Hola Cribbers🙃

It is with great pleasure that we welcome you to the first batch of the judges review for stage two!.

DRUMROLLS PLEASE 🥁

This is the era everyone has been waiting for. Where the Contestants no wan gree for the Judges, but the Judges is always giving them gbas gbos.

You get my joke right?😉

For this batch, we will be having the following contestants;

001 PEN REAPER VS 019 THE ASCENDANT

002 CAESAR VS 009 THE RISING SUN

003 LIONESS VS 029 MEDUSA

004 JAY VS 016 SUMMER WRITER

And with that, we welcome the first pair for tonight!

•001 THE PEN REAPER VS 019 THE ASCENDANT

001 The pen Reaper

Ba-bump, Ba-bump, Ba-bump.

“Ụmụ-ada ani Alaeze, Ani na ebe-akwá. - The daughters of Alaeze, the Earth is beckoning.”

In the heart of Alaeze, where the sun dips into the horizon, and paints the sky with hues of crimson and gold, Nne-ochie Dumebi (Dumebi's Grandmother) lay on her mat, her chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. The air is thick with the scent of blooming flowers. The metallic smell of blood and the pungent smell of flesh fills Nne-ochie Dumebi’s hut, while the gentle melody of crickets and frogs sounds in the background. 

“Nne-anyi (Our mother), can you hear the voice of Ani (The Earth)?" Dumebi asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nne-ochie Dumebi smiles as her bright eyes lock on Dumebi's scared eyes. "Take my necklace, Dumebi. Ani Alaeze (The Earth of Alaeze) calls for her daughters. Those gone, those to come, and the one who is here." Nne-ochie Dumebi whispers, chasing the flies that are gathering around her fatal wound. 

Dumebi's hand trembles as she reaches for her grandmother's necklace. “Nne-anyi, I cannot take your necklace, you will die!" Dumebi withdraws her hand, dropping it to her side with a heavy sigh.  

With a gentle smile, Nne-ochie Dumebi  places Dumebi's hand on her necklace. "You must if you intend to answer Ani. Take it, and bring us peace."

Dumebi's fingers close around the necklace, and her grandmother's eyes sparkle with joy. "Remember, Dumebi, the Opuruiche were once the pride of the Earth, singing to the goddess Ala and bringing forth her kindness and love upon the Earth. But the humans feared us, and to protect us from their fear, Ala bound us to this corner of the world with a shield to keep the humans out. Now, the Earth has called for the daughters of Ala to sing once more. Answer her call, and may our ancestors guide you." Nne-Ochie Dumebi smiles, dropping her necklace into Dumebi's hands 

 Dumebi watches as the lights go out from her grandmother's eyes,  stifling her tears, and holding the necklace close to her chest. 

'I have killed my grandmother!’ The voice rings loud in Dumebi's head as she makes for the shield. 

Under the starry night sky, Dumebi runs swiftly. She runs past the tall palm trees, feeling the cool earth under her feet, the winds lightly lashing at her face. The grass rustles as she races past them, disrupting the melody of the frogs and crickets. Dumebi is almost at the shield when her father's voice echoes in the distance.

"Dumebi! What are you doing?" Dumebi has forgotten he is part of the Watchers on duty this night.

Dumebi’s body comes to a forced stop, her heart thumping rapidly in her chest, grief and shock ripping away at her insides as she tries to slow her breathing. The shield glows before her under the moonlight, so close she could reach out and touch it but she turns to answer her father. 

“The Earth has called for the daughters of Ala, Papa, and I must answer." Dumebi's voice trembles as she tries to hold her tears at bay.

Her father's spear gleams in the moonlight. "We do not go beyond the shield.” He says with a stern but flat tone. 

Dumebi raises her voice. “The Earth is dying, Papa! She needs us! We cannot continue to hide away here!" 

Her father looks her up and down, his eyes widen as he catches a glimpse of his mother's necklace in Dumebi’s hands.

“Is that...it can't be…How did you get that!" He stutters, raising his spear to strike his daughter. 

“Nnam, biko gbayalum (My father, please forgive me) but you feel it too! The flowers have started to wither, the soil coughs up more and more termites each day. Soon, there would be no more earth for any of us to live on!” Dumebi holds her grandmother's necklace close, begging the object for what little courage it would grant her. 

Papa Dumebi maintains his stance, ready to strike down his flesh and blood if need be.

With tears in her eyes and her grandmother's necklace held to her heart, Dumebi speaks. "Let me fix all this, papa, let me go. Do not let Nne-anyi’s sacrifice be in vain." Dumebi smiles at her father. 

Dumebi's father lets out a shrilling call of danger that pierces through the silent night, alerting other Watchers of an escapee.

Dumebi's heart sinks at the betrayal of her father, she wishes he would understand. The alarming sound of the gong awakens her from her sadness and the flicker of torches in the distance tells her it is time to run. 

Dumebi sets her face beyond the borders and begins to move,  ignoring her father's pleading look. 

