The Chick's Demise by Makinde Damilola

“Seun,” my mum called. “Come and throw this dirt into the bin for me.”

I ran to the kitchen, hoping to get back fast to the cartoon I was watching on television. I collected the dirt in the basket and raced outside our unfenced house. When I got to where our central waste bin was, what I saw almost made me scream.  I saw a Mother hen feasting with her newly hatched chicks. Believe me, I had a phobia for cocks and hens generally, and that fear was aggravated with the abhorred sight of the hen and its chicks. I retraced my steps and thought of what to do. The cartoon was ongoing, I had to dispose the dirt, but the hen was ready to attack me if I dare neared it, believing that I wanted to hurt its chick.

Pensive, an idea popped up in my mind, I picked up a stone, to scare it away, but instead it ferociously cackled, opened its wings in an attempt to attack me. I was so scared that I shed a little urine in my pants. Just then, I summoned a bit of courage, stood back and hurled the stone at it, not to harm it but to scare it away. Alas! The unexpected happened; it hit one of its chicks and it wriggled, wriggled and wriggled before heeding death’s clarion call. I had killed a chick not ours. Even the cartoon I wanted to get back to, had escaped my mind. Just then, a mischievous thought crossed my mind and I immediately carried it out by disposing the chick together with the dirt. I ran back inside feeling safe and smart.

MALARIA by Tejuoso Olamide Mary

Mustn't you quit, O’ mosquito?

A malignant chase I'll give you this day,

for my skin you kissed with probing lips;

               you laid your hunger-stricken limbs on me               

and profusely drank out of my red wine

to infuse ‘iba’ into my armless system-

this evil shall not go unpunished,

you and your likes, be damned!

                                

My blood flows in its veins infected

all thanks to your sensational venom

my skin bloated from the scratches

you graciously but selfishly built on me-

for this great evil,  I detest forgiveness,

you and your likes, be damned!

The loathful liquid you skewered

spreads freely and rapidly like a waterfall;

my throat sore, head hurts all night;

my joints ache; my body trembles

yet I shall never submit to your will,

and if you think you have won this fight

in the pit of lies and deceit- defeat awaits.

You and your likes, be damned!

Malaria,

beware! I have conspired with your foe – herbs,

and the boxy net has agreed to be my guide-guard:

henceforth, trouble head mine no more,

you shall  work-up my heart beat neither.

Oh, rejoice o stomach, for the end to hunger comes

for I have conquered you, malaria…

You and your originator, be damned!

*Iba – Malaria

Biography

Tejuoso Olamide hails from Abeokuta in Ogun State. She loves reading, researching and writing. She is an aspiring journalist who believes in the philosophy of ‘writing to right’. She presently studies Communication and Language Arts in the University of Ibadan.

Art is the Heart by Famuwagun Festus

Some time ago, there was a disagreement in an eminent family. World, the father  had just titled himself  The Body and wanted his wives, Science and Arts and the children, human beings, to choose for themselves anything in the body they deem fit to be their title.

                Everyone saw themselves as being important. Hence, their zealous quest for an enviable title. Science was the first to talk.

“Being an inevitable member of this family, I’ll like to be called The Nose.”

“Mum, the ear is more important,” one of the children opined.

“You need your nose for respiration,” Science replied.

“Not necessarily!”  He argued, “One can also breathe through the mouth.”

Seeing how disputable her stance was, Science agreed to be called The Ear.

“If I go deaf, you can still communicate with me,” countered another.

Argument from various angles saturated the room like a gaseous substance. Every child became vibrant in debating over which is more important – the nose or the ear.

                “Alright, I shall be called the eyes,” Science resolved.

There was no argument this time. Everyone agreed that sight is of great use. Then, Arts, who had been silent all along said, “I choose to be called the heart.”

 Pin-drop silence ensued. Science was displeased. Although, she hadn’t thought of it, she believed the title was hers.

                “How can you choose to be the heart?” She shouted in anger.

Arts seemed unperturbed and others remained quiet. Then, she walked out in anger.

                For weeks, Science raged so much that home became hell. “That name is mine” was all she kept saying. Everyone was uncomfortable.  Art was concerned but there was nothing she could do. She felt she was really the heart and, giving it up was tantamount to disposing one’s identity.

                All effort to pacify her was futile. So, World decided that both wives should go and live with their parents in another planet for six months.  This won’t run concurrently because he wanted to determine who truly the heart was. 

