Seven years ago when he had started the book, he was sure it would be done in three months. But the inevitable, life, hit and disrupted the flow of things. After he lost his family to an accident, life trickled down the hill and there was no true devotion to his vocation but the thoughts of the book never left his mind. There were years he wallowed in depression, especially the early years after the accident. He still tried to write but almost never wrote anything. About two years ago, he thought he was in love and through the drama with Sharon, he still tried to write. About four months ago, a few months after the break-up, he picked his manuscript to track his progress. His peers said he was archaic for still writing on a notebook. It is just stressful, they had said. From how far he had progressed, he sensed the end was near. He wrote dedicatedly since Sharon wasn't there to distract him with her tight curves. She would knowingly Pop into the library in voile gown, looking through the shelves like she meant to pick a book than sway his concentration.

Through the crescent and full moons and numerous sunrise, he wrote and with the boost of Alcohol his idea blossomed gracefully. And not long, he wrote the last full stop and was sure it was it. The feeling that surged in him was as intense as ejaculation. That momentary inexplicable feeling of bliss. He reached for the bottle of whiskey beside the book and poured a glass before leaning on the backrest. Droplets on the whiskey escaped the side of his mouth and trickled down his bewhiskered jaw and were absorbed by his yellow t-shirt. He sipped again and smiled wide and his gaze locked on the opened notebook. This was the tenth hardcover note whose pages were eaten by the novel. The remaining nine lodged in the top right corner of the shelf beside him. He was now in the hardest phase of writing; the second draft, where he would type and improve the story with new ideas, where he would flesh the character and add new traits.

While his thoughts jumped around, he couldn't help but notice that very slightly, the table accommodating the book, whiskey and lamp vibrated but stopped almost immediately. His heart skipped as he thought the vibration heralded an earthquake. He took a second look and saw that the brown liquid in the bottle was vibrating, no, the table was still vibrating but slightly. He jolted off the chair and would have gone farther away if he wasn't stopped by the wall. The glass fell off his hand and its content was absorbed by the rug. The vibration graduated and it was only the table that performed the action, the shelves and ground beneath his feet remained stable. The whiskey tipped off the table but cushioned by the soft rug, the bottle didn't break. The lamp attached to the table danced with the rhythm of the vibration and its bulb brightened until it busted and splintered glass around. He flinched. The leaves of the book, which started to glow magnificently, flipped itself, undisturbed by the vibration. At the top right corner of the shelf beside the table, the other nine books started to glow too.

The pen cracked in Myike's grip and sweat dotted his forehead. He kept pushing against the wall, wishing he could pass through. It felt like he stood inches from fire and this temperature was generated by the glowing book which was steps away from him.

Although the glow hurt his eyes, he watched the book until it counted to its last page and closed itself. Only then did the table stop vibrating, the book continued glowing. He wanted to run around the table and gun out of the library but fear pinned his legs to the floor. The glow from the book hurt his eyes but he couldn't advert his gaze. He stared hard and hoped the burn in his eyes would project his mind back to his body.

There is more to the mind than what is known, a voice came and it took Myike a while to know that it was from the book. As the writer, he knew which character's voice it was. Was the book talking to him?

"You finally figured out."

The voice was that of Mi Lurdy, the arrogant king of Obanta, the man whose concubine gave birth to the antagonist, the man who trained the antagonist and made him what he was. But when the time came to perform the ritual to grant the boy his final blessing, Obinna, the protagonist cut off Mi Lurdy's arm which could bestow the power and hid it away forever.

"Now, whenever someone reads this book, I would be in their mind reliving my fears." Mi Lurdy's voice, as Myike had intended it to be, was thick and slow.

Myike wanted it to be a dream, one in which he finished a book and it started glowing and talking to him. He heard footsteps in the book; of bare feet slapping the stone floor, he heard the low panting and noiseless sobs of the runner. His collar was now soaked in sweat and the pen continued to suffer in his grip. But on hearing the footsteps, knowing who it was, he became at ease, not wholly but he stopped pushing against the wall. He accepted he couldn't pass through but if a book was talking to him, why not?

