He quickly turned her neck around and saw the cause of the bleeding. She had a gash running the length of her neck. It was bad, but not fatal. If Juliet was going to die, death was going to have to do better than that, he mused to himself, gratefully. When he turned around in relief to observe for the first time the state of the sitting room, he realised that she’d be scratched by the protruding edge of the centre table as they both crashed into it by the force of her jump. It was a design of the table and the reason it attracted him in the first place and why he bought it. And Juliet had never liked it from day one.
He got up and went for his First Aid box.
After stitching her up and berating her for her knack for surprises, they were trying to restore some sanity to the sitting room when he saw the pistol. In their relief, it had been forgotten. As he picked it up, Juliet walked in from the toilet where she’d gone to admire OB’s dexterity with cotton-wool and plasters.
“From the look on your face, I can tell you know why the pistol didn’t kill me.”
“Bad habit,” was OB’s terse reply.
Juliet frowned. That was not the answer she thought she was going to get.
OB knew she wouldn’t understand and instead said, “Just pulling your legs.” He was smiling when he added, “The bullet jammed. And so even though I pulled the trigger, it didn’t fire.”
“Thank God oo,” was Juliet’s response. But her brother had never been a good liar. She didn’t believe a word of that explanation though she had no knowledge of pistols and guns. She let it go. She’d just come from a near-death experience. She wasn’t going to let that stand in the way of her gratitude for life. She was already rethinking the need to keep up these birthday surprises.
OB was sombre. Yet, grateful. It was a part of his being a creature of habit. He’d always carried a weapon as a security operator back then and always, always kept his guns in good, working conditions. He could clean all the weapons he carried in the period with a blindfold and his left arm tied behind his back. So, none of his weapons will ever have jammed. However, he made sure he kept the safety on. ALL. THE. TIME. And since he never fired a weapon, except for the one time he went to a firing range with a colleague, he never acquired the habit of taking the safety off. And it was this habit he didn’t have that made it possible for him to still have a sister. That kept him from fratricide.
It was a dangerous life everyone lived in the country. OB was grateful it didn’t make him go to the grave with the guilt of his sister’s blood on his hands.
- END -
Living Dangerously - Part 2
*Two hours ago*
It was a few minutes to midnight when Juliet reached the door of her brother’s residence.
She'd meticulously planned her surprise. She knew he was careful to remember and buy gifts for everyone else's birthday except his and each year she took it upon herself to create one surprising package or another. Cos, she said to herself, if she didn't, who will?
He was the only surviving family member she had. They'd lost the rest of their family when an untethered container toppled over and fell, crushing both parents and twin-sister siblings underneath. Since then, they'd kept each other going, her brother supporting her through university with proceeds from his security agency consultancy.
Last year, she'd pranked him successfully with a birthday cake waiting at the end of the prank. This year, she was going to wake him up to the sight of a cake-carrying eyo masquerade. Merely thinking of what his reaction will be gave her the trips.
“Oh, this will be so much fun,” she said to herself as she set the box containing the cake by the floor mat. She turned on the Torch app on her smartphone and using that light source, produced the spare keys to the house OB had given her in case she needed to use his place at any time.
As quietly as possible, she unlocked the door. She knew well her brother's acute hearing could pick sounds even in his sleep so, she measured her movements. The rug in the sitting room muffled her footfalls and made her movement across go inaudibly. When she got to the bedroom door, she began to think it was all a bad idea. What if he had someone sleeping over? He hadn’t mentioned any recent love interests but there was no telling. What if something went wrong? What if...
“Shhhhh!” she shushed herself. “Stop it!” It was going to work out just as planned. She'd come this far, made it from hers to his place and there was no time now, right in front of her brother's bedroom to begin to second-guess her birthday surprise for him. No. Not today.
As she set her phone and the box on the floor, there was a little sliding sound as the base of the cake inside shifted slightly. She froze, held her breath and closed her eyes. She stayed like that for a while listening for motion within the bedroom. Hearing nothing, she heaved a deep sigh. She opened the box, took the cake out by the base and removed the costume she'd folded neatly under and stood up.
In less than a minute, she was set. Lifting the cake, she tip-toed into her brother's room. She took a deep breath, bended slightly at the knees and sprang on the bed with a loud, “Happy Birthdaaaaaaaaaaay”.