                Science went first. She was terribly missed but it was soon discovered that she was not indispensable. Almost all her constituents were replaceable. In the absence of automobile; aircraft and ship, foot, animals and canoe were used for transportation. Herbs were used in place of medical care. Traditional means substituted many scientific means.

                Soon, it was Arts’ turn.  Languages for conversation were declared missing. Music, theatre and other dramatic arts became extinct. Records of history were gone.  Even literature and philosophy could not be seen and sensed. Painting, sculpture and other handcrafts that used to make world beautiful were unavailable. Art was indeed indispensable.

                World, the father, became dull. Human beings, the children, were uneasy. Even science was really incapacitated. There was no means to display talent and dexterity. Everything became redundant. After just two weeks, all - including science -   called for Arts’ return.

                Science’s absence was colossally felt; Arts’ was indispensably missed. Everyone therefore accepted that Arts is The Heart.      

Biography

Famuwagun Festus was born in the 90’s in Kaduna state, Nigeria. At present, he is a first year student of the University of Ibadan where he studies Communication and Language Arts. As a prospective author, Festus’ delight is rooted in writing stories. He also sometimes dabbles in poetry.

Poetry : In Her Prime by Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom

Photo credit: Olasubomi Cole, BeautySplashAfrica & Bunmi

The breeze swirls around her elegant gait;

a dance to the rhythmical beats composed

in the studio of her youthful figure –

echoes of the timeliness of her comeliness.

In her prime,

the doors of admiration, once stiff,

are flung open for eyes- mine, theirs

to explore the treasures buried beneath

the soil of her sacred being.

In her prime,

her beau hews the stone of death

for infidelity, his desires pollinated-

alienated from treachery's lustful calls.

In her prime,

her structure, structured like a sonnet,

screams God's dexterity - an artifact,

proudly displayed in God's showroom –

incandescent!

In her prime,

this question, a Messenger's icon,

pops up on the screen of thoughts,

'When her prime elopes with time,

will her beau still be for her?'

Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom, who has authored two poetry collections, The Light Bearer and Punctured Silence, studies in the department of Communication and Language Arts, University of Ibadan. His works have appeared in diverse global anthologies, magazines, websites and blogs.

The Beauty in Arts by Aladesuyi Seun

Frank Lloyd Wright said, “Art is a discovery and development of elementary principles of nature into beautiful forms suitable for human use”. When art is mentioned, most people restrict it to just drawing and painting in their mindless minds – a narrow way of viewing arts. Art is life itself. It is a sine qua non for humanity’s sustenance. Art is put to use in the simplest and most complex of ways. For instance, the crafty combination of colours on our clothes to give a pleasing appearance depicts how simple but indispensable art is to humanity.

Have you ever paid close attention to the aesthetic state of nature? Have you ever read a book that touched the inner core your soul? Have you ever seen a page on a website and the design intrigued you? All these border on arts. In the education sector, higher education to be precise, arts is paramount as it encompasses other notable departments varying from theatre arts, graphic designs, creative writing, music, languages and others. The beauty of being a student or product of arts is beyond description. You tend to appreciate things better and dexterously influence your society.

Art meets our psychological needs. A student having a bad mood can just listen to music and feel happy. This is as a result of the beauty in arts. Inspirational books have been known to cause positive change in the lives of people and inspire them to achieve their dreams.

Scientists also appreciate arts as being essential to life. After experimenting, they use arts to pass their message across through images. Inventors employ arts to create beautiful designs that attract attention. Even in mathematical patterns, physics and chemistry diagrams, there are elements of arts.

More so, art creates a channel for the expression of emotions. According to Thomas Merton, “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.” Art has helped most people to find their path and bearing. Also, once you appreciate arts, you lose yourself in its beauty.

The beauty in arts and humanities can’t be expressed. 

Art makes life colorful. You see a better world when you see the world through arts. Elbert Hubbard said ‘Art is not a thing – it is a way.’ A way of expressing emotions, a way of touching people’s lives, a way of passing messages, a way of gaining self-satisfaction, a way of earning a living and a way of making everything beautiful. It is of little surprise that God was encouraged to create the world when he saw the beauty in the art he has created. In the Bible, Genesis 1 verse 49, ‘And God saw the light, and saw that it was good.’ The beauty in arts made the world today.