She places the necklace on the shield, making the translucent wall melt away to reveal a world beyond the corner of the earth she calls home.

"With the powers of those that have come before me, those to come after and those present. I call upon the goddess Ala! Guide me on my journey!" Dumbei chants to the heavens. 

The voices in the wind begin to sing to the earth, a melody lost to time, guiding Dumebi down her path.

Papa Dumebi watches as his daughter walks past the shield, and the translucent walls restores itself. His spear and body freeze in place. That is the only apology he can offer Dumebi.  

Dumebi reaches the heart of the earth and begins to sing to Ala.  A gentle breeze begins to blow, and a drizzle of rain mixed with her tears washes down her face.  The daughters of Ala hear the echo of Dumebi's song carried by the wind, and they begin to hum in their different huts. 

The Earth vibrates, flowers bloom and blades of grass shoot up. The Opuruiches summon courage and begin to walk towards the sound of the music. The Watchers give way, the shield dissolves and they move towards the centre of the earth. 

They gather and sing. The Earth responds and begins to bloom again. Alaeze returns to liberty and fruitfulness. The Opuruiches are reborn.

019 THE ASCENDANT
   The Battle Bard.

Feint. Parry. Riposte. Redouble. Remise. Disengage.

I move through the chaos of battle, each motion fluid and deliberate. The sword, a familiar weight in my hands, cuts through enemy ranks with precision. The clang of steel and the cries of warriors surround me, but my mind drifts to the one who was taken from me. Eriye's chant of the ancient song rings in my ears, bringing back memories.

"What are you doing?" I had asked him, blocking an attack on my side.

"Do you not know the chant of the warrior Goddess?" he had replied, his voice rising in song.

A forgotten song, resurrected in this desperate moment. I parry an incoming strike, the enemy's blade screeching as it slides off mine. I remember Eriye's words, "A forgotten song is the best to hum in times like these. It brings out emotions best for the mind and the heart." He had disarmed me with a swift parry, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Not bad for a healer," he had said, adjusting his shell bead necklace. "Did I tell you that you remind me of Agbaniyi, the one who conquered a thousand battles? I have seen the sword you hung on your wall, the symbols etched on it similar to those in ancient writings. You are a warrior, why do you resist your destiny? Would you wait until something dear is taken from you? The gods would use any means to get what they want. And what they want is a new warrior goddess.”

"You do not need to remind me," I replied, frustration and determination mingling in my voice. "I am not like your warrior goddess. The swords you saw are mere replicas; they will not be dipped in the blood of my enemies, nor will they glow red like hers. I will not bring fear to the minds of men. I am not fit for battle. I am a woman and a healer; we clean up the blood. We do not shed it.”

I thrust my sword forward, the blade finding its mark. The enemy falls, but another takes his place. The chant of the warrior Goddess fills my mind, a steady rhythm guiding my strikes. Feint. Redouble. Remise. Disengage. Again. Again. Each movement fueled by the pain of resistance and the fire of defiance.

I am numb. My movements are mechanical as my fighting passes in a blur. All I could think of were his eyes, his smile, his head rolling on the floor. Tears stream down my face, mixing with sweat and blood.

I have denied it for too long. The call. I didn't want to tell Eriye how exhilarating the clashing of swords made me feel. Each night, I practiced the moves he taught me, each graceful thrust a testament to the countless practices done in secret.

There are no stars in the sky tonight. Too much blood has been shed; our ancestors have nothing to twinkle upon anymore. I wipe the sweat from my brow, the battle's intensity mirrored in the warriors around me. They fight with grim determination, their faces set in steely resolve, yet I see the slight shaking of hands and hear the silent murmurs of prayers on their lips. His chant rises again, a haunting melody that calls to me. It is the siren song of blood and honour, echoing the unspoken desires of my heart. I thrust my sword forward once more, each strike a defiance of my role as a healer, each movement a step towards my true calling.

Feint. Parry. Riposte. Redouble. Remise. Disengage.

The battle rages on, but I am not just a healer. I am a warrior, forged in the fires of conflict, driven by a chant that calls me to my destiny. This is the only thing in my head as I make my way into the enemy's tent.

I stumble into the tent, my eyes straining to adjust to the darkness. The air is thick with the scent of leather and sweat, and the sound of my opponent's voice seems to come from all around me.

"Ah, you found me," he says, his tone dripping with amusement. "I was wondering when your tigress instincts would finally kick in. Though I wished you had stayed in that little healer tent of yours, it fit you way better than being here."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself and pinpoint the source of the voice. "Who are you?" I ask, my hand on the hilt of my sword.

He chuckles, the sound low and menacing. "Well, my dear, I'm afraid I cannot reveal my identity to you. Find me yourself. It makes it all more fun." As he speaks, I sense movement to my left and dodge instinctively, avoiding a blow that would have struck my side. I counter with a swift strike, but he parries it easily, his sword flashing in the dim light.

"Why?" I demand, trying to keep my footing on the uneven ground. "Our men are out there, lying lifeless on the floor. We lost a lot of souls today, great souls. Please, no more bloodshed.”