To her deepest dismay, there was no OB.
Her mien dropped. She felt deflated. All the elaborate preparation was all for nought. She placed the cake on the bed and took off the costume. She sat there wondering where he may have gone. So late?
“Maybe, there's a lover in his life after all,” she mused to herself. “Hmm...” she murmured thoughtfully, “gentleman will have some storytelling for me when he returns.” she was saying as she looked around the house while walking to the kitchen. She was unconsciously looking for any telltale signs of some feminine touch in the house.
Realising that she was still using her phone for light, she made to switch on the light in the corridor between the dining room and the bedroom when she heard the distinct sounds of a key being inserted into the front door lock. She quickly moved into the kitchen to hide there.
To be continued...
It was a few minutes to midnight when Juliet reached the door of her brother’s residence.
She'd meticulously planned her surprise. She knew he was careful to remember and buy gifts for everyone else's birthday except his and each year she took it upon herself to create one surprising package or another. Cos, she said to herself, if she didn't, who will?
He was the only surviving family member she had. They'd lost the rest of their family when an untethered container toppled over and fell, crushing both parents and twin-sister siblings underneath. Since then, they'd kept each other going, her brother supporting her through university with proceeds from his security agency consultancy.
Last year, she'd pranked him successfully with a birthday cake waiting at the end of the prank. This year, she was going to wake him up to the sight of a cake-carrying eyo masquerade. Merely thinking of what his reaction will be gave her the trips.
“Oh, this will be so much fun,” she said to herself as she set the box containing the cake by the floor mat. She turned on the Torch app on her smartphone and using that light source, produced the spare keys to the house OB had given her in case she needed to use his place at any time.
As quietly as possible, she unlocked the door. She knew well her brother's acute hearing could pick sounds even in his sleep so, she measured her movements. The rug in the sitting room muffled her footfalls and made her movement across go inaudibly. When she got to the bedroom door, she began to think it was all a bad idea. What if he had someone sleeping over? He hadn’t mentioned any recent love interests but there was no telling. What if something went wrong? What if...
“Shhhhh!” she shushed herself. “Stop it!” It was going to work out just as planned. She'd come this far, made it from hers to his place and there was no time now, right in front of her brother's bedroom to begin to second-guess her birthday surprise for him. No. Not today.
As she set her phone and the box on the floor, there was a little sliding sound as the base of the cake inside shifted slightly. She froze, held her breath and closed her eyes. She stayed like that for a while listening for motion within the bedroom. Hearing nothing, she heaved a deep sigh. She opened the box, took the cake out by the base and removed the costume she'd folded neatly under and stood up.
In less than a minute, she was set. Lifting the cake, she tip-toed into her brother's room. She took a deep breath, bended slightly at the knees and sprang on the bed with a loud, “Happy Birthdaaaaaaaaaaay”.
To her deepest dismay, there was no OB.
Her mien dropped. She felt deflated. All the elaborate preparation was all for nought. She placed the cake on the bed and took off the costume. She sat there wondering where he may have gone. So late?
“Maybe, there's a lover in his life after all,” she mused to herself. “Hmm...” she murmured thoughtfully, “gentleman will have some storytelling for me when he returns.” she was saying as she looked around the house while walking to the kitchen. She was unconsciously looking for any telltale signs of some feminine touch in the house.
Realising that she was still using her phone for light, she made to switch on the light in the corridor between the dining room and the bedroom when she heard the distinct sounds of a key being inserted into the front door lock. She quickly moved into the kitchen to hide there.
To be continued...
Living Dangerously - Part 1
It was very late when OB made his way back home.
He'd made an effort to avoid late nights when stories started making the rounds of break-ins, armed robberies and mugging in the area. For someone who prioritised security, he couldn't allow himself fall victim. But the birthday party was too important to avoid and the traffic going back home was frustratingly slower than snails on nails. So every step he took towards his residence was taken pensively. He had the hairs at the back of his neck on the tip of their ends.
But he got to his door without incident. He was about to sigh in relief when his door opened after the first lock turned. That. Was. Unusual.