Biography 

Aladesuyi Seun Oluwatimilehin hails from Akure in Ondo State.  She is passionate about maximizing her writing potential. Despite being a student of Communication and Language Arts, University of Ibadan, she dedicates some of her time to watching movies and reading novels thereby striking a balance between education and entertainment.

Clouds of Courage by Bamidele Seth Oluwadamilola

The early morning breeze

Tapped my rusty door;

On my bed I lay being stirred

By the silent symphony of the sun rising

Suddenly, I hopped out of bed like a frog

To behold what the day held in its wry arm.

I fell off the rock like a waterfall

Only to walk on a quicksand

Left with no choice – damned

I beheld the river of hope,

Foolhardy; I jumped into it.

The storm of adversity spiraled down from hell

Retreating, I saw the bear of doom behind

Jaw dropped, blood dripping from its monstrous mouth

Nearer and nearer, it came

Thirsty for blood, hungry for flesh

Fear circulated through me like current.

Frozen, I summoned all my resolve to fight fate

I have all but nothing to lose; I either die or die

Death with an unbowed head would be epical.

Rains of strength dropped on me

Pains of fear evaporated

Soothed by the sun’s smile

Clouds of courage enveloped me.

I tackled fate right at the 18 yard.

Life’s referee waved play on… fair play

I dribbled with dexterity as I beheld the goalpost

With a powerful shot, I hit the net of success.

I was celebrated, but scarred

I was elevated having deflated the balloon of fear

I became a hero,  

I fought the battle from Z to H.

 Biography

Bamidele Seth Oluwadamilola is a God-fearing, promising, young writer who hails from Ilero, Oke-Ogun, Oyo State. He studies Communication and Language Arts at the University of Ibadan. He loves reading, playing football and public speaking.  He is an essayist who sometimes dabbles in poetry.

A Wonderful Night by Tomiwa Adeosun

Photo Credit: Olasubomi Cole

 Rolling up the windows' blinds,

I shoot a gaze into the distant night,

enslaving my eyes to pulchritude;

the meek moon and the showy stars

welcomed me to join their jocund fiesta.

Rat-like creatures with leathery wings

flew slyly towards the East;

restless, big-eyed creatures

croaked from the dams while

the night resounded the crickets’ chirping,

to the delight of the glowing fireflies.

I wheeled my eyes out of the window,

into a funnel-shaped garden,

the sight of which made me gleeful

as big almond fruits shone in the silver moon.

I peeked out of my window,

on a knightly night -

Oh! What a beautiful world!

Oh! What a celestial world!

Biography

Adeosun Tomiwa hails from Ilesha, Osun State, Nigeria. He expresses his creativity via writing and drawing. He is presently studying Communication and Language Arts at the University of Ibadan where he hopes to fully optimize his potential.

Elements of a Great Photograph by Femi Kuti

“A photograph is not an accident – it is a concept,” said Ansel Adams, a U.S photographer. A good photograph is like a well-written story – it presents information that is free of clutter and distractions. The following are the elements of a great photograph:

I. Good photographs are well exposed

 

Light is the heart of photography. Therefore, a good photographer must be versed in the use of light metering, must be able to perfectly control the three elements of exposure (aperture, shutter speed and film speed) and must be adept in flash photography. A poorly exposed photograph will never make a great photograph.

   

 II. Good photographs evoke feelings

A good photograph stirs up emotions in the minds of viewers by capturing the prevalent atmosphere of a story. Is the story about happiness or sadness? Does it portray determination, contentment or feeling of horror? It is essential that the photographer decides the emotion he wants the image to evoke before releasing the shutter.

III            Good photographs tell stories

The major difference between photography and photojournalism is the fact that photography presents an image of a subject or an object while photojournalism attempts to make that image tell a story. Whether a photojournalism piece displays a sport event, an accident scene or an award, the photograph must tell a story to the viewer before he/she reads the article.

IV. Good photographs say something about life

A good photograph shows more than just how something looks; it presents an image in it aesthetic quality. A truly good photograph says  something about life itself. Cute animal pictures, beautiful landscape view and the likes have enormous appeal because they tell us that life can be playful, beautiful, innocent and full of life.








        V. Good photographs are well composed

 “There is a vast difference between taking a picture and making a photograph,” said Robert Heinecken. The overall quality of your photograph is a function of how carefully you arrange your subjects or elements in the picture. This careful arrangement or pleasing selection is known as composition.

