Welcome to Oluwafineboy's Jotter

Lets continue from where we stopped yesterday... Spending nights in prison was never his ideal nor, the vision he’d ever dreamt of, Yet he felt entrapped not by the grungy walls, the flying mosquitoes, the humming crickets, or by the iron bars. Then what was? He knew the answers, he sensed the answers long, long time , but he doubted the truth. It is  said that the truth is bitter but his wasn’t bitter it was destructive and unimaginable. He had gone through series of questioning and battering, all for the truth, Mr Sola the investigator was already getting tired, he saw it in his eyes that he pitied for him, but he needed no pity. So the battering continued, questioning continued, nothing less, but all increased. He was bruised, his soul wept, there wasn’t any tears in his eyes, because he’s soul kept weeping while he’s blood from his body kept gushing out. Mr Sola had asked the Policemen to lock him up in the cell. Since he couldn’t get the truth out from him. “ By t

 Barrister Henry wasn’t in the ward with us, he had excused us.   “Beverly, I’m sorry that fate turned out this way, I’m sorry my family ruined yours, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you needed me the most, I’m sorry, I’m just a boy trying to be good, but ended up in a despicable act.” I don’t believe in spirits, but I believe in God as a supreme being. I don’t believe in Ghost stories. But it seems I’d be saying a whole lot of thanks to them. Or let me say, I’m grateful to God for being Just by revealing the truth.   “What are you saying Chigozie? Beverly asked ”    “What I’m trying to say is this, Dad had gone to the police station reporting himself, as the traitor behind the horrible fate that befell us, he was no longer himself when I saw him, he pleaded for mercy, he confessed, Mum ghost had been disturbing him. He could no longer take it. At first I was angry at Mum, for being so desperate, and trying to sell you off, by negotiating with the Soldier, Mr Ken Osita to ra

It made sense now, it all made sense now, He smashed his hands against each other. “Argh! He busted out as he rolled on the prison floor.” He tried killing the soldier but ended up killing his mother. The soldier tried raping her, he wasn’t even sure if he succeeded, all he knew was he heard Beverly screaming Until he heard no more.… “Young man, your life is in your hands. Choose one, destroy it or forever be happy with your life, which will you choose” Mr Sola eyes bulged out as though, trying to frighten me. But I wasn’t frightened. “Damn it boy!  I’m trying to help you… can’t you see what’s at stake here. Why did you kill you mother? What were you doing in the room of Mr Ken Osita?” Why was your cousin, the daughter of late Mr Johnson laying unconscious? What had gone wrong that night? Talk to me!!” Please… …… It was time, the plea was the surge I needed. So I presented the broken piece of my life to Mr Sola. ……. “What a pathetic story boy”

It was Saturday, I was done with my chores, which were, fetching water from the well, sweeping the parlor and room. Lacing my boot before I head out to the field to play soccer. Dad’s phone began ringing.   “Hello” “Yes, I be Nnamdi, wetin happen?” “Chineke!” “Ewo…. Ewo!” “Ogini?” Mum asked. “Dad what is it? I asked confused” “Jerry” “Sir” “Chigozie” “Sir” “Your Uncle and Aunty just get accident” “Ehh!!!... Chineke me! ……. Life is funny isn’t it? Yeah it is, he bluffed and smiled, as he tried leaning on the prison wall. But it became ridiculous, when he stumbled on the truth. Beverly Parents were dead and buried. The accident that took place was indeed fatal. Beverly Johnson  had become an orphan, just in a twinkle. She began living with us. She had to adapt, for two years, when she’d be twenty years of age, to inherit her Father’s assets, it was willed so, and so it was. She was the only heir, and that left Dad and Mum too creepy. I was

A boy was going for a walk. It was a Wednesday, Jerry was supposed to be in school just as his peers were, but things were no longer the same at home. Beverly his cousin was in coma and  his dad had become a drunk, his Mum, a nagging wife. Nothing seemed right anymore. So he decided, to take a stroll. Hoping it'd ease off the pain and anger he felt within. Two streets away from home, he heard a gun shot, three gun shots ; At the building where he was resting. The gate seemed to be ajar, so he walked in trying to figure out what had happened. He met his Mum lying helplessly in cold blood, someone had shot her, he tried running after the one who had shot her, but he had lost whomever it was, he went straight into the rooms searching, there was no one, except for himself and his dead mother. Her body had become all cold, how  did he get here in the first place? he wondered. There were sounds from afar, someone was in the house. "Jerry... " " Wetin happen ? &quo

The world is familiar with word'' Service ''. I don't mean to talk about the gathering of a congregation for worship that is; church service. The service I'm talking about is that which means 'An act of being of assistance to someone.'  it can also mean, 'The state of being subordinate to or employed by an individual or group'. Well today, I'd be talking about two kinds of Service. They are both spelt the same way but have a great disparity when looked at closely. What does it mean to serve?   To serve means To have a given use  or purpose; to function for something or to do something. Everyone born in to this world has a purpose, for you to have a purpose, you must be able to serve.  So what does it mean to Serve?  The response in your head might say to serve will mean to do what is needed to be done or play a function or role to someone or for something.  But the truth is  we get it wrong. There is a Service and a Great Service. A serv

I see his gait Steaming and welling  inside of him Like the vapours of a rulpting volcano Ready to burst It must be pride It can't be humility 'Not one called to be a leader For I've seen one Just like him, who never did end well His words like balls Rolls out only in public Colored in highs And do's Like a trophy he claims to be golden But the shadows of his words Leave a stench Only the wise ones can interpret Beware of his lies' 'As deserting as the water that touches your skin by the Bank. You must beware   For such aura comes With a price of a fall So lowly to the mud It can only be pride Not humility. Your Gait Wriiten by Ogri Mathilda Sarah All rights reserved