Flash Fiction: Falling

“Temisan.” Mother whispered.
“Temisan wake up.”
I reluctantly opened my eyes and saw she was out of the bed, looking out through the window.
“My God.” She said.
“Mama what is it?”
She came over to my side.
“Remember son, you must be strong at all times.”
“Mama what’s going on?”
She pushed me under the bed and told me to stay quiet. I heard footsteps coming slowly towards our room and the door was flung open. Someone came in but I couldn’t see who as the light was off in Mama’s room.
“Agatha!” A raspy male voice called.
“Why are you here?” I heard her say.
“My son. I am here for him. He has been away from me for too long.”
“Never! I won’t let you take him. He won’t become irresponsible like you.”
I heard a slow chuckle coming from the stranger. He advanced towards her and grabbed her by her neck.
“Temisan run!” Mama called out.

As if pushed by some force, I sprinted from underneath the bed and found myself running towards the open front door. A gun shot sounded behind me and I hesitated.
But run she had said. So I ran towards the main road.
“Temisan!” The street seemed to echo.
Exhausted, I crouched on a path by the side of the road. In a blink of an eye I was falling, down into the dark. Falling into the unknown. My feet landed with a splash and I became aware of the walls around me. I was in a well.
“Mama!” I screamed.

“Mama!” I muttered.
“Were you talking to me?” Ik asked.
“Not at all.”
“I thought you said something.”
I shook my head and turned my attention back to the control panel of the aircraft I was flying in front of me. The blue sky seemed a bit dull today and it was probably because of the harmattan weather. It made it easy to manipulate the aircraft though.

Then my eyes saw it. My heart skipped a beat.
“Ik!” I shouted.
My co-pilot Ikeoghene turned towards me.
“Was this aircraft refueled yesterday?”
“I don’t know. I’m not in charge of that.”
“Oh my God! Ik this craft has hardly any fuel in it!”
The body of water underneath us was almost making me hyperventilate.
“Chimo!” He exclaimed.
“What do we do now?” I wondered, my heart starting to beat fast.
“There should be parachutes in the supply trunk.”
“So we jump out?”
“There’s no other choice. We can’t make it.” He gestured towards the red light blinking under the fuel meter.
I put the craft on autopilot, my heart racing now. Oh my God. I’m going to die.

“Temisan have it.” Ik handed me a parachute. The red light was blinking faster now and the plane was starting to swerve.
“Temisan let’s go!”
“I can’t do this. I’m hydrophobic.”
“I can’t stand water.”
“You be officer like this?”
Ik pulled open the emergency exit open.
“We have less than 10 seconds.”
“Ik I can’t do this.”

Then came flashes of memories.
The gunshot resounding.
Temisan run!
The walls of the well closing in.
Mama! I’m drowning.
Is anybody there?
It’s that boy from the house down the street. His father shot his mother and himself you know.
A missionary is adopting you.
I want to be in the air force.
Mama! I’m drowning.

“Temisan let’s do this. The plane is on fire!”
“I can’t. I’ll fall to my death.”
“Come on. I’ve got your back.”
“You’ll leave. Just like Mama did.”
“Oh boy I’m not going to leave you.”
He grabbed my hand and counting to three, we jumped out.
In the free fall, the wind hit my face and I could feel freedom and a faint voice like Mama’s
“Temisan face your fears.”
But I was falling.
Falling but free.


Happy Mothers’ day! The best part of posting on this blog is getting your feedback and comments. What are your thoughts about this post?

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Flash Fiction || Head Quarters

head quarters fiction

“Jerome don enter!”

“Run for your lives!”

Wigs were grabbed, underwear retrieved as each of the seven girls struggled to vanish from sight.

“Where’s Hanifa?” Light skinned Chinwe asked me when we were back safely in our rooms, panting from the race we just had up the stairs.

“Chisos!” I had totally forgotten about the 16 year old new intake. I said a quick prayer against Jerome on her behalf.

“I’ll fetch her,” I said as I hurried back outside only to catch a glimpse of her with Jerome. He was smiling at her and she was smiling back sheepishly too. Next thing his right hand was on her arm, resting there casually. I cursed silently and walked towards them.

“Jerome how na?” I hailed.

“Philo! I’m good o! You no tell me say you have new catch here na.”

“This one is not for business,” i said and beckoned to Hanifa to go indoors. She left reluctantly, batting me an annoyed look. I turned back to Jerome who was looking at her lustfully.

Oh no, I groaned in my mind.

“Why are you here?” I queried.