Composition is the artistic aspect of photography, unlike exposure which is scientific, here; the creative ability of a photographer comes to play.

Biography

Femi Kuti, who hails from Ogun State, teaches Photojournalism at the prestigious University of Ibadan. As a photographer with ample years of experience, he has garnered high praises from photography critics over the years. He holds B.A and M.Sc degrees in Mass Communication.

The Hands of Time by Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

I am the captain of my soul.

(Culled from William Henley’s Invictus)

***

The hands of time often wriggle free of our pitiable ‘had I known’ to heed fate’s audible callings. Perhaps, the past cannot be rewound for correction to have its way; only the present can be molded as clay. As humans, we are victims of regrets invented by past actions and inaction – I am not excluded from this lot. Read my story first before conceiving any fallible assumption in your inquisitive mind.

***

Having completed my Junior Secondary School in a private institution as a high-flyer, I proceeded to Federal Government College, Ikirun to further my education. For me, it was a crossroads where I ought to decide my fate by choosing a department among Science, Commercial and Arts since it wasn’t possible to combine the trio. Being quite brilliant, Science was the undisputable option. Moreover, my four elder siblings had set the trend of studying in the field of Science. I was, therefore, eager to maintain the status quo, and not be an unworthy exception.

During the course of study, I realized Science was a colourful mistake; an error facilitated by fascination. I had no liking for mathematical calculations. Similarly, Physics and Chemistry were my nightmares. For three good years, I was condemned to study these subjects that continually sapped my happiness of strength. While my grades were satisfactory, and I experienced little or no challenges getting promoted to the next class due to my ‘retentive and recalling’ ability, my brain shrank in wits, and my esteem was badly wounded. I was no longer a high-flyer, just a regular student.

Resolute, I made up my mind to follow my passion, that is, arts. But first, I must have that despicable ‘B.Sc.’, I concluded. I wrote my final exams with fear trailing my dreams. I applied to study Applied Geology at Federal University of Technology, Akure in my Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination (UTME) registration form. When the result was eventually released, success clung to me. Contrarily, my Senior Secondary Certificate Examination (SSCE) result tarnished my hopes. I had credits and distinctions in subjects including my nightmares, but Mathematics was an outcast. A pass was the best I could get from its worst.

Nevertheless, I remained undaunted. I was willing to give my all to acquire higher education. I went back to the drawing board; Arts had to be then not later. I started making preparations to take Arts O’ levels without any intention of enrolling in any school or tutorial. I doubled as a teacher and student – a reflection of Abraham Lincoln’s self-education.

Few months later, my resilience and diligence were rewarded – I had passed arts o’ levels and life’s tests on self-discovery.

***

With the knob of time turned clockwise, the present captures me seated in my room, in the University of Ibadan, writing this story as an assignment assigned to a creative writing class by my amiable lecturer, Dr. Yinka Egbokhare.

If I could turn back the hands of time, I would have initially followed my heart and not be a wanderer in the wilderness like the Israelites discussed in Exodus. If I could turn back the hands of time, I would have discovered myself early enough to make up for the eternally lost years. If I could turn back the hands of time, this story would be breathless. 

Kolade Olanrewaju Freedom was born in the early ’90s in Osogbo, the capital of Osun State, Nigeria. As a child, Kolade fell in love with African literature which inspired his passion for creative writing.His literary works have appeared in such diverse publications as global charity anthologies, magazines, websites and blogs.

In 2013 Freedom was selected as a Pentasi B. World Featured Inspirational Poet, an international honor based in the Philippines. He is also the winner of the first edition of UK’s Write, Share, Be Read Poetry Competition-Category A as well as an awardee of the Janet P. Caldwell’s Essay Contest, underwritten by Inner Child Press (USA).

Kolade has authored two poetry collections, The Light Bearer and Punctured Silence. He currently studies Communication and Language Arts at the University of Ibadan.

Short Story: Ofada Kitchen by Yetunde Oyelude

   

    

  Demilade kept stamping his feet on the ground in a soundless but frustrated manner. The lecturer in the room, obviously oblivious to his agony, was lecturing the class on the intricacies of human cell division. He cared less and heard less. His attention only responded to the awful growling noise his flat stomach was making. He was terribly hungry, and he couldn't wait to get the hell out of the lecture room to a nearby canteen. He frantically glanced at his wrist watch for the umpteenth time. He was still twenty minutes away from leaving the lecture room. Damn it! He gave a frustrated sigh before taking a quick glance at the entrance door for the sixth time .Yes, he was that famished and God knew he couldn't wait to get out of the hellish situation.