The runner was the queen, Mi Lurdy's wife and she was running through the palace's stone hallway. This was her first and only attempt to kill Mi Lurdy's son. A knife was in Ajuaku's grip as she scurried through the dimly lit corridor. Her black hair was ruffled from the previous scene with her maid, the black eyeliner around her eyes were distorted by tears. The boy who she had tried to kill was named Chifunka. A name said to be tied to the soil. A name whispered to Mi Lurdy by the gods; that on seeing the infant's pure dark skin; the color of a burnt kettle and yellow eyes, the word spilled from his mouth. Chifunka was visibly different. Later, when Chifunka became a man, his deep dark skin or eyes that glowed in the dark, pointed him out in a crowd.

Myike remembered writing that scene; of Ajuaku going to kill Chifunka. That was the period his muse left and his block started. That year, he was just there, mind void, wallowing in self-pity and cried every day but he still tried to write.

"Oh Jure," Mi Lurdy said, "Iheoma never left, she never left and it's partly because of that we have come to be."

In the book Myike just completed, Jure meant creator. It was a term attached to people that creates. And Mi Lurdy called him Jure. But Iheoma? who was Iheoma?

"Jure, what has happened now has never happened before but wonder shall never end."

Myike remained speechless. He stood erect but weak at his knees. The footsteps had stopped; Ajuaku was hiding, he knew, her breath was high but tamed. After a while Mi Lurdy's voice came again, "I can tell you fell in love creating Ajuaku, the way you put extra effort to describe her every move. And all those sex scenes...Jure, all those steaming moments... Only if they were in reality and not in this book." He let out a deep sigh.

"What do you mean in reality?" Myike uttered, his lips barely moved. It was a thought too powerful to remain a thought.

"Jure, you don't understand? I am ashamed!"
Mi Lurdy was a man to spill his heart the way it pricked him, a man to say whatever pleases him. He was King! He never hid his tongue; never hid his concubines. On many occasions, the woman he had his hand around her waist wasn't Ajuaku.

"But was that enough to make her want to kill a child?"

Myike wanted to tell Mi Lurdy that it was the block, that the story wouldn't have progressed if there was no blood; It needed blood to be propelled, like gas. Someone had to die to create an opening to the dead-end he had written himself into. Myike wasn't happy about Ajuaku's death either but what she committed, an attempt on the prince's life was an atrocity punishable by death. If per se that question was asked in a live broadcast: Was that enough to make her want to kill a child? Myike would have said, I don't write my characters, they write themselves.

"It is the will to which you say it, unlike others, that you actually believe, we have come to be. Faith has proven itself again.

You never had a block and Iheoma never left. Even, in reality, Ajuaku made an attempt on Chifunka's Life."

Myike was still sweating profusely but he was in the process of drawing comportment, as though he understood what was happening. Although he didn't. He picked the chair he jolted off and set it at a comfortable distance from the table and sat. His knees were wobbly to hold his weight.

"Who has come to be?" Myike asked, his first words since the incident. Fear still plastered his bewhiskered face and laced his voice but it wasn't as much as when the vibration started and the book, from a blob, began to glow. Then, he couldn't even form words. An insidious pact, one which Myike was oblivious to was made between his mind and the book.

"Us, Jure, your creation."

Myike stuttered "What...did...what creation?" Myike's voice was low. He guessed the answer but the question already slipped.

Mi Lurdy laughed; the type he blurted out when he was drunk. Deep and throaty.

"Us." He repeated.

"Who is Iheoma?" Myike followed up with the only other thing that bugged his curiosity.

"Your muse."

Since it was a person's name Myike said, "There is no muse named Iheoma." He was familiar with the Muses. The whole Greek mythology was fascinating but a big joke to him.