He threw his head back in laughter. His teeth were stained yellow with tobacco and looked like an abandoned wicket chair.

“What do you do here?”

I rolled my eyes and hissed.

“No be head quarters this place be?”

I gave no answer.

“Is that not the name of this establishment?” He added as he moved closer to me, so close I could smell his alcohol ridden breath. he reached out for my waist and I struggled for freedom.

Read more of Head Quarters fiction here. Sorry guys, I need your views to make more money. Yes you read that right. In case you’re good at writing and want to make impact and cash while at it, check out the website. They are currently recruiting in-house writers.

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Poetry || Loved You

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t into you
Going crazy over hearing your voice
Every time I hear your stutter,
My body emerges,
It yearns,
And it urges
To feel your embrace;
To taste you,
Feel you
But my heart caves in
Like your dimples
And there’s a big hole in my chest
Like the gap in your teeth.
I’m in love with the thoughts of us,
The kisses we shared on those nights,
The heated touches
And our bodies pressed into each other.
The glances you shoot in my direction
When we’re in the presence of company
And I know I can’t replace it.
It hurts that you don’t see
But I wish I’d be lying if I said I loved you.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t into you
Stumbling over words at the sight
Astounding I find you
Frenzied at your touch
Addicted like a junkie
To the thought of you
And I’d be lying if I said I loved you
My heart is a howling wolf
Head raised and throwing caution to the wind
Hair flying and toes curling
I am in love with the low moans
My arching back
The whirlwind blowing the curtains
I see these other couples
And imagine we were one
Perhaps we could be
But I’d be lying if I said I loved you.

– Smallee x Dammy

Yet another collaboration with my good friend Smallee. Drop your comments or questions about this piece below. The best part of posting here is getting your feedback and comments. What are your thoughts about this post?

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7 Super Tips For Writers

Hi readers!
Welcome to yet another blog post. How are you today? Great I hope. Could you kindly fill out this survey for me. Thank you!

A couple of people have asked the question “What’s the difference between writing and blogging?” From my own point of view, blogging is a form of writing. In blogging, you compose a post and share in the bid to reach an audience which is the same as writing.

writer and books

As shot by @peteralawode

I read a post on Adaeze’s blog about how she was tired of blogging and a post was linked to that where she found motivation. As a writer/blogger, there are times you’d feel tired or experience writer’s block but you have to think of the reason you started blogging in the first place to keep you going. I shared 5 super tips for bloggers back in May. Here are 7 super tips for writers:

1. Develop your own niche. As a writer you should find a niche that is easy for you to write about. Something you love or that you are passionate about as it would be easy for you to stay motivated. Also, don’t compare yourself with others. I have been a victim of this several times but I just shake it off now as my life is different from these people’s lives.

2. Develop your own point of view or story. There’s a lot going on in the world right now that could be an inspiration for you. Write about it as you see it. Figure what you can bring to the industry and no one can.

3. Be authentic. Be passionate. Focus on what you truly want and what you’re good at. Then work hard at it.

4. Don’t appeal to everyone. Set a target audience. Although this is not compulsory, you should target a set of people you’re writing for. Is it just Nigerians or West Africans? Or teenagers? Or graduates? The heart broken? Target an audience.

6. Appreciate your readers. It’s all about your reader and fans. They can make or break you.

7. Be patient. I’m keeping these two words in mind. Patience is a virtue some people lack. However, a good writer is made from practice not just having talent of writing. You can’t just write your first draft and expect it to be a hit. Experience makes you better just like age makes wine taste better. When publishers are not coming forth, be patient.

Sooooo, these are bits that I have found useful. Which of them do you find useful? Have you got any other indispensable tip you follow as a writer? Share below. The best part of posting on this blog is getting your feedbacks and commments. What are your thoughts about this post?

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Sidney The Man Sheldon

sidney sheldon tell me your dreams

I read my first paperback copy of Sidney Sheldon’s in 2005 which was “Tell me your dreams”. I remember reading the book late into the night with a lantern because it was that intense and I couldn’t drop it. The book tells the story of a lady who is a murder suspect with multi personality disorder which was quite intriguing. Sidney has to be one of the most sensational writers ever. This present day I have read about 15 of his works. In fact, he was famous in the movie scene too before he died.

