S.A. David's Blog, page 10
May 24, 2014
2015 by S. A. David
The following is a steal from 2015 by S. A. David to be released on January 3, 2015. Enjoy it and critique it.
Chapter OneSEMPER CRESCIS. AUT DECRESCIS. VITA DETESTABILIS. NUNC OBDURAT. ET TUNC CURAT. LUDO MENTIS ACIEM….The tinkling, tootling and clanging of Era’s The Mass emanating from a Nokia 6233 laying on the bed shelf was William Iniovo’s telephone ring tone. He was fast asleep on the bed with hands in between his thighs, experiencing some hard on and licking his lips. He sure was deep-kissing a dearly delightful damsel in his afternoon dream.Dreamland stole his body into orgasm such that whosoever dashed into the room and saw his sleeping posture would beg to taste the forbidden fruit – even a nun would renounce the sacrament of holy orders, give the sacred Jesus a kiss-off and pray five decades of the rosary beads just to let her suck his nipples; even a frigid woman would become a nymphomaniac.Eventually William sighed like God did at Alcheringa and this time the Nokia 6233 was singing Era’s The Massfor the fourth time.Era’s The Masstransfigured the sonic atmosphere in William’s room to that of St. Peter Basilica’s on the morning of the Solemnity of SS. Peter and Paul; coupled with the AC and the romantic lighting of the room, it’s a recipe for the angels of God to sing a non-stop Hallelujah. His dopy eyes located the 6233 and his left hand reached for it as his pollex punched the answer key without checking for the caller ID.“Hello.” He ejaculated.“Good afternoon. Hope I didn’t break your siesta?”On hearing the caller’s voice filtered into his 6233, he gleaned it was Bimbo Deji pumping more money into the purse of the telecommunication firm.“Not really,” he said “just woke up.”“Did you dream of me?”“Oh Bimbo,” he chuckled.Bimbo was playing the Women’s game of security confirmation. Checking if her man still has some soft spot, the first feeling. Women are insecure, most especially with handsome dudes as their men. Delving into Bimbo’s past, she’d had five boyfriends. William, sixth. Femi was her first love and removed the flower from her vase. She broke up with him because he also plucked off Jane’s flower, her best friend’s. When Bimbo got to know, it was a dynamite explosion. Bimbo and Femi were SS2 pupils at a very prestigious secondary school at Ibadan.Her second boyfriend was Kayode. No, Kayode shouldn’t be printed on her book of boyfriends because what they had was a fling. He was her boyfriend anyway.Chika followed suit during Bimbo’s first year in the University of Benin. Chika loved Bimbo with all his heart but all Bimbo could absorb was infatuation.In her second year, chemistry had to change test tubes and she fell, like a pack of cards, for Norbert, a Direct Entry student who had joined them in their second year. Norbert’s white teeth were the bait that magneted Bimbo and her next phase was in her third year. She really needed a scholar to put her through some academic load and she found a tender in Lurdspence, a bookworm. Bimbo cannot forget Lurdspence in a hurry because their sex life was a mixture of foreplay, brainstorming and essay writing.Her final year saw the death of Lurdspence. He was hit by a blast when he went to pay his parents a visit in the far northern shores. And then came William on the scene. He had been flinging the girls, unintentionally though. What does one expect? A handsome face; sexy and unobvious biceps; sexy lips; sexy hair and his neatly-shaved side beard. Infact, he puts the s in sexy.Moving away from his mundanefeatures, William is a poet, an intellectual and a man with prospects. You know the sort of man who makes his presence felt in a hallful of people even though he says nothing, and when he speaks conversation stops? That’s the kind of man. He inspires love, affection and he induces a kind of awe. This is enough to bring Hilary Rodham Clinton and Genevieve Nnaji to kiss the ring, if there was one, on his fourth finger. This is the type of man every woman wants to be at peace with all the days of their relationship existence. And Bimbo was playing that security card.“What,” she filtered into the phone “then did you dream of?”“I guess it was a dreamless sleep.”Both laughed. “Don’t tell me you just called to check on me?”“Our NYSC call up letters are ready,” she sang “we should get them tomorrow.”“Reliable source?”“www.nysc.gov.ng” replied Bimbo.“Shows you’ve been busy with QWERTY.”“And you’ve been busy with some night emissions.”William’s eyes rolled and fell on his abdomen region and saw the map that had been cartographed on his white boxers with D&G emblazoned on the waist band – his gray translucent semen was the ink. At this moment he wondered if Bimbo was some descendant of Deborah the Prophetess.“Night emissions?” He cried.“O’ course yes,” she smiled.“Thoughts and actions are in the heart of the one doing the conception.” He laughed.“See you tomorrow.” She said “Same here.”Dialogue ended and he returned the 6233 to its origin, yawned and stretched his flesh and his heart began drilling through his ribs. This was a moment of truth for not just him but all Nigerian graduates who have been mobilized for the National Youth Service Corps, or NYSC.The nation is grappling with a security threat – the Jama’ atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda awati wal-jihad, or Boko Haram. All Nigerian graduates have gone before the supreme being for fortification. Catholics are crying through the BVM; Anglicans have remained loyal to King Henry the eighth; other protestants have believed their prophets; Eckankar trust in the light and sound; Buddhists walk on the eight–fold path; Witnesses trust in Jehovah; Muslims prostrate before Allah in total submission and the various ATR adherents are offering respectable sacrifices. One thing is evident, God’s ears are ajar to their requests and will do his best to ensure that they are not deployed to the Northern shores of Nigeria where corps members are turned to corpses and a gruesome trail of carnage is left behind.
GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO. ET IN TERRA PAX HOMINIBUS….This Vulgar Latin chant sprung from a Nokia N95 sleeping in the pocket of Father Richard Emenike while he knelt before a prototype of the Crucified Christ.There was none beside him in the chapel. He was alone.“Et cum spiritu tuo.” He replied.He was wirelessly engaged with a representative of the College.The college’s representative wanted to know on a need-to-know basis the fixture of events for their long-anticipated dream’s realization.He fed the college with the procedures, proceedings, process and progress.Before they hung up, he requested more paper-mints to make their world go round; and the college promised a wiring from the Cayman Island.
ONLY SERIOUS CANDIDATES SHOULD COME AND HOLLA. YOU DON’T IMPRESS ME ’COS YOU DRIVE A HUMMER....This scintillating opening of Tiwa Savage’s Kele Kele was reproduced from an Apple 4S32 sitting on the glass table. Ogechi Jonathan was in an Abuja hotel room fixing her property inside her luggage. She answered the call via the BT device which hung on her right ear.“Salam Aleku.” The caller said with a beautiful Hausa accent.“Aleku Salam.” She took a deep breath because this time was one in a series of moments of truth. It was 2:30 PM. Her liver, kidneys and aorta were gasping for relief. “Your call-up letter is ready. You proceed now to the NDHQ of the NYSC to receive it.”“Yes sir.” Motionless she was like Moses was when he received the Decalogue. They hung up and her hands were shivering as adrenaline hit her nerves like espresso. The room was calm. She continued her previous chore as various thoughts were ringing via her veins. Ashen she became.
HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH. HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH. FOR THE LORD GOD OMNI….George Frideric Handel’s Hallelujah chorused from an F700i which was on the table in Doctor Nonso Chigozie’s office.She hurried away from her sash window to the other side of her expansive desk where the F700i laid. The ring tone was in its twenty fourth second before she took the call.“Yes I’ve got it but won’t let go ’til all clause is met.”She paused and listened as a voice filtered into the F700i and then filtered into her cochlea.“Will be waiting.” She said.They hung up.The look on her face was a blank one. But one thing was sure. She was not being modest.
IF YOU ASK ME? NA WHO I GO ASK? THE MATTER WHEY WE SEE SO, E TAY WHEY E START. NO BE ME GO TALK AM…. Omawunmi Megbele’s If You Ask Me screamed from the Blackberry Bold 9900 exhibiting itself on the couch. Bimbo reached for the remote zapper and turned down the volume of the LCD which displayed NTANews24.Her pollex punched the dial of the 9900 “Hello,” she ejaculated.“Hi Bimbo.” He replied.Kayode, Bimbo’s second experiment of the boyfriendism of her life, was the caller. They had met again via Facebook and he had made sure they consolidated contact via BBM and also pressed on to ensure that they follow each other on Twitter. Kayode envisages a reunion but Bimbo seems to have closed that chapter.But boys will always be boys.“Have you collected your call-up?”“No.”“You?”“Yes.” “Really?” she said “Where’s your state o’ deployment?”“Rivers.” He said.“Wow. Oil city,” she said “I’m so happy for you. Now I wish to be in your shoes.”Yes, God has heard the cries of Kayode and his heart desire met.“You know UNIBEN,” she said “and her bureaucracy is to the strictest. As rigid as our constitution. Protocol is her first name. But I should be getting mine tomorrow after the briefing of prospective corps members.”Kayode, the University of Calabar graduate has scored a goal. Yes, he believes Bimbo will acquiesce someday, somehow and somewhere.“Best wishes” Kayode replied “I’ll call you tomorrow.”“Thank you.” Bimbo breathed.They hung up and Bimbo’s eyes entered into a trance. Lost in thoughts, she went into a fantasy: William and she were deployed to Lagos and they lived happily ever after, relationship-wise. She seized herself from Dreamland and looked reality in the eyeball. Yes, some times, the best way to fight reality is with a little fantasy, but reality will always win. But Bimbo is ready, this time, to take her destiny in her hands and fight reality – even if it means redeploying from her state of deployment to join William in his, even if it’s in the northern ends of Nigeria. Could this be love?She caressed the remote zapper and fixed her eyes on NTANews24 as she waited for mummy, daddy and sibling to return.