Inexplicably, Myike sensed Mi Lurdy wave a dismissive hand; heard the many bangles around his arm jingle. "Long ago, a woman from your father's lineage was seen as mad but she created awesome art with charcoal. She died at a stream she had wandered to and the people who noticed her corpse didn't touch it because they didn't know where she had come from. The woman's name was Iheoma.

Her soul, for stories kept obscured, was never granted passage to the afterlife, it remained, hovering around. But Jure, that is not the issue now." Mi Lurdy spoke as though he sat on his throne. And his voice, still thick and slow, tended to be faster. "Those sex scenes which you painted details to never happened. Ajuaku was asexual and never cared if I had concubines. And with that first chapter and the first scene of steaming thrusting and moaning, you altered history. Chifunka was never the antagonist, never one to kill a baby at the market square or order the burning of villages. Or steal..."

"Asexual?" Myike asked, dumbfounded. That was the opposite of what Ajuaku was.

"In reality, but you altered history."

"What... What are you saying?"

"Jure, wonders shall never end. Isn't that enough to make you understand what is happening? Chifunka wasn't such a person...

"But you trained him!" Myike interjected, remembering those heartbreaking scenes, especially of the baby; how Chifunka held the infant in his large hands and squeezed until the infant's eyes popped out.

"Yes, I did, as a son. Not as who you painted him to be. Besides, I had no option, my story was already written."

"So, in reality," Myike swallowed "who was the antagonist?" he guessed but he let Mi Lurdy confirm it.

"Jure, you know that."

"The hand," Myike followed up, "Your hand, what other powers did it hold?" The question felt stupid after it left his mouth. Throughout the book, he referred to the hand's other powers as Other Powers. The abilities he intended to fill it out with were cliche, so he never did. At least not yet, these were things that were done in a second draft.

"My arm?" He laughed, "Jure, you make me laugh. You know that too, but you are scared to think."

"What do you mean?" scared to think?

"That was the same reason you ended the book, you were scared Chifunka would find the arm. You felt his control over the book and sensed he knew you weren't controlling him, that he was the one always infiltrating your mind with thoughts of the book."

"No!" Myike said sharply "The book ended where it was meant to end. Your arm was cut off and hidden away forever." Mike was stricken, surprised he even conversed with the book.

Mi lurdy laughed, deep throaty sounds that made him spit mucus afterwards.

Myike remained silent. If anyone was eavesdropping, the person would first wonder what the glow was, and then would think Myike has lost his mind and was talking to himself. But he was alone In the duplex. Even before the accident, he felt alone. Maybe a man dedicated as he needed no family like a Catholic priest.

Mi Lurdy said, "Chifunka is looking for my arm as we speak?" The laughter still lingered in his voice.

"What?"

"You ended the book with that cliffhanger of Obinna cutting my arm off and hiding it away forever. Now, Chifunka is looking for it. He will find it and when he does... When he does." Mi Lurdy laughed.

"What do you mean looking for the arm?" Myike's voice was barely audible.

"Jure, he is looking for it! The book is alive!" Myike's heart spiked. Ajuaku's voice had the power to do that, to push him on edge and still keep him tamed. "I tried to kill Chifunka as a child but Mi Lurdy ordered my death." Myike didn't feel Mi Lurdy's presence again. As if swallowed by Ajuaku's.

"I had watched many times when rapists, thieves, and others were hung," water splashed and she continued, "I always imagined what it would feel like to be hung from a rope and when it came, I was surprised. How come the same faith caught up to me in a different reality? Even at that I never stopped anticipating, even as the rope was put around my neck, as the stool was kicked off, as the rope strained, sucking the life from me, I still anticipated it. If I knew I would live again... in a book, I would have done more, maybe even killed Mi Lurdy." Ajuaku sounded relaxed, like one soaked in a bath. "Jure, the things you made me do in this book were uncalled for. Truly! You made me sleep with different men and finally, my maid and right after, you took me to my death."