He laughs again, the sound echoing off the walls of the tent. "How hypocritical. If I'm not wrong, you were 'called' by the stench of bloodshed, were you not? A warrior born for the battlefield, a natural born from the lineage of the legendary warrior goddess. Do you not hear the chants? The gods want you, I am just trying to help. Or would you wait for them to take another dear thing from you?”

I grit my teeth, my anger rising with each word. I feel the weight of my sword in my hand, the familiar balance and heft of it a comfort in the darkness. I circle, trying to get a sense of my opponent's position and movements.

As we clash, our swords flash in a blur of steel and shadow, I feel a strange energy building inside me. It's as if the darkness itself is fueling my rage, my determination. I add more weight to each blow, precision-crafting each strike to find the gaps in his guard. Feint. Riposte. Parry. Again and again, until I am almost out of breath. I fake a disengage, using the move Eriye had taught me, but he blocks it easily.

A soft chuckle comes from him, and I sense a hint of mockery in his tone. "You underestimate me, child. You do not know who you are up against. You wasted efforts of the gods.”

With a snarl, I pretend to stumble, my sword wavering. He takes the bait, charging forward with a cry. I wait until the last moment, then drop to the ground, avoiding his blow by mere inches. As he stumbles past me, I drive my blade deep into his chest. Pulling it out, I smile as my sword glows crimson red. The tent is bathed in its radiance, and I look at my opponent's face for the first time.

Staring in shock, I see him.

The row of shells around his neck.

COMMENTARY: I thought 001 Pen Reaper wasn't happy  that he was paired with his lover, 019 The Ascendant 🤔. But it doesn't look like he took it easy with her either.

Judges over to you🎤

JUDGES REVIEW

JUDGE NADIA SULAIMAN

We started off strong. And I mean STRONG. This was a dangerous pair, and left to me, the both of you deserve the green line. Walahi! Hats off to you both, The Pen Reaper and The Ascendant!! 

Now, first off, Pen Reaper, I'm actually so impressed with you! Honestly, your creativity and your story telling ability is on another level. I pictured this story from start to finish, felt the anxiety, was overwhelmed by its suspense. At first, I didn't think I was going to enjoy the piece, but as it went on, I was gripped. There was nothing I wanted to see more than what was on the other side. Wow, Pen Reaper, once again you have wowed me! And you, The Ascendant, I did NOT see that plot twist at the end! My goodness! I absolutely love you both. And it hurts so much that I have to pick one person. The other one gets an Escape Card from me for sure. I just hope other Judges would agree so that the both of you end up in the Green Line at the end of the day. No matter what happens, two of you deserve that Green Line. Keep it up!

 JUDGE OLAITAN DAVIS

You two have created something very beautiful, and I am in awe. Penreaper, you're really reaping the pen. Punctuations, orderliness, and everything was spot on. There was no messiness and that made your work very easy and interesting to read. 

Ascendant, you are truly ascending oh and I like that for you. I'm really impressed by your work, and that plot twist? Wow. A word of advice from me. As you're ascending, don't do anything that will make you descend. I don't know if any judge has pointed it out, but you have to be very careful.

JUDGE NINA OGBEIDE

What a beautiful pair. I love love your stories. For The Pen Reaper, you did a great job with how immersing your story is. I was hooked and thrilled from the beginning. I felt the lead’s emotions all through and not once did the pacing fall off. That's a very fantastic way of storytelling and I must commend you for that. For The Ascendant, you captivated me with your writing style, your choice of words and your way of stringing words together is really admirable. I also love how you deliver your twist at the end even though it was a bit confusing for me at first; I mean what the twist is all about but the delivery was epic.

JUDGE UMAR HASAN

Wow, PenReaper, I am really amazed at the height of your improvement between the last stage and now. Didn't recall any word play at all in your last entry, but I see it in this. The imagery of your piece is powerful. I could see the scene rewritten and crafted in a way that, if Disney adopted, would be so much better. Honestly. Apart from minor icks with your dialogue punctuation—where you ought to put a comma inside the bracket before the dialogue tag—I think you did really well. You tell stories beautifully. How about you come tell my story? Lol. I'm a man of few words, but you have managed to make me say a lot. I'm impressed. Really. Keep it up. Okay, Ascendant, I must say that I really liked what I read. You used present tense so well and, as the hard guy that I am, it found a way to melt my stone cold heart. Just work on expanding your vocab a little and making excellent your use of tenses, okay, ya daodi?

JUDGE GUWA FALADE

In the last two seasons of Project Pen, this stage is always my favorite because I love it when we get to pit contestants against each other. It’s exciting and I strive for the chaos!

#Iwantproblemsalways! 

The PenReaper, you are an amazing story teller. I told you this in the last stage and I said it wasn’t a compliment, because it’s a fact. You have a very creative way of using your words to catch the attention of your readers and that’s not a gift every writer has. So, count yourself blessed. 