OB was a creature of habit. There were things he knew he'd never forget to do no matter what. They'd become so much a part of his subconscious that he did them pretty much by rote. One of such habits was locking his doors twice. This was so entrenched that when he moved into this house, he had the locks changed because each time he tried to lock them twice he realised they were of the one-lock-only variety. So, how, for everything that was unlockable, did his door open after he'd turned only one lock?
The pensiveness that was beginning to ebb returned. And it didn't return alone. This time it came with a family of waves of foreboding. He felt a tensing of his muscles as adrenaline pumped into his system. Palpitations threatened to immobilise him but he steadied himself and, moving calculatedly slowly, reached for the light switch.
The florescent tubes turned on, illuminating the entire sitting room. He glanced around. Nothing was amiss. Everything laid exactly as he left them.
He frowned deeply.
It didn't make sense. His residence wasn't broken into. The place looked untouched. Yet, his door was singly-locked? There was no way he could've done that himself. He wanted to excuse the lock issue and ease the tension he felt but a nagging feeling at the back of his mind forced him to remain highly cautious.
He looked around again. Nothing. He realised his right hand was still on the light switch in his frozen, motionless, cautious pose and his door still open. He dropped his hand and slowly and quietly closed his door, careful not to allow it make any sound except a soft click when the latch bolt keyed in. He stood there for a while trying to still his tensed frame and get the familiarity of the house that he was accustomed to.
That was when he perceived it. There was a funny smell in the house that was different. Something definitely wasn’t right after all and his presentiment was correct. He stealthily moved to the shelf just after the table next to the door. Moving two big volumes on the shelf aside, he reached for the pistol he saved for a day like this. He quickly checked for bullets and was happy it was loaded. He noticed that his hands were shaky but quickly cast away from his focus not to split his attention.
He tip-toed to the door leading from the sitting room to the dining room. Some of the light from the sitting room filtered into it and he could see that just like the sitting room, it was all clear and left the way he last used it. He listened for unusual sounds. All he could make out were his clocks, in the sitting room and dining room, ticking in tandem as the seconds went by.
He moved towards his bedroom making sure to be as quiet as humanly possible. But as he crossed the corridor between the dining and bedroom, he unbalanced his silver tray on which he arranged his flasks, tea cups and tea paraphernalia. It clanged about the ground murdering the quietness of his movements.
He cursed under his breath stopping all his motions. When the noise abated, he listened some more. Hearing nothing, he bent, dropped the pistol and tried to put the disorder aside so he wouldn’t stumble over any of them. As he set the flask down, a shadow passed between the light that was reflected on its silvery surface. He grabbed the pistol and spun around quickly but saw nothing. His brows burrowed in concentration as he held his breath and scanned the area. Nothing. Yet, he was certain he wasn't hallucinating when that shadow crossed behind him. He was positive. Too sure.
Now, more than ever, OB knew he wasn't alone. He stood up slowly. He had a feeling whoever it was knew he was suspicious of something but the person was waiting for the best time to strike him. All thoughts of how this person gained entrance into his house were gone. All he cared about now was being the one that lived long enough to tell this story.
A plan formed in his mind. He was going to bait this person. He needed to bring this to an end quickly.
Grasping the handle of the pistol firmly, he moved back to the dining room and turned on the light there. Then, he entered the sitting room and switched off the light. As he suspected, the space and darkness of the sitting room seemed to embolden the person to make an attempt on him. He sensed movement behind him as he reached behind his flat-screened Samsung TV to turn it on. He purposely didn't turn around but shuffled backwards still facing the TV. He picked the remote control with his free left hand and pretended to wait for the decoder to boot up the channels while everything in his body listened for the assailant’s attack from behind.
He felt it. He had bided his time for this particular outcome: the assailant jumped at him. He felt it. And at that exact moment, in one swift motion, he swirled around, pointed his pistol at the airborne figure and pulled the trigger...
To be continued...
He'd made an effort to avoid late nights when stories started making the rounds of break-ins, armed robberies and mugging in the area. For someone who prioritised security, he couldn't allow himself fall victim. But the birthday party was too important to avoid and the traffic going back home was frustratingly slower than snails on nails. So every step he took towards his residence was taken pensively. He had the hairs at the back of his neck on the tip of their ends.
But he got to his door without incident. He was about to sigh in relief when his door opened after the first lock turned. That. Was. Unusual.