"The story needed a sacrifice," Myike said, "You wouldn't understand."

"I understand. I don't blame you, I blame who the worship was onto. Iheoma. She made you give your middle name to my maid, so you could foam my bath and watch me bathe, so you could smell my clothes when I wasn't around and lick my shoes. It was Iheoma. She did it all."

Apaamu was a side character that hovered around the book. Useful, and squarely useless. She was Ajuaku's personally maid. Apaamu had chapters to herself, in which she said nothing (because she was dumb,) and sniffed Ajuaku's clothes and shoes. Apaamu is Myikes middle name.

Ajuaku chuckled and water splashed again. she was definitely soaked in her bath. It was the only time she spoke to Apaamu. "The water is getting warm, bring more hot water." And when Apaamu brings the steaming water in a bowl, Ajuaku would simply rise from the water and let Apaamu mix it. Apaamu would focus on not looking at Ajuaku's nakedness. Her countenance, even unclad, screamed affluence.

"I used to be asexual, but in this book, I am not."

Myike knew so and it was still out of the block that he created the different men that frequented her room, until the block became unmovable, until there were no more tricks; he had to give something to create a loop.

"Jure, you of all people know that life and death are the same things. And if I had taken Chifunka as a child, a lot more people would have lived. The scene of that baby in the market square wouldn't have happened, people wouldn't have been burdened with that memory.

Why would Iheoma make you write such? Chifunka, not even that godforsaken bastard, squeezed the life out of a baby with the mother watching, the whole village watching! Chifunka, the innocent boy turned man who, in reality, gave down his life for his people. Maybe Iheoma couldn't bring herself to see Chifunka, even as an antagonist fai..."

"But he didn't get the powers. He faile..."

"What do you think is happening?" Ajuaku interjected, "I can feel Chifunka, he is looking for the arm. Where did you keep it?"

"Where did I keep it? I thought you said the book was alive, you should ask Obinna."

"You are scared to think, Jure, you know where it is...just open the book and write, you know where he hid it, just write."

Myike was too soaked in the conversation to realize that the glow wasn't affecting his eyes again; his gaze was locked on it. The temperature didn't drop, rather, Myike had become one with it; his body was glowing too. The pen had melted in his grip. He didn't need it. He opened the book, the first page was blank, glowing magnificently. With the tip of his index he wrote, Chapter...

"Stop! Jure! stop! Don't!"

Myike paused. A voice he had been waiting to hear.

"I know what you are thinking!" the new voice said, swallowing Ajuaku's presence. "You are thinking that I am the one capable of killing a baby in the market square, or raping minors and killing their fathers. I did worse than that but no matter how you look at it, you altered history, I am no longer that person. Stop! Don't write any further!"

Obinna was the protagonist. He was Mi lurdy's adopted son. One of those mysterious early mornings when Mi Lurdy refused escort, he went hunting and came back with a baby he claimed he found in the vines. The hushed gossip that hovered around the palace was that Mi Lurdy slept with a spirit and it bore him the child he named Obinna. At least it was an explanation to why the boy could climb walls, hop high into the sky, and become invincible at will since he wasn't of royal blood.

Obinna was always around the arena Mi Lurdy trained Chifunka. A side project Mi Lurdy worked on spared days; weekends that is, when Chifunka threw large parties, Mi Lurdy trained Obinna atop a hill. The distance between them was intimate. No words said, Mi Lurdy just went at the boy and expected him to defend himself with the tactics he observed from Chifunka's training session. So, when Chifunka trained with Mi Lurdy, Obinna focused, saw the moves slowly, and cataloged it. And when he was alone he practiced. Mi Lurdy guessed where the boy had come from, sensed his origin but refused it to form to thought. He did indeed pick the boy from the vines but there were untold parts of the story which Iheoma held back.