My only issue with your story is that, it was almost an exact replica of Moana. Moana’s grandmother telling her to go and return the heart of Tefiti = Dumebi’s grandmother telling her to go and appeal to the goddess of Ala to restore the land. Both grandmothers dying. Moana’s dad against crossing the riff = Dumebi’s dad against crossing the border. 

Do you see it now? Because I saw it. It was too similar and that didn’t do it for me at all. The Moana video sent to you was to inspire you, not for you to replicate and write a Nigerian Version of. 

Aides that sha, it was a nice story. 

Ascendant, your story was remarkable. You took the inspo you guys were given and rewrote it to be your own. Though, all the big grammar almost confused me. You know you don’t have to write big words for your story to be appealing right? You just need to know how to tell the story with the right words. 

But, I noticed something about your story that will get you into so much trouble if you repeat it. I’m not going to say what it is because I don’t want to cast you. It makes your work a little less original, but I’m willing to overlook. Be Careful and consider this my subtle way of warning you. 

Good Job, Ascendant, and well done to the both of you.

COMMENTARY: It's like this two love birds have blow powder on our Judges o. They seem to be pleased with their work.

Let's have the next pair!

002 CAESAR VS 009 THE RISING SUN

002 CAESAR

I was born to save lives… 

“My baby is going to be the greatest attorney the world has ever known.” 

“The legacy will be fulfilled with you, son.”

…but not in the way my family had been doing for decades. Not wearing wigs and black coats. But scrubs and hand gloves. With scalpels.

“Mom, I don’t want to study la—” 

“Shu shu shush, my baby boy. Shush. Don’t let me hear you say that again. Don’t let anyone hear you say that.” My mom’s eyes were on me, though she was facing her dressing mirror. In her right hand was some nude lipstick which she had been applying. “For years, Nonso, years, this family has been in the law practice. Your grandparents were both lawyers. All their children, including your father, are lawyers.”

“But Uncle Kelechi is not—”

“We don’t talk about Bruno, my darling.” Her reference to the Disney song did not  amuse me. It only served as a reminder of how harsh this family was to anyone who decided to ruin the order of things. “And as far as your dad and I are concerned, all are children will be in the practice. Do you understand?” She smiled, the kind of smile she wore when she thought she had won a case. 

“Yes.”

“Very good. Mom is so so proud of you, Chinonso. Don’t disappoint her.”

~

I didn’t like the smell of hospitals. Nobody did. Only a psychopath would enjoy the strong smell of antiseptic and medicine. But I loved hospitals. It had an eerie quietness, with occasional noise here and there. The white walls and lights added to the atmosphere. But it was hardly discomforting. I loved it here. I belonged in this place and I just knew it.

“Uncle Kelechi, when will I be joining you?” 

“As soon as your parents give you permission.” 

“You know that would never happen.” I looked at the middle aged man sitting opposite me. He reminded me of my father with glasses and everything, only with more grey on his head. Ironic cause he was younger. My uncle was the glitch in the matrix. He had been the only one in the family who had dreams of his own, and who was courageous enough to follow those dreams. Even when his family cast him aside, he wasn’t discouraged. Today, he is one of the country’s best surgeons with his hospital being one of the best. I wanted to be like him.

“Nono,” he called me by the nickname he gave me. He placed his glasses on the shiny black table. For a while I was distracted by my reflection. It was so clear, like a mirror. What wood was used to carve this table? “Nonso, leave your face and look at me.” I looked up at him. 

He chuckled. “You’re a fine boy, but that’s not the main issue here. The thing is that, I don’t want to be blamed when your father finds out you are planning to study medicine.” 

“It is my own decision.” 

“But I’ll still be the one who ‘poisoned your thoughts’. Biko, I don’t want your father’s wahala. I’ve had enough of that to last two lifetimes.”

“I want to save lives. I want to help people. People are dying everywhere cause of one illness or the other.Some people are rendered handicap because of all these accidents. I want to help them. See all these amputated limbs that cannot be used. What happened to prostheses?” Uncle Kelechi shook his head slowly.

“Not everyone can afford that, Nono. They’re expensive.”

“See small children dying because of cancer. Even adults kwa. Michael is in this hospital somewhere.” I reminded him of my close friend. I saw the pain flash through his eyes. “Michael is my brother, uncle. My friend, uncle. Michael is dying, uncle. He’s barely alive.”

“Nono…about Michael…” I shook  my head. It could wait.

“Let me join you this holiday. Please.”

“I wish you could convince your parents this way. If they let you, you can come.”

~

I looked at the form. It contained subjects we were to select for our SSCE examinations. I had already ticked all compulsory subjects. The battle now was between Physics and Chemistry and Religious Studies and Government. 

I looked at the boy lying on the hospital bed. He had an oxygen mask covering half his face. His chest was rising and falling painfully slowly. I looked at the heart rate monitor. It’s agonizingly slow ‘beep beep’ made my heart ache. On that bed was a boy who looked like me, facial features. Maybe bodily features too, but he had lost a lot of weight. His skin was paler than normal too. Once upon a time, we were indistinguishable from each other. The only time one could tell us apart was when one of us opened our mouth to speak. 