OB was a creature of habit. There were things he knew he'd never forget to do no matter what. They'd become so much a part of his subconscious that he did them pretty much by rote. One of such habits was locking his doors twice. This was so entrenched that when he moved into this house, he had the locks changed because each time he tried to lock them twice he realised they were of the one-lock-only variety. So, how, for everything that was unlockable, did his door open after he'd turned only one lock?
The pensiveness that was beginning to ebb returned. And it didn't return alone. This time it came with a family of waves of foreboding. He felt a tensing of his muscles as adrenaline pumped into his system. Palpitations threatened to immobilise him but he steadied himself and, moving calculatedly slowly, reached for the light switch.
The florescent tubes turned on, illuminating the entire sitting room. He glanced around. Nothing was amiss. Everything laid exactly as he left them.
He frowned deeply.
It didn't make sense. His residence wasn't broken into. The place looked untouched. Yet, his door was singly-locked? There was no way he could've done that himself. He wanted to excuse the lock issue and ease the tension he felt but a nagging feeling at the back of his mind forced him to remain highly cautious.
He looked around again. Nothing. He realised his right hand was still on the light switch in his frozen, motionless, cautious pose and his door still open. He dropped his hand and slowly and quietly closed his door, careful not to allow it make any sound except a soft click when the latch bolt keyed in. He stood there for a while trying to still his tensed frame and get the familiarity of the house that he was accustomed to.
That was when he perceived it. There was a funny smell in the house that was different. Something definitely wasn’t right after all and his presentiment was correct. He stealthily moved to the shelf just after the table next to the door. Moving two big volumes on the shelf aside, he reached for the pistol he saved for a day like this. He quickly checked for bullets and was happy it was loaded. He noticed that his hands were shaky but quickly cast away from his focus not to split his attention.
He tip-toed to the door leading from the sitting room to the dining room. Some of the light from the sitting room filtered into it and he could see that just like the sitting room, it was all clear and left the way he last used it. He listened for unusual sounds. All he could make out were his clocks, in the sitting room and dining room, ticking in tandem as the seconds went by.
He moved towards his bedroom making sure to be as quiet as humanly possible. But as he crossed the corridor between the dining and bedroom, he unbalanced his silver tray on which he arranged his flasks, tea cups and tea paraphernalia. It clanged about the ground murdering the quietness of his movements.
He cursed under his breath stopping all his motions. When the noise abated, he listened some more. Hearing nothing, he bent, dropped the pistol and tried to put the disorder aside so he wouldn’t stumble over any of them. As he set the flask down, a shadow passed between the light that was reflected on its silvery surface. He grabbed the pistol and spun around quickly but saw nothing. His brows burrowed in concentration as he held his breath and scanned the area. Nothing. Yet, he was certain he wasn't hallucinating when that shadow crossed behind him. He was positive. Too sure.
Now, more than ever, OB knew he wasn't alone. He stood up slowly. He had a feeling whoever it was knew he was suspicious of something but the person was waiting for the best time to strike him. All thoughts of how this person gained entrance into his house were gone. All he cared about now was being the one that lived long enough to tell this story.
A plan formed in his mind. He was going to bait this person. He needed to bring this to an end quickly.
Grasping the handle of the pistol firmly, he moved back to the dining room and turned on the light there. Then, he entered the sitting room and switched off the light. As he suspected, the space and darkness of the sitting room seemed to embolden the person to make an attempt on him. He sensed movement behind him as he reached behind his flat-screened Samsung TV to turn it on. He purposely didn't turn around but shuffled backwards still facing the TV. He picked the remote control with his free left hand and pretended to wait for the decoder to boot up the channels while everything in his body listened for the assailant’s attack from behind.
He felt it. He had bided his time for this particular outcome: the assailant jumped at him. He felt it. And at that exact moment, in one swift motion, he swirled around, pointed his pistol at the airborne figure and pulled the trigger...
To be continued...
Tight Schedule
In the middle of his hectic day of hustle and bustle, Ako felt he needed a break. A breather for a minute will do. In his typical fashion, a break involved some social media networking to take his mind off work. So, whipping out his phone from his pocket, he headed for the door as the most recent meeting ended.
“See you in a few ticks,” he said to his office-space co-worker, George.
He didn’t hear George’s reply as he was out of earshot the next instant.