"Just remove your finger from the book. Jure, you are meant to know Chifunka and his tricks."

Myike sensed that Obinna, being the weirdo he was, perched at the edge of a bamboo bed, the tail of a mouse caught in his fingers. He probably watched the tiny limbs paddle helplessly in the air as he spoke, "You know of Chifunka's shapeshifting. It has been him all along, talking as Mi Lurdy, as Ajuaku, trying to find the arm. Mi Lurdy is wounded and is in a hideout. And Ajuaku is dead, since the early chapters. She lives only in the past."

Myike remembered hearing her footsteps; one of the last chapters she had, her next scene was the rope. "How do I know this isn't still Chifunka?"

"Jure, I fought one hundred and forty-seven demons, one witch, four shapeshifters and broke through seven volcanic barriers to get to you. Deep down you know it is I and not Chifunka. But... there is something I think only us would know."

Myike guessed it and when Obinna said it, He knew it was truly Obinna.

"I don't blame you, Jure," Obinna's voice came again "I blame Iheoma, she is a... Ajuaku never liked me in reality and in this book, yet you made me do such a thing."

"Ajuaku doesn't like anybody," Myike said, explaining how he crafted her.

"But accepts everybody, gender blind."

"It was the block."

"Iheoma never left, Ajuaku is just a bitter woman, bitter for many reasons but most of all for her barrenness. Oh, please! remove your finger from the book! If you write about the arm, you would lead Chifunka straight to it. And your people don't want to know what he could do with it."

Myike was still glowing. He saw that his finger had merged with the book and removing it felt like separating two magnets. But he did and molded it into a fist.

"What are the arm's other powers aside from being able to escape from the book?" Obinna asked.

"I don't know."

Obinna laughed, "Jure, you make me wonder. If you don't know, who else does? We are your characters. you can write a sequel tomorrow and kill me. Jure, you have the power."

"I thought you said it was Iheoma?"

"Jure, you don't still understand. You are Iheoma, or better said, a spirit entrapped in you is Iheoma."

"Why? How?" The thought of another spirit sharing his vessel with his soul made Myike quiver.

"Why, Who knows? But the how is because of the similarity of soul. She is your relation, I guess."

Myike thought about it a while and then asked, "Where did you hide the arm? Is Chifunka really looking for it?"

"If forever elapses, which you can make happen, then he can find it. Jure, have you forgotten your last words? hidden away forever."

Myike pondered it and after a while said, "Tell me more about Iheoma." The glow of the book to Myike now seemed mundane. He craned and saw the other books still glowing. And he sensed that it wasn't by its power that it glowed. If he pulled out the drawer below the desk and retrieved a new note and start scribbling on it, the letters would glow, and when he is done, the book would glow.

"It is the way you think, Jure, the way your mind works. With your type of faith, the character world would grow and that would be a great ris..."

"I said tell me about Iheoma." A new tone to Myike's voice.

"Iheoma was different, too different a soul that her maker wanted her to be special."

"Mad?" was what Mi Lurdy described her as.

"No, not mad, special. Iheoma was special. So many parts of her life are obscured. There is little to what she lets us know. But Jure, you know all, you know her story."

"So for me to know, I have to...I have to write?"

"You finally understand. Anybody, and anything that comes to mind. You could write the past and future. But you see, altering the past as you have done now can be lethal but sometimes for the better."

"Why are you telling me all this. Why..."

"To let you know your powers, to let you know you are in charge. I am the protagonist, I am here to save the day. As always. I know you want to know her story and if you want to know. . . just write."

Of course, Myike wanted to know who Iheoma was. The spirit entrapped in him, the alleged cause of all that is happening. He didn't think twice he opened the book and put his index to it, felt the unionization. He wrote the date first, then wrote her name beside the date and detailedly, with an italic font he wrote about her birth and early life. It ate up to a hundred pages. Where these pages came from was unknown. He wrote about the painful penetration at eleven by her uncle. Wrote of her teenage life, of the loneliness, of the stalking; hiding in bushes peeping men bathing and swimming. He wrote about the day she became possessed at the stream. She was eighteen. It was this possession that caused Iheoma to stare at things too long, to wonder how they came to be.