*               *              *

        All the dirty dishes, the endless servings, the ever obnoxious and annoying customers, capped with a nagging boss, were enough reasons for Adesewa to be at her ends wit. She was officially sick of ofada kitchen. All she thought of as she served a plate of rice, beans and boiled egg for a customer, was a way she could quit her job. She only sought for a job at the University College Hospital because she needed some money as a first year student in the University of Ibadan, but now, she was over it. She would rather be a broke freshman than be a suffering rich-man. 

        "I said plantain, not egg!" The irritated customer before her exclaimed, pulling Sewa out of her pool of thoughts.

          Her hands shook clumsily as she replaced the egg with slices of plantain, simultaneously apologizing to the customer. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." While doing that, she prayed her boss wasn't watching the drama.

          "Sewa! What is wrong with your brain!" It was too late. Her boss had seen the scene. "Why did you serve a customer egg instead of plantain? Do you want to drive all my customers away? Fool!" Sewa's eyes literally had ‘upset’ inscribed on them. She was fed up with the woman. "Sorry jare, customer. She has always been so clumsy. Please, don't be angry." Madam ofada apologized, in between fake-smiling at the customer and rolling her eyes saucily at Sewa.

         The next customer was an angry one and he wasn't smiling at all, but even with a frowning face, the dude was cute. Sewa was stunned way beyond words. He was dark-skinned, slightly built and tall. His glossy lips, of peach color, were adorable. The lab coat he wore perfectly fitted him, and Sewa felt as though she had never met a medical student in their lab coat for the past eight weeks that she had been working at the canteen. Damn, he was a hot doc. to be.

          "Hello? Are you deaf?" Sewa was sent out of her reverie by the customer's howling voice. She blinked her eyes severally like an apprehended pilferer before she got a hold of herself.

          "I'm so sorry, what do you want?" Sewa asked stupidly.

            Demilade eyes darted in disbelieve with his mouth agape. He was shocked. He couldn't believe she didn't hear him despite how angrily loud his voice sounded while requesting for food. "You didn't hear what I said before?" He asked incredulously.

    Grabbing a plate quickly, Sewa nodded slowly, looking like a fool. Demilade couldn't believe someone could be so dumb. He was too hungry to waste his waning energy on her poor composure.

      "A plate of jollof rice, egg and plantain."

      "How much for each?" Sewa inquired.

      "Just give me a plate of food and tell me my bill." Demilade replied, irritated.

        Sewa was annoyed by his indignant irritation, so she replied him similarly. "Mr. Man, you need to tell me the amount of food you want to buy; I can't dictate that for you."

         Demilade was fed up with the attendant, so he had no choice but to do her bidding. The instance he grabbed his food from her, he didn't even glance back at her, and for some reasons, it hurt her feelings. 

        "Douchebag."  Sewa muttered to herself while she keenly watched Demilade grab a seat.

        

         Throughout the time that Demilade ate, Sewa kept stealing glances at him while attending to customers. She found it hard to believe that someone could look so beautiful and still be that rude. Assessing the way Demi ate, she knew the poor guy was only playing to hunger’s gallery.

           Few minutes later, Demilade happily approached the food stand. Sewa quickly readjusted her posture and for some unknown, stupid reasons, her heartbeat synchronized with his footsteps.

          "My change…" Demilade said haughtily.

          Sewa chuckled and sexily rolled her eyes.  "So, are you okay now?" She asked sarcastically.

         "Excuse me?" Demilade asked, not quite sure of what she meant.

          "Your tummy, hope it’s okay now?"  She asked drily, gesturing towards his stomach.

           Realizing what she meant now, Demi took a look at his stomach, then at her, and then, flashed a smile for the first time. Shocked, Sewa's heart literally ceased to beat. She had never seen a guy smile so divine.  Her heart immediately warmed up to the smile.

        "Hello?" Demi said, waving his hands at her. "Are you there?"

         Sewa stuttered awkwardly as she tried reentering the world of reality. "Sooo...soo....so...ory. You said?"