The first thing that greeted his gaze on his facebook timeline was an incendiary, tribal, invective post heavy with religious undercurrents from a friend.
He frowned, his forehead burrowing.
Not the type of virtual relaxation he had in mind when he decided to check his facebook account. I can do without this, he mused to himself. Yet, because it was this particular friend with whom he had some good memories that went way back, he decided to wade in.
He clicked the “Comment” button.
The slow internet network took its jolly while to load earlier reactions and comments. So, because he didn’t have all day to spare and had other notifications from other apps to check, he decided to commence with his perspective on the matter in his own comment on the post. Before long, just as he’d got two neat paragraphs of his contribution to the subject matter going, he looked up and saw that the reactions had finally loaded. The post was not more than 24 minutes old and had shockingly garnered 300 reactions!
His eyes bulged.
Slightly taken aback, he lost track of where he was going with his own comment. To recall, he re-read what he’d typed until then. When he caught up with his train of thoughts and wanted to continue, the initial comments loaded fully.
It was another shocker: 150+ comments.
He tried reading through a few of them when he recovered and his prior assumptions were confirmed. About 8 commenters were responsible for more than 85% of those 150+ comments. They were working like a ragtag team of paid hands. They supported whoever supported the poisonous intent of the post and went hard against dissenters with vitriol.
On a good day, Ako knew they were no match for him. All bloody 8 of them. But he just wanted to comment for his friend’s sake – the initial poster.
However, with each comment he read, he felt he didn’t have the strength today. He thought of the 4 meetings he had left for the day, the drafts seated around his table that he needed to send to 2 different clients, the slides for his Wednesday presentation before the Board and the visit to the in-laws for the morrow’s evening.
Oh no!
Much as he wished to take them all on, he shook his head. He could pick holes in their arguments and the premises via which they reached their conclusions all day – and with a pleasure he knew he’d relish. Some lines of arguments were already crystallising in his head. He’d sparred textually with two of the 8 on two different occasions in the past and took them to the cleaners for free. The rest weren’t any better. But, as he shook his head again, George tapped him on the shoulder.
“Time to meet the architects, A-boy,” George piped using his nickname.
Ako shook his head one more time to come back to the real world from the virtual.
“Right behind you, G,” Ako replied George.
Ako touched the fingerprint scanner to bring his phone screen back to life and selecting the entire text he’d composed a short while ago to post as his comment, he scrolled through the menu options that opened. He clicked “Delete”.
He surmised to himself, that he wasn’t running away. Not just today.
As he went in for the meeting with the architects, he made a mental note to send his friend - the poster - a personal message later.
“See you in a few ticks,” he said to his office-space co-worker, George.
He didn’t hear George’s reply as he was out of earshot the next instant.
The first thing that greeted his gaze on his facebook timeline was an incendiary, tribal, invective post heavy with religious undercurrents from a friend.
He frowned, his forehead burrowing.
Not the type of virtual relaxation he had in mind when he decided to check his facebook account. I can do without this, he mused to himself. Yet, because it was this particular friend with whom he had some good memories that went way back, he decided to wade in.
He clicked the “Comment” button.
The slow internet network took its jolly while to load earlier reactions and comments. So, because he didn’t have all day to spare and had other notifications from other apps to check, he decided to commence with his perspective on the matter in his own comment on the post. Before long, just as he’d got two neat paragraphs of his contribution to the subject matter going, he looked up and saw that the reactions had finally loaded. The post was not more than 24 minutes old and had shockingly garnered 300 reactions!
His eyes bulged.
Slightly taken aback, he lost track of where he was going with his own comment. To recall, he re-read what he’d typed until then. When he caught up with his train of thoughts and wanted to continue, the initial comments loaded fully.
It was another shocker: 150+ comments.
He tried reading through a few of them when he recovered and his prior assumptions were confirmed. About 8 commenters were responsible for more than 85% of those 150+ comments. They were working like a ragtag team of paid hands. They supported whoever supported the poisonous intent of the post and went hard against dissenters with vitriol.
On a good day, Ako knew they were no match for him. All bloody 8 of them. But he just wanted to comment for his friend’s sake – the initial poster.