She understood that society accepted men shirtless, but not her. Why? She removed her sack material and continued staring at the red mud wall; it was the fence that encompassed the King's palace. All the guards were at sleep because it was meant to be. She stared at the reddish wall, imaging things that could be written on it. Beautiful things. The moon bore witness. Burning torches were rowed intermittently on the mud fence. She moved to the closest torch. A guard slept carelessly by the side, as though knocked out by tranquillizer shot from a flute. A spare laid beside the guard. She unhooked the burning stick from the grate and because it was meant to be, there was a bucket of water by the side, close to the guard's head. She dipped the stick in the water and left it in until it stopped shrilling and a little longer to cool. With tiny hands, she hit the stick against the fence until a piece of Charcoal chipped off. She picked the charcoal and needed no other till she finished writing.

In reality, she drew calabashes heaped on each other; spilling wine, drew snakes swallowing snakes, drew the gods of the land, mermaids, and other beautiful things. The next morning the whole village wondered how the drawings around the fence came to be. They tried to wash it but it didn't go off. The native priest-unclad, old and held a rattling staff- noisily arrived and after casting bones and cowries on the ground, the native priest said it was the gods that drew it. But it wasn't reality so on the wall, she boldly wrote, YOU WOULD ONLY KNOW WHAT I WANT YOU TO KNOW! Then he heard a ghostly laugh.

Like scissoring a wire, Myike's connection with the book cut. The home bell continued ringing. Impatiently.

The book was still glowing but his body was back to mundane. The bell stopped and because it was dead silent, Myike heard the hacking at the front door as if an axe was used on it. He also recognized the voices now yelling his name and that of his late wife. He quickly moved around the table and ran through the little aisle of shelves, out the library, into a dark hallway. The power was still down. Myike offhandedly made his way through the hallway, down a spiral staircase. His uneven gait was his only casualty from the accident. Flashlights shone through the closed curtains. The top half of the front door was broken and the pieces of wood scattered on the floor. The axe still hammered through.

The man axing the door wore a face cap that said, make Nigeria great again. Myike didn't see the letters from his distance but recognized the silhouette. The man raised the axe again and gave another blow and as he raised it, he caught sight of Myike. "Myike!" The man said, then removed his cap, "Boys, come see Myike!" The lights flanking the house both moved towards the broken door. Nnamdi and Paul, his flanking neighbours appeared at the door. Nnamdi, the fat one pointed the flash at Myike who shielded his eyes and yelled, "What the... Why did you break my door! Stop pointing that thing at me!"

"Your library is burning!" The fat man said, trying to gain access.

"What? No, it isn't! I just left there! Take that light off my eyes!"

"Oh..." Nnamdi switched the torch off. "In this blackout, your library is almost supernaturally glowing. Although unstable. We thought it was burning." He finally kicked down the remaining part of the door and strode straight to Myike, out of concern, but Myike wasn't having it.

"Get the fuck out!" Myike pushed and his hands sank into Nnamdi's plumply flesh. "Don't you see an inverter atop my roof! I have light!"

Seeing Myike's behavior, the other two didn't bother to advance. They watched, agape, as Myike pushed Nnamdi out of the house. A sharp edge on the door slashed Myike's forearm. A tiny scratch. "I am taking this to the police first thing tomorrow!" Myike yelled.

"What?" Nonso, the oldest of the trio, that had been axing the door blurted out. "For showing concern? Do you know how long we knocked, called your phone and shouted your name before we decided to break down your door? Do you think we are fools? You know the estate is empty, People have travelled for the holidays."