Michael spoke slowly, calmly and with a confidence that marveled everyone. He was so knowledgeable and smart. My parents’ star son till he had that accident that almost took his life. That accident ruined my brother. I thought he had recovered, but Michael, the Michael I knew died in the accident. He lost his ability to speak well, developing  a speech problem. That killed his confidence, killed his morale. He stopped participating in school activities, stopped joining my dad’s mock courts, and eventually fell into depression. 

Him being in the hospital today is because he was immediately found after he jumped off our building. If he ever woke up from this coma, he would be paralyzed. If  he ever woke up…

~

Our living room was bustling with noise and activity. Waiters were running around serving guests. Guests were all speaking in hushed tones with one another, or were not even speaking at all. At the far end of the hall was a large framed photograph of me in a black suit, wearing a business smile. No, not me. Michael. The photograph was decorated with artificial flowers, a mix of pink and yellow. I drew my eyes away from the photo and looked at the crowd. Black on black and black on more black. Most of the people here were my family’s business associates. The rest were family and friends of family. I spotted a few cousins but I had already greeted them in the church. My parents were in the midst of that crowd getting condolences. 

I looked at my watch. I had to return to school today. I was already packed and waiting for my father. He was busy. Most likely having ‘intellectual’ conversations with his fellow barristers. Nonsense.

I stormed back to my room and dug up the form. I did not care if my parents had lost a son at this point. They could lose another. I checked the boxes beside the sciences. To hell with the legacy! “Nono…” I turned to face my uncle.He was standing by the door where I went to meet him.  I forced a smile. “You don’t have to smile. I’m sorry about Michael. But we both knew he wasn’t coming back.”

“I spoke to your father.” What? “About your…interests.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.” What had he said? “Doctor Chinonso.” I hugged my uncle tightly. I’d fulfill my dreams.

019 THE RISING SUN

Beast Slayer 

Ikediegwu barged into Uloma's room, not caring if he interrupted her morning ritual of mediation. She had turned down the proposal of Nnaji, who was a well behaved young man, successfully trader and most importantly—the son of his friend—Commander Okocha. By all the gods, he was determined to make her see reason. A fresh, citrusy scent tickled his nostrils as he strided in. Uloma stopped playing a soulful tune with her harp and threw him an annoyed glance.

“Good morning Papa,” she greeted dully.

He hissed. “Why do you insist on disgracing me? You turned down Nnaji's proposal because of Akaeze? That bushrat? Have you no shame?”

Fury danced in Uloma's eyes. She was about to defend her lover when a voice cried out, “a beast is attacking the village! A beast is attacking the village!”

They rushed outside to meet the alarmist who was a palace guard. “Princess Obianuju sent me,” he explained breathlessly. “Some soldiers are at the village square trying to subdue the beast but they are struggling severely. Though you are retired, your expertise is greatly needed Chief Ikediegwu.”

Ikediegwu gave him a grim nod. “You have done well boy.” The palace guard bowed.

Ikediegwu dashed into his room, grabbed his gun, charm necklace and put on his hunters attire made of leopard skin. He had just hopped on his horse when Uloma blocked his path. She carried a bow and a quiver full of arrows.

“I want to fight by your side,” she demanded.

“I do not have the time to argue with you. Stay put.”

“I want to protect my people! Is that not what you taught me?”

He scoffed. “I taught you to be wise and know when to pick your battles. Stay put.” Before he left, he gave his guards a simple command: Keep Uloma in the house.

.....

The beast in question was a lioness tall as a palm tree and triple its normal size. Ikediegwu got down from his frightened horse and stood at a distance beside Commander Okocha. Spears were thrown, bullets were fired, arrows were shot yet every wound inflicted healed itself. Powerful magic oozed from its aura. Whoever had charmed the lioness was not a child.

Forcing himself not to panic, Ikediegwu recited incantations, asking nature to speak to him. His eagle tattoo began to tingle, Ikediegwu sensed a strong urge to ... help the beast. “Tell your men to stop attacking it,” he said tersely.

Okocha turned to him sharply. “Tell me you are joking.”

“Trust me on this one my friend. My demigod instincts haven't failed me yet. For some strange reason I feel it calling me ... for help.”

Okocha sighed. “You have but a few moments. Halt! Halt! But ready your weapons!” 

Though confused, the soldiers obeyed while Ikediegwu ran towards the beast. 

It growled as he came close. When he touched it, he felt ... deep sadness, regret and anger, the same emotions he felt when his wife was brutally murdered. Its eyes became white as goat's milk. It slowly laid its head on the ground.

“I understand,” his voice was thick with emotion. It roared weakly as he caressed its paws. “I will find who has hurt you but I cannot do that if you destroy the whole village.” He held the lioness' gaze until a sheaf of arrows pierced through its throat, thick blood fell on the sandy ground and it took its last breath.