MERCY SAID NO. I’M NOT GONNA LET YOU GO. I’M NOT GONNA LET YOU SLIP AWAY….The chorus of Cece Winans’ Mercy said No exploded from a Motorola RAZR V and Reverend Sister Elizabeth Olarimi’s hand dropped her pen and her pollex punched the dial.“M.” The caller said.“B.” She replied with her soprano.“O.” The caller continued with his bass.“A.” She replied with her beautiful soprano.“V.” Said the caller.“And the last shall be first.” She grinned.She knew who the caller was and vice versa.“Package number two is from the first and has been investigated and watched. Manipulation phase underway.”I’d let padre know.”They hung up. She smiled, crossed herself, raised her pen and continued writing.
Chapter TwoSEVEN O’ CLOCK A.M., FRIDAY, TWENTY EIGHT, JUNE, TWO THOUSAND AND TWELVE.Like a school of whales, the Samuel Ogbemudia Sports Complex of the University of Benin was packed to overflowing. First degree graduates in their almost uncountable numbers littered the complex like water filled the earth at creation. Voices jumped out from every nook and cranny of the venue. Gucci, Prada, Louis, Fendi and Aba-made footwear scratched against the earth each time the seconds hand of the clock ticked.
Every youth jostled for a vantage position. Their hearts skipped many beats while their nostrils embezzled every air they could. Quarrels were born as the machos usurped the effeminates’ positions. Others, the modest ones, bowed their hearts to their God and spoke prayers in their hearts. They hoped the NYSC had deployed them to a land not just filled and flowing with milk and honey but safe from the evil-unleashing of the Jama’ atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda awati wal-jihad. The ….
Chapter OneSEMPER CRESCIS. AUT DECRESCIS. VITA DETESTABILIS. NUNC OBDURAT. ET TUNC CURAT. LUDO MENTIS ACIEM….The tinkling, tootling and clanging of Era’s The Mass emanating from a Nokia 6233 laying on the bed shelf was William Iniovo’s telephone ring tone. He was fast asleep on the bed with hands in between his thighs, experiencing some hard on and licking his lips. He sure was deep-kissing a dearly delightful damsel in his afternoon dream.Dreamland stole his body into orgasm such that whosoever dashed into the room and saw his sleeping posture would beg to taste the forbidden fruit – even a nun would renounce the sacrament of holy orders, give the sacred Jesus a kiss-off and pray five decades of the rosary beads just to let her suck his nipples; even a frigid woman would become a nymphomaniac.Eventually William sighed like God did at Alcheringa and this time the Nokia 6233 was singing Era’s The Massfor the fourth time.Era’s The Masstransfigured the sonic atmosphere in William’s room to that of St. Peter Basilica’s on the morning of the Solemnity of SS. Peter and Paul; coupled with the AC and the romantic lighting of the room, it’s a recipe for the angels of God to sing a non-stop Hallelujah. His dopy eyes located the 6233 and his left hand reached for it as his pollex punched the answer key without checking for the caller ID.“Hello.” He ejaculated.“Good afternoon. Hope I didn’t break your siesta?”On hearing the caller’s voice filtered into his 6233, he gleaned it was Bimbo Deji pumping more money into the purse of the telecommunication firm.“Not really,” he said “just woke up.”“Did you dream of me?”“Oh Bimbo,” he chuckled.Bimbo was playing the Women’s game of security confirmation. Checking if her man still has some soft spot, the first feeling. Women are insecure, most especially with handsome dudes as their men. Delving into Bimbo’s past, she’d had five boyfriends. William, sixth. Femi was her first love and removed the flower from her vase. She broke up with him because he also plucked off Jane’s flower, her best friend’s. When Bimbo got to know, it was a dynamite explosion. Bimbo and Femi were SS2 pupils at a very prestigious secondary school at Ibadan.Her second boyfriend was Kayode. No, Kayode shouldn’t be printed on her book of boyfriends because what they had was a fling. He was her boyfriend anyway.Chika followed suit during Bimbo’s first year in the University of Benin. Chika loved Bimbo with all his heart but all Bimbo could absorb was infatuation.In her second year, chemistry had to change test tubes and she fell, like a pack of cards, for Norbert, a Direct Entry student who had joined them in their second year. Norbert’s white teeth were the bait that magneted Bimbo and her next phase was in her third year. She really needed a scholar to put her through some academic load and she found a tender in Lurdspence, a bookworm. Bimbo cannot forget Lurdspence in a hurry because their sex life