"Your arm is bleeding!" Paul, the shorter one said. Myike sent the hand behind him. "It is fine, I gat this. Please lea..."

"What are you doing Myike?' Nnamdi, the fat one asked, suspicion etched in his eyes. "Where is Amira?"

"Has this man lost his mind calling my wife's name like that? Have you no respect for the..."

"Myike take it easy!" The older man interjected and stopped Myike's hand from advancing any further. Myike's hand remained raised.

"Is everything alright? What's happening? You're acting strange."

"What is happening?" Myike fumed and still tried to land a punch on Nnamdi but Nonso's grip was strong. 'Just leave, I'm busy, I'm writing.' He finally wriggled free from Nonso's grip and arranged his rumpled t-shirt.

"Okay! Fine!" The short man said, already walking out. Visibly annoyed; he kicked a stone into the lawn. The fat man followed, and finally the old man, but first he looked at Myike askance and said, "We only thought your house was on fire and came to save lives." He paused, glanced back and forth and with a lower voice said, "If you are cheating on that lovely woman then you better think twice!" The man's gaze brushed over Myike's shoulder and came back to his face. He wore his cap and carried the axe over his shoulder as he joined the others. The evening air billowed through the dark street and freely found its way to Myike's face standing before the broken door.

Now, the metal protector Amira had installed and said would come in handy someday finally did. Mike drew the frail gate across and hooked it. He turned around. First, he wondered when Amira installed a metal protector, then, he saw a framed photo that wasn't there before; a photo of Jane smiling, holding a graduating cap. Then, a photo of him and Amira. They wore white; Amira leaned towards him to whisper behind gloved hands. It was their wedding day. A smile was on his face in response to what she whispered to him and that was when the picture was taken. He remembered the exact words Amira whispered to him. 'Let's leave here so you can put a baby in me already.' But that thought faded. What he remembered she said was 'Let's leave here, I'm getting drunk.' He remembered that the inverter did indeed spoil, but Amira... Amira called the electrician before she travelled. The epiphany kept him agape for a long time. Something had been altered.

Amira travelled to see her parents in Calabar and Jane was at Babcock University, yet to come home for the holiday. His family wasn't dead and he was, in fact, stupid to have thought so. But weren't they? He didn't limp upstairs but he failed to notice as he was bent on going back to the library. The hallway was dark but the effulgent light that spilled through the slight opening of the last door gave hint that something magnificent was inside. As he moved toward the library, the light began to fade away and by the time, he entered the library, it was as dim as an empty oil lamp. He chipped his little toe at the edge of a shelf and absorbed the pain as he moved to the only curtain to draw it but caught sight of the silhouette of three men standing below, head craned up. He closed it anyway and rushed to the book. He used his phone torch for light as the glow completely left the book.

"Mi Lurdy! Ajuaku!" He waited a bit longer and called "Obinna! Obinna!" When he reached for the hardcover note and held it, his heart skipped a little. The name he saw on it left him Appalled. Mike. He wondered when he ever spelt his name as Mike, instead of Myike, and no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn't remember spelling his name as Mike. Slowly, the name on the book, with watercolour effect, changed to Myike. He wondered how many other things had been altered. Was he still an editor at Scripto? Was the president still Buhari? Did the civil war ever happen? If yes, was he a Biafran? or was Biafra's faith like Ajuaku's, although altered, suffered the same faith. Did Nigeria still win the war, slaughtering millions more than before?

†

The End.

Hey, you made it.

I Hope you enjoyed reading this piece?

This was my entry for the Common Wealth short story competition. Damn, i wasn't sad that i didn't win because i prepared for failure. I will try again.

Please share and vote and comment, do whatever with it but don't copy. Even if you do, it would be in my favor.

Other books by Author

1. Evening of the Morning (Novella)

2. To kill Like Santa (Novella)

3. Stories About Women( Anthology)

4 Stories about Men (Anthology) Coming soon

All available on the Author's profile.