However, with each comment he read, he felt he didn’t have the strength today. He thought of the 4 meetings he had left for the day, the drafts seated around his table that he needed to send to 2 different clients, the slides for his Wednesday presentation before the Board and the visit to the in-laws for the morrow’s evening.
Oh no!
Much as he wished to take them all on, he shook his head. He could pick holes in their arguments and the premises via which they reached their conclusions all day – and with a pleasure he knew he’d relish. Some lines of arguments were already crystallising in his head. He’d sparred textually with two of the 8 on two different occasions in the past and took them to the cleaners for free. The rest weren’t any better. But, as he shook his head again, George tapped him on the shoulder.
“Time to meet the architects, A-boy,” George piped using his nickname.
Ako shook his head one more time to come back to the real world from the virtual.
“Right behind you, G,” Ako replied George.
Ako touched the fingerprint scanner to bring his phone screen back to life and selecting the entire text he’d composed a short while ago to post as his comment, he scrolled through the menu options that opened. He clicked “Delete”.
He surmised to himself, that he wasn’t running away. Not just today.
As he went in for the meeting with the architects, he made a mental note to send his friend - the poster - a personal message later.
Just Like That
He'd been tossing and turning.
He'd moved from one cool part of the bed to the other allowing the coolness to percolate and calm the warmth of his body heat. Nothing worked. Sleep still eluded him. He'd lost sense of time and couldn't tell for how long he'd been engaged in this losing Gulder Ultimate Search for the embrace of good old sleep.
He wondered what was amiss. Had his insomnia broken free of the shackles he'd finally succeeded to fasten it with when he banished it from his life after a decade of an internecine Royal Rumble? But how was that possible? It was meant to never return. Those shackles were eternal. Were supposed to be eternal, any way. And he'd relished the relief of swinging straight to Dreamland a few ticks after his tired head hit his wooly pillows. It had been so for a while now, he no longer remembered how to deal with tossing and turning any more.
He tossed some more. Turning here and there, trying to think happy thoughts of peace and calm, willing his mind to rest and summoning the spirits of sleep.
Still ...
He exhaled loudly. Exasperation was creeping into his psyche now. He knew that spelt the end of his attempts to sleep. This was experiential knowledge acquired from those years spent fighting the anti-sleep fiends that came to eat at his precious sleeping hours. He steeled his mind against it, releasing the inbuilt forges he'd created to incinerate any and all smidgeon of exasperation immediately they began to take form.
Yet he knew. That was exactly what those demons that struggled to keep him from the embrace of sleep desired. This active state of mind to keep away the wiles of exasperation only served their purpose to the tee. It kept him from sleep more than anything else he did. They'd rather he stayed in this state than think of calm rivers, peaceful greens and idyllic forests.
He sat up.
The mild whir of the air-conditioning set and faint drone of the other electrical appliances registered in his now alerted mind. Those were the only sounds to be heard. It was that time of night when nothing stirred. That time of night when normal people slept the sleep that rejuvenated the body. When dreams were dreamt that fascinated the mind. That time of night when ...
He heard the familiar click of the wall clock in his room. It was the type that make an almost imperceptible sound when it clocks each hour. Which hour was it announcing now, he couldn't guess. Was it 3am? 4am? Midnight, even? He reached to feel for his smartphone on the bedside stool because he didn't want to turn on the lights and totally banish all hopes of eventually sleeping from his night.
As his fingers felt the phone, something occurred to him. He realised that he'd never heard that clock click at night before. He often heard it early in the mornings and on some quiet times in the evenings. But, never ever at night. And as he listened closely, it dawned on him.
It was unusually quiet tonight. Yes, very very quiet. There was power supply. And because of that, the symphony of the generating sets of varied musical compositions were deadened. Eeriely. Then, it became clear as day. That was the missing ingredient of his sleep broth. His mind had acquired a formula for battling his insomnia that mixed into the calculation the sounds of generators. It'd become a background to the concatenation of forces necessary for his peculiar anti-insomnia makeup.
With that detail absent, in vain was his struggle tonight.
He realised he was still holding his phone. As he stretched a finger to power on the screen, a certain quietness dawned all around. Yes, just like that, NEPA had struck. It was now more quiet than quiet. And as usual, the musical score was about to begin. Late though it was, it didn't take long before one generating set sound succeeded the other, adding their distinctive notes to the symphony of a lullaby.