If you have read books by and love authors like James Patterson, John Grisham and co., you will definitely love Sidney. He’s the seventh best selling fiction author of all time. Amazing! What makes his books so great? The plots, the themes, the twists, the suspense. A regular story could have a background from way back in the main character’s childhood. It’s quite rare to predict correctly the ending of a Sidney Sheldon’s book. He was quoted as saying “I try to write my books so my readers can’t put them down.” Pure determination and he achieved that.

sidney sheldon

Enough with the appraisal. I think Sidney’s books should be read by everyone as they teach life lessons varying from the business world, to law, to medicine, to entrepreneurship, to entertainment and others. And upcoming writers should try and learn from him. Apart from “Tell me your dreams”, my favorite Sidney’s book is “If tomorrow comes”. Totally mindblowing book!

I’m always looking out for more great authors. Kindly recommend some below, would be grateful! Read any of Sidney’s book yet? Who is your favorite thriller/crime/mystery author? Which is your favorite book and why? Let’s talk in the comments ?

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Poetry || Tabula Rasa

I stood there without the need for thought, my eyes ignorant of the wonders that unfolded before them

I have eyes everywhere,
call me the all seeing.
Yet ignorant my eyes remain. Perhaps if I could see beyond the supernatural,
it’d be easier to fill the pages before me.
Easier to write my own fate.

What is my fate? Am I to wander the earth nameless, faceless without a place to call home?
Is it in supernatural that I reside?, Is it heaven above or hell beneath
The all seeing eye torments and judges my path but refused to guide me
There’s a light at the end of the tunnel they say.
But I see only that reflecting on the book before me.
Yet I still can’t see!
Shall I dwell in these page then?
Find a name for myself amidst these chapters?
Will the chapters show me the truth?
Or will it take me on a journey of thirst and hunger until I cannot protest I accept the emptiness as whole?
Does the light hold paradise or is it just that, a light?

I’d ask another fellow for help
But aren’t we all lost?
In the same search for a place to call home
A light to dwell on?
Perhaps I’m bound to this emptiness
Like the pages of this book
I sigh and pick my pen

And feed it’s inordinate need
My blood, it runs on my vein’s brew

The essence sustaining
How hard can this be
I had thought
Saying is easier than doing they say
Now I am a believer

But I don’t believe, in blank stares and empty whispers
My religion is cold, tangible
So cold my blood stays from its incessant March through my veins

©Jamie x Dammy

So I joined a group of wacky creatives called The Bloque and I have to say it’s great getting to relate with them. This resulting poem of an impromptu collaboration talks mainly about the journey of life. Seeing poetry from another angle and overall I hope to be a better writer. Check out our twitter page @our_bloque

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Flash Fiction: Lagos Palaver

Flash fiction is a fictional writeup consisting words not less than 100 words but not more than 500.

“Ojota! Ojota! Enter with change!”
I shifted the luggage in my left hand to my right. Lord knows it was heavy and I wanted to sleep. However I had to hold on. Father’s warning rang in my head.
“Lagos is a dangerous place. Don’t trust anyone.”
When the bus eventually got filled up, I settled next to a decent looking guy who was dressed in plaid shirt and jeans.
“Excuse me, I’m dropping at Ojota. Could you let me know when we get there?”
“Sure.” He mumbled.
Assured, I dropped off to sleep. When I woke up with a start shortly, my bag was nowhere to be found. Nobody claimed to have seen the bag and the guy beside me was said to have alighted a bus stop we just passed. Lagos for you!

P.s: Anticipate! Something big is dropping tomorrow. Can you guess what it is? ?

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Poetry || Yearning

Famished pages and arid ink
are what I’m left with
I want you. Thoroughly.
Deplete, replenish my paucity
Fill my emptiness
Make sober this drunkenness
You took more than a piece of me
With you the day you left now I see
It was cold
because you made it so
The coolness from deep inside your soul

You were gone before I asked you to stay
to stay for one more day
So much distance between you and I
I question myself why
Would have written a symphony,
sung in harmony
But these words scribbles my pen
Think about me, us and then
I yearn for you
and it is true
I am but a blank book,
fill me with your words
My voice is hoarse
I have called out to you
day and night
with all my might
The way back home I hope you remember
For you to come back to me, I will wait January till December.

©Ajibike O

This poem was written for Imisioluwa. When he told me he was anchoring a poetry show on a radio station in Abuja and wanted me to write something for him, I was glad until he told me the topic. Yearning for a lost lover.

I find it difficult to write about things I can’t feel. Took me about two weeks to cook this up and I’m glad to say that challenge made me slightly better. Perhaps challenges make us better persons. However I couldn’t listen to the show though. Have you ever had the cause to yearn for something or for a lover before? Do share in the comment.

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