“No!” Ikediegwu released an cry of anguish, and fell to his knees.

“Papa!” He looked up to see Uloma and Okocha approaching. Her quiver was less than it was before. Though a handful of their comrades had fallen, the soldiers cheered. More soldiers arrived to carry their wounded comrades. 

“What did you do?” Ikediegwu whispered.

“I shot the beast. I was—I was saving you,” she said uncertainly. She crouched beside him, “why the tears Papa?”

Of course she would not understand. Why would he, an expert hunter cry because he killed a beast who was bent on destroying his village? 

“The lioness called me for help and I couldn't save her,” he chuckled hoarsely. “The same way I couldn't save your mama.” Uloma's lips parted. Ikediegwu shook his head and stood up. The time for unnecessary sentiments was over. He helped his daughter to her feet, “we need to figure out what made it this size or I fear a repeat of this incident.”

“Our weapons—save for Uloma's, were practically ineffective,” Okocha remarked, puzzled. “Yet you rendered it weak with only a simple touch.”

“Perhaps the magic is only effective in  moments of anger?” Uloma suggested.

Ikediegwu glanced at the fallen lioness. “Perhaps.”

“What did it say to you?” Okocha asked 

“I—it just made me remember things.”

Okocha held his shoulder. “We fought well today. Uloma the beast slayer, sounds nice does it not?”

Her cheeks flushed. “It was our collective efforts that slayed the beast sir. And I would be honored to be part of the team that investigates this incident.”

A raspy laugh escaped his lips. “Ambitious just like her father. Is that not so my friend?”

Ikediegwu smiled. “Yes. You have done well, even if you disobeyed my orders. But do not make a habit of it.”

Uloma smiled back, knowing well he was hinting at Nnaji's proposal. The time to discuss that would come later. For now, they could rejoice that their village was safe.

COMMENTARY: WIPES TEARS OUT OF MY EYES 😪. I  am so emotional right now. Did that Micheal boy have to die?

Judges, are you as emotional as I am?

JUDGES REVIEW

JUDGE NADIA SULAIMAN

Okay, so I liked one thing each about this pair. First, Caesar, it was how you connected the whole idea — the prompt and theme given to you— and represented it in the form of a career calling. That was nice. I could feel how much passion Nono had for being a doctor, one day. You really made me see it through your work, and the fact that at the end, he went for it. It really puts the icing on the cake. And The Rising Sun, if there was one thing I would commend you on, it would be the improvement. This wasn't still enough... But it was better. You are trying to get better and that is what we like to see in Project Pen. It will take you far here, I guarantee. Just be careful to always start your sentences with an uppercase letters, and watch your sentences to make sure that the correct punctuations marks are put in there. For example:

 _“papa where have you been?” ❌_ 

 _“Papa, where have you been?" ✔️_

You follow right?

But, then again, fair enough. 

JUDGE OLAITAN DAVIS

The Rising Sun, your sun is stagnant. It's rising small oh, but it's looking like it doesn't want to shine well. I was feeling you until I got to the part where Uloma killed the lioness, and that was when I wasn't feeling you anymore. Uloma's father clearly wanted to help the lioness. He didn't want her to be killed, because he could help her and also because he felt the same way when his wife died. Then Uloma comes from nowhere and kills the lioness and before we all know it, they're holding hands and singing kumbaya? It was all rushed for me. The emotions were not fully portrayed. I had to re-read that part again because it seemed like Papa Uloma just brushed the whole thing off. 

Like, Omo, what will be will be oh. We'll figure it out later. Make we dey go house.

I don't even know if I'm explaining this thing to you well and I really hope you understand what I'm trying to say. 

Caesar. You did well. And just like rising sun, you had me at the beginning, and then at the end, I was so confused. You showed us how strong the family's rule for studying law was. If you didn't study law, you're an outcast. Then at the end, they're all of a sudden allowing him to become a medical doctor.  Even Bruno in Encanto that you used as a reference did not get his family's acceptance that easy and quick. Even Mirabel who was trying to figure things out and bring him back got criticised.

Abi is it because his brother died? Even if that's why they changed their minds, it's still not it at all. Even though. Even though regardless upon still, Caesar. That brings me to the brother's funeral. The beginning was giving all of these rich people’s get-together and not a burial.

Then to your punctuations.it was pointed out in the last stage, and i’m still seeing a few of those things.i’m not sure you read through your work after writing.if you did, you would have noticed those errors and corrected them.

You see what I did up there? Good.

JUDGE NINA OGBEIDE

For Ceaser, I love how you infused humor into your writing; the reference to Disney and Nonso admiring his own face really got me. I like how clean and simple your writing is. A little overnight when you wanted to write they, you wrote it as “hey”. Also, the third to last paragraph was all clustered up. For easier understanding, another dialogue should always be on the next line or the next paragraph. And generally, you did a fantastic job with the story. I love it. I love you unique and different it is, with the theme you chose to explore. For The Rising Sun, You did fairly well though I have lots of questions and I feel like the story didn't end well. I’d have loved to know more about the Lioness but you just caught us off like that. 