He smiled in the dark. He could see in his mind's eye, the victory he was about to win against the ghosts of his insomnia. He dropped his phone. Stripped himself of his top and laid back on his welcoming pillows. The cool sheets caressed his bare skin. The lullaby bore him on symphonic wings.
He neither tossed. Nor turned. It was a Thursday night that felt like a Friday night thanks to the Muslims. He didn't dream of snakes or venoms. His was a sleep of tranquil blessedness. And it'll be long into the morning before he'd rid himself of sleep's embrace.
He'd moved from one cool part of the bed to the other allowing the coolness to percolate and calm the warmth of his body heat. Nothing worked. Sleep still eluded him. He'd lost sense of time and couldn't tell for how long he'd been engaged in this losing Gulder Ultimate Search for the embrace of good old sleep.
He wondered what was amiss. Had his insomnia broken free of the shackles he'd finally succeeded to fasten it with when he banished it from his life after a decade of an internecine Royal Rumble? But how was that possible? It was meant to never return. Those shackles were eternal. Were supposed to be eternal, any way. And he'd relished the relief of swinging straight to Dreamland a few ticks after his tired head hit his wooly pillows. It had been so for a while now, he no longer remembered how to deal with tossing and turning any more.
He tossed some more. Turning here and there, trying to think happy thoughts of peace and calm, willing his mind to rest and summoning the spirits of sleep.
Still ...
He exhaled loudly. Exasperation was creeping into his psyche now. He knew that spelt the end of his attempts to sleep. This was experiential knowledge acquired from those years spent fighting the anti-sleep fiends that came to eat at his precious sleeping hours. He steeled his mind against it, releasing the inbuilt forges he'd created to incinerate any and all smidgeon of exasperation immediately they began to take form.
Yet he knew. That was exactly what those demons that struggled to keep him from the embrace of sleep desired. This active state of mind to keep away the wiles of exasperation only served their purpose to the tee. It kept him from sleep more than anything else he did. They'd rather he stayed in this state than think of calm rivers, peaceful greens and idyllic forests.
He sat up.
The mild whir of the air-conditioning set and faint drone of the other electrical appliances registered in his now alerted mind. Those were the only sounds to be heard. It was that time of night when nothing stirred. That time of night when normal people slept the sleep that rejuvenated the body. When dreams were dreamt that fascinated the mind. That time of night when ...
He heard the familiar click of the wall clock in his room. It was the type that make an almost imperceptible sound when it clocks each hour. Which hour was it announcing now, he couldn't guess. Was it 3am? 4am? Midnight, even? He reached to feel for his smartphone on the bedside stool because he didn't want to turn on the lights and totally banish all hopes of eventually sleeping from his night.
As his fingers felt the phone, something occurred to him. He realised that he'd never heard that clock click at night before. He often heard it early in the mornings and on some quiet times in the evenings. But, never ever at night. And as he listened closely, it dawned on him.
It was unusually quiet tonight. Yes, very very quiet. There was power supply. And because of that, the symphony of the generating sets of varied musical compositions were deadened. Eeriely. Then, it became clear as day. That was the missing ingredient of his sleep broth. His mind had acquired a formula for battling his insomnia that mixed into the calculation the sounds of generators. It'd become a background to the concatenation of forces necessary for his peculiar anti-insomnia makeup.
With that detail absent, in vain was his struggle tonight.
He realised he was still holding his phone. As he stretched a finger to power on the screen, a certain quietness dawned all around. Yes, just like that, NEPA had struck. It was now more quiet than quiet. And as usual, the musical score was about to begin. Late though it was, it didn't take long before one generating set sound succeeded the other, adding their distinctive notes to the symphony of a lullaby.
He smiled in the dark. He could see in his mind's eye, the victory he was about to win against the ghosts of his insomnia. He dropped his phone. Stripped himself of his top and laid back on his welcoming pillows. The cool sheets caressed his bare skin. The lullaby bore him on symphonic wings.
He neither tossed. Nor turned. It was a Thursday night that felt like a Friday night thanks to the Muslims. He didn't dream of snakes or venoms. His was a sleep of tranquil blessedness. And it'll be long into the morning before he'd rid himself of sleep's embrace.
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