       Demi could not explain what was wrong with her brain psychologically. So he folded his arms and studied her for a moment. For the first time, he noticed her innocent looking wide eyes that made her look like a baby. He found them odd but beautiful. He also took note of how her eyebrows were naturally alluring likewise her luscious lips. Oh Demi, you're crazy, he whispered to himself as he struggled to erase Sewa's face from his head.

          "Hello?" Sewa said, waving at Demi's face. Ironic, it was her turn now, and she had no idea what was running through his mind.

       "Huh?" Demi said, looking like the fool now.

        "Here's your change." Her right hand was already extended to him.

         "Oh, thanks." He collected his change from her and made sure his hand brushed hers. The warmth that he felt from that brief contact was ineffable.

         "See you next time." Sewa said, smiling and at the same time wondering to herself if she still wanted to quit her job. Quit, and you will never see him again, her inner voice told her.

        "Yeah, see you next time," Demilade replied, already fantasizing about another memorable meeting with the attention-luring attendant.

        As Demilade turned to leave, he became paranoid, and wondered if he would really see Sewa again. He was in one of his medical classes when another Sewa-thought sneaked into his mind.

       ‘Fool! You didn't even get her name,” He thought aloud, slapping his cheek-like head. Having realized he forgot to ask of her name, he became awfully scared. However, what scared him more was the fact that this canteen girl was doing something (weakening) to his stoic heart. Something not experienced before. “God, just who the hell is she!”

Biography

Yetunde Oyelude, an indigene of Ogbomoso, Oyo State, loves watching movies, singing and reading novels. She is a prolific writer with an unpublished novel to her credit. She studies in the department of Communication and Language Arts, University of Ibadan.

Short Story: Of Love and Woes (Part 1) by Akindeji Ola

“Here I stand

Arms open wide

I have held you close

Kept you safe

Till you could fly…”

           

Those lines kept playing back and forth in my head as I made my way through the crowd in search of my soon to be ex-girlfriend, Aisha.

***

I had met Aisha, a fair-complexioned girl of Fulani descent on my first day in the University of Ibadan. The earth literally stopped for me to feast my eyes on her inconsumable beauty.  Stunned, my knees quivered like a leaf caressed by the wind. My jaw dropped and my mouth formed an ‘O’. My legs threatened to divorce my body, but I played ‘the man’ and managed to pull myself together like a string.

“My name is Toba,” I said as I walked up to her extending my hand for a shake with the hope of feeling the coziness of her palm.

“You don’t offer a lady a handshake,” was the sharp reply.

She turned and left, smiling mischievously, leaving me rooted to the spot with my hand still hanging in the air. I slowly withdrew my hand and let it drop into my pocket while I watched her curvy hips swing from left to right like a pendulum. I was dazed by her haughtiness. How could she treat me like that? I was good looking, neither deformed nor smeared by shit, I thought. I shrugged my shoulders and left for my room.

On the way to my room, images of Aisha turning and flashing me a smile kept flashing through my mind.

“She was flirting with me,” I shouted subconsciously.

Thankfully, nobody else was around. I walked back briskly to my room to plan how to get this paragon of beauty. She was just too beautiful for me to let her slip through my fingers like palm oil. I racked my brain for any idea, but none came. I didn’t get anything from her or let me say she didn’t let me get anything from her. No phone number, BBM contact, I could not even get her name. Was I predestined to just meet this girl and not get to know her? If I was, then God must be the orchestrator of infatuation.

Since I didn’t have any clue on how to reach her, I decided to put the matter to rest by dying momentarily.

I was awoken by the nagging sound of my alarm at 7:30am the following morning. I quickly took my bath, dressed up and hurried off to my first class.

“Excuse me, coming through…”

The voice sounded familiar, I turned around and I saw Aisha running breathlessly towards the lecture theatre. I was elated.

“I was not destined to lose this girl,” I muttered under my breath.

I stopped at the door, bringing myself to face her. Our eyes exchanged words our mouths failed to express when we first met. The foggy atmosphere had been interrupted by the rays of the fully-risen sun. Our love tale began like the tossing of a coin.

To be continued…

***

Biography

 Akindeji Ola is a young writer who hails from Modakeke, Osun State, Nigeria. He presently studies Communication & Language Arts at the University of Ibadan where he hopes to hone his craft as a creative writer.