was a mixture of foreplay, brainstorming and essay writing.Her final year saw the death of Lurdspence. He was hit by a blast when he went to pay his parents a visit in the far northern shores. And then came William on the scene. He had been flinging the girls, unintentionally though. What does one expect? A handsome face; sexy and unobvious biceps; sexy lips; sexy hair and his neatly-shaved side beard. Infact, he puts the s in sexy.Moving away from his mundanefeatures, William is a poet, an intellectual and a man with prospects. You know the sort of man who makes his presence felt in a hallful of people even though he says nothing, and when he speaks conversation stops? That’s the kind of man. He inspires love, affection and he induces a kind of awe. This is enough to bring Hilary Rodham Clinton and Genevieve Nnaji to kiss the ring, if there was one, on his fourth finger. This is the type of man every woman wants to be at peace with all the days of their relationship existence. And Bimbo was playing that security card.“What,” she filtered into the phone “then did you dream of?”“I guess it was a dreamless sleep.”Both laughed. “Don’t tell me you just called to check on me?”“Our NYSC call up letters are ready,” she sang “we should get them tomorrow.”“Reliable source?”“www.nysc.gov.ng” replied Bimbo.“Shows you’ve been busy with QWERTY.”“And you’ve been busy with some night emissions.”William’s eyes rolled and fell on his abdomen region and saw the map that had been cartographed on his white boxers with D&G emblazoned on the waist band – his gray translucent semen was the ink. At this moment he wondered if Bimbo was some descendant of Deborah the Prophetess.“Night emissions?” He cried.“O’ course yes,” she smiled.“Thoughts and actions are in the heart of the one doing the conception.” He laughed.“See you tomorrow.” She said “Same here.”Dialogue ended and he returned the 6233 to its origin, yawned and stretched his flesh and his heart began drilling through his ribs. This was a moment of truth for not just him but all Nigerian graduates who have been mobilized for the National Youth Service Corps, or NYSC.The nation is grappling with a security threat – the Jama’ atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda awati wal-jihad, or Boko Haram. All Nigerian graduates have gone before the supreme being for fortification. Catholics are crying through the BVM; Anglicans have remained loyal to King Henry the eighth; other protestants have believed their prophets; Eckankar trust in the light and sound; Buddhists walk on the eight–fold path; Witnesses trust in Jehovah; Muslims prostrate before Allah in total submission and the various ATR adherents are offering respectable sacrifices. One thing is evident, God’s ears are ajar to their requests and will do his best to ensure that they are not deployed to the Northern shores of Nigeria where corps members are turned to corpses and a gruesome trail of carnage is left behind.
GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO. ET IN TERRA PAX HOMINIBUS….This Vulgar Latin chant sprung from a Nokia N95 sleeping in the pocket of Father Richard Emenike while he knelt before a prototype of the Crucified Christ.There was none beside him in the chapel. He was alone.“Et cum spiritu tuo.” He replied.He was wirelessly engaged with a representative of the College.The college’s representative wanted to know on a need-to-know basis the fixture of events for their long-anticipated dream’s realization.He fed the college with the procedures, proceedings, process and progress.Before they hung up, he requested more paper-mints to make their world go round; and the college promised a wiring from the Cayman Island.
ONLY SERIOUS CANDIDATES SHOULD COME AND HOLLA. YOU DON’T IMPRESS ME ’COS YOU DRIVE A HUMMER....This scintillating opening of Tiwa Savage’s Kele Kele was reproduced from an Apple 4S32 sitting on the glass table. Ogechi Jonathan was in an Abuja hotel room fixing her property inside her luggage. She answered the call via the BT device which hung on her right ear.“Salam Aleku.” The caller said with a beautiful Hausa accent.“Aleku Salam.” She took a deep breath because this time was one in a series of moments of truth. It was 2:30 PM. Her liver, kidneys and aorta were gasping for relief. “Your call-up letter is ready. You proceed now to the NDHQ of the NYSC to receive it.”“Yes sir.” Motionless she was like Moses was when he received the Decalogue. They hung up and her hands were shivering as adrenaline hit her nerves like espresso. The room was calm. She continued her previous chore as various thoughts were ringing via her veins. Ashen she became.
HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH. HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH HALLELUJAH. FOR THE LORD GOD OMNI….George Frideric Handel’s Hallelujah chorused from an F700i which was on the table in Doctor Nonso Chigozie’s office.She hurried away from her sash window to the other side of her expansive desk where the F700i laid. The ring tone was in its twenty fourth second before she took the call.“Yes I’ve got it but won’t let go ’til all clause is met.”She paused and listened as a voice filtered into the F700i and then filtered into her cochlea.“Will be waiting.” She said.They hung up.The look on her face was a blank one. But one thing was sure. She was not being modest.
IF YOU ASK ME? NA WHO I GO ASK? THE MATTER WHEY WE SEE SO, E TAY WHEY E START. NO BE ME GO TALK AM…. Omawunmi Megbele’s If You Ask Me screamed from the Blackberry Bold 9900 exhibiting itself on the couch. Bimbo reached for the remote zapper and turned down the volume of the LCD which displayed NTANews24.Her pollex punched the dial of the 9900 “Hello,” she ejaculated.“Hi Bimbo.” He replied.Kayode, Bimbo’s second experiment of the boyfriendism of her life, was the caller. They had met again via Facebook and he had made sure they consolidated contact via BBM and also pressed on to ensure that they follow each other on Twitter. Kayode envisages a reunion but Bimbo seems to have closed that chapter.But boys will always be boys.“Have you collected your call-up?”“No.”“You?”“Yes.” “Really?” she said “Where’s your state o’ deployment?”“Rivers.” He said.“Wow. Oil city,” she said “I’m so happy for you. Now I wish to be in your shoes.”Yes, God has heard the cries of Kayode and his heart desire met.“You know UNIBEN,” she said “and her bureaucracy is to the strictest. As rigid as our constitution. Protocol is her first name. But I should be getting mine tomorrow after the briefing of prospective corps members.”Kayode, the University of Calabar graduate has scored a goal. Yes, he believes Bimbo will acquiesce someday, somehow and somewhere.“Best wishes” Kayode replied “I’ll call you tomorrow.”“Thank you.” Bimbo breathed.They hung up and Bimbo’s eyes entered into a trance. Lost in thoughts, she went into a fantasy: William and she were deployed to Lagos and they lived happily ever after, relationship-wise. She seized herself from Dreamland and looked reality in the eyeball. Yes, some times, the best way to fight reality is with a little fantasy, but reality will always win. But Bimbo is ready, this time, to take her destiny in her hands and fight reality – even if it means redeploying from her state of deployment to join William in his, even if it’s in the northern ends of Nigeria. Could this be love?She caressed the remote zapper and fixed her eyes on NTANews24 as she waited for mummy, daddy and sibling to return.
MERCY SAID NO. I’M NOT GONNA LET YOU GO. I’M NOT GONNA LET YOU SLIP AWAY….The chorus of Cece Winans’ Mercy said No exploded from a Motorola RAZR V and Reverend Sister Elizabeth Olarimi’s hand dropped her pen and her pollex punched the dial.“M.” The caller said.“B.” She replied with her soprano.“O.” The caller continued with his bass.“A.” She replied with her beautiful soprano.“V.” Said the caller.“And the last shall be first.” She grinned.She knew who the caller was and vice versa.“Package number two is from the first and has been investigated and watched. Manipulation phase underway.”I’d let padre know.”They hung up. She smiled, crossed herself, raised her pen and continued writing.
Chapter TwoSEVEN O’ CLOCK A.M., FRIDAY, TWENTY EIGHT, JUNE, TWO THOUSAND AND TWELVE.Like a school of whales, the Samuel Ogbemudia Sports Complex of the University of Benin was packed to overflowing. First degree graduates in their almost uncountable numbers littered the complex like water filled the earth at creation. Voices jumped out from every nook and cranny of the venue. Gucci, Prada, Louis, Fendi and Aba-made footwear scratched against the earth each time the seconds hand of the clock ticked.
Every youth jostled for a vantage position. Their hearts skipped many beats while their nostrils embezzled every air they could. Quarrels were born as the machos usurped the effeminates’ positions. Others, the modest ones, bowed their hearts to their God and spoke prayers in their hearts. They hoped the NYSC had deployed them to a land not just filled and flowing with milk and honey but safe from the evil-unleashing of the Jama’ atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda awati wal-jihad. The ….
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