Also, I noticed a couple of mistakes but im just going to point these two out; “Successfully trader?” a lioness tall as a palm tree? It’s obvious you know what you want to write and this is just a little oversight but this is a competition, you have to make sure your *Ts* are crossed and *Is* are doted. Please pay more attention in the future. 

JUDGE UMAR HASAN

Cute story, Ceaser Augustus. But I feel you could have delivered better. Nonetheless, you did well. For you, Rising Sun, your writing was done well. But I failed to see the coordination between your plot and your characters. Something about these didn't just blend. Also, you need to work on your punctuation—dialouge punctuation to be precise. I'm pleased with your creativity, but see, konawa, there's more to improve on, okay? So much more.

JUDGE GIWA FALADE

Caesar, you had me hooked in the beginning and then, you kinda fell off in the end. Now, don’t get me wrong. You know me, I’ll tell you if you wowed me and how, or if you didn’t wow me and how. You, my friend, were close wowing me and then… breeze, afefe, dust. 

I have been misplaced. Find me please. 

First of all, I loved the beginning. I liked the route you took with the inspo and theme given to you. I loved the “encanto” reference too, though I think you didn’t have to explain where it came from. Whoever will not get it should forget about it. You had me hooked till the point we got the story about Michael. 

But the resolution came too fast! 

I expected Nonso to give his parents a piece of his mind about choosing his own career part, and I’d have loved it if it was at Michael’s burial. Them accepting so easily for him to be a doctor and not a lawyer was so out of character, especially with how you portrayed his mum to be at the beginning. 

Plus, why was the burial so bubbly? I swear, I didn’t know it was a burial till I read back again after Uncle Kelechi said “I’m sorry about Michael.”

Also, learn to space out your dialogues and check for typo errors before submitting your work. 

Rising Sun, your story was… something. And I’m not even sure if that something is good or bad. Mostly bad than good, honestly.

Your story wasn’t standing on two feet, it was unstable. It started with a proposal, then the beast came in, then Ikediegwu pitying the beast and wanting to help the beast, then Uloma killing the beast with her magic arrows, then her father’s switch in emotion from sadness to pride. 

How? Can you see how extremely confusing it is?

I can’t even say I know what your story is about because it’s about everything and nothing and didn’t make sense. You talked about too much and absolutely nothing at the same time. 

I’m going to drink tea. It’s not me you people will give headache.

COMMENTARY: NEXT!

003 LIONESS VS  029 MEDUSA

003 LIONESS

The Panting pandemic had spread like a plague across the nation and to some people, it sounded like a myth because they had never seen it in action. 

As a young and promising doctor, Destiny had seen his own share of how fast and deadly the virus really was. Which was why, when Teni had approached him three years ago fearful that she had contracted the virus somehow, he immediately examined her. Alas, her fear was legit.

Contrary to what most people believed, that the Panting was no different from a blocked nose—causing people to breathe through their mouth—Destiny knew that it was only a matter of a month before the virus blocked all the lady's respiratory organs, leading to her death. 

And Teni was not ready to die, after all no one prayed for death. In his research, Destiny had found a cure.

“It would have some negative impacts in the long run, like weight loss and loss of breath for an extended period of time. During this period, some activities such as talking and eating might prove to be a hassle for you,” he had told her and had watched the beautiful vibrant lady in front of him burst into tears.

“Is there a way to stop the loss of breath?” She had finally asked after she stopped crying. 

Destiny had noticed how she was particularly bothered about losing her breath and tried to put her mind at ease, “It's really not that bad. As long as you don't talk for a particular period of time after taking the shot, you’ll breathe fine. The shot just takes a toll on the lungs.”

“You don't understand, doctor. I'm an upcoming artist. Singing is my passion. I can't give it up,” her voice had taken a pleading tone.

“Miss Teniola, about an hour after taking the shot, your breathing should be fine. You can sing within that duration.”

She exhaled shakily. “And how many times a day do I have to take this shot?” 

Destiny squirmed a little as he replied, “Twice.”

Teni gasped as she stared at him in horror. He had thought she wouldn't agree to it but surprisingly, she stopped singing.

Three years later, Teni was a shell of her former self. Music was all she had in this world and her life had unsurprisingly turned bland until an opportunity presented itself in the form of a singing contest.

Entering into the Great Voice of Nigeria was a last minute decision for Teni and she had finally gotten to the finals by taking the shots ten to twelve times a day, depending on when she had to sing or practice. The effects of the medicine had diminished greatly and instead of the usual ‘one hour space of breathing normally’, her time had now been shortened to an average of five minutes.

“You're killing yourself, Teniola.” Destiny observed painfully as he held her hand backstage. It was the final day of the competition.

“I can't stop, Destiny. Do you know how much torture these past 3 years have been without singing?” She asked him tearfully.

“I'm sorry, Teni. But I can't allow this to continue. As your personal physician, I already put in a petition for you to withdraw from this competition.”

Teni suddenly gasped, offering her wrist to Destiny immediately. He shook his head and refused her the shot she so desperately wanted. It's been just two minutes since the last shot.

But he didn't expect her to be stubborn and as she tried to speak again, she ended up gasping and clutching painfully at her chest.

Not being able to withstand her pain, Destiny finally gave her the dose. She relaxed mere seconds after the shot and glared at him.

“You had no right, Destiny. It's my choice and I will sing tonight, whether you like it or not.”

Destiny shook his head. “You'll die, Teni. Your lungs are already weak and dependent on the shots. By the time you go up there to sing, you'll be down to a minute or less. Your lungs will collapse and you'll die.” 

Teni contemplated for a while. “Music is calling to me, Destiny. It weaves around me when I sing, shielding me in a warm cocoon from the harsh reality that is my life. No matter what happens, promise me you'll be beside me, administering the shots every second if you have to.”

Destiny wanted to protest but how could he? Instead, he asked her what she planned to sing. 

“I'm singing How Far I'll Go,” Teni chirped. 

“And how far will you go?” He couldn't help but ask, and all he got was a sad smile.

***

“And now…” Teni gasped as tears ran down her face. With difficulty, she turned to look at Destiny by her side. He had a troubled look in his eyes as if debating if it was really worth it, but Teni mustered all her strength to whisper “please” into the microphone. 

Silence had descended on the crowd and there were whispers as to why she stopped. 

“Are you alright up there?” Judge Meredith chimed from the podium. With a nod, Teni whirled around in her wheelchair to face Destiny. 

The tears that ran down his handsome face made Teni choke with sobs. 

Finally sighing in resignation, Destiny got down on one knee, his hands digging into the left side of his pocket. 

There were gasps of disbelief from the crowd as well as cheers. They thought he wanted to propose. The thought made Destiny chuckle bitterly.

Producing a syringe from his pocket, he removed the cap and gently eased it into Teni’s outstretched wrist.

She let out an audible sigh when he removed the needle from her skin, and then she continued from where she had stopped, not minding that the instrumentals she was singing along to was ended.

“And now I know…” she sang in a high soprano voice that carried a hint of pain and sadness. Looking at Destiny who didn't get up from his position, she stroked his cheek and stared into his light brown eyes. The pain in his gaze made her close her eyes, “how far I'll go…”

At that moment, she was in the skies soaring above the clouds. The lyrics of the song—the wings that bore her; and the melody—the winds propelling her forward.

She drew the final note and when she opened her eyes, the judges were all on their feet as the crowd cheered behind them but she wasn't done. “I love you, Destiny.” 

Destiny reached up with shaky hands to cup her cheeks, ignoring the noise surrounding them. All he could see was HER; her red rimmed eyes (side effects of her medication), her chapped lips, even her frail bony hands that seemed to be sliding down his cheek. 

The microphone fell with a deafening screech but all his attention was on Teni’s lifeless stare. Her eyes were still fixed on him, forever unseeing, and he wailed. He didn't even get the chance to tell her he loved her too.

Earlier, he had asked her how far she'll go and now, he had his answer.

029 MEDUSA

CHINONYE’S POV:

The first time I sent my nudes, I was 14 years old.

I wasn’t pressured nor did I like the boy, I just felt like doing it, I wanted to see what he’d say about my body. I remember all he had said word for word, how he sent ardent compliments that I reveled in.  

Around that time, I also started to show more skin than usual on Instagram, and pose in ways that accentuated the little boobs I had. I loved the comments, the praise I got even though most of them were from middle aged men; my mother had been so proud of me.

It wasn’t long till people realized how licentious I was and they started to point fingers, calling me the biggest slut in the whole school. Whenever I’d forget to do my assignments or had in-complete notes, the teachers – Mrs. Lawal especially – would insult me mercilessly, and tell me I was destined to be an Ashawo. I was in JSS 3.

The minute I turned eighteen, it was like Christmas for my mom and the business. She dressed me up in the sexiest and silkiest red dress, she gave me the most alluring make up and oh… that bright red lipstick. 

How could I ever forget that night? I remember crying and begging my mom not to take me there, I remember asking God why we didn’t Netflix and chilled like we planned to, I remember losing my purity that night to a 53-year-old politician. 

Contrary to popular beliefs, I don’t want to be desired, I never did.

I saw the way men looked at me on the street, stopping momentarily to openly stare at my ass. I saw the way the delivery man looked at me, his pupils aiming right at my chest. I saw the way the dry cleaner looked at me, it’s obvious he was admiring something more than my dress. I saw the way all men who showed ‘genuine interest’ in me licked their lips, but it’s not my words they want to taste, it’s my tongue, my neck, my waist, my skin; me.

I didn’t feel flattered by their ‘compliments’ anymore, I was smart enough to differentiate between admiration and desire, I knew lust wasn’t love. The only thing I felt was nausea, pure nausea.

“Chinonye! Gini mere i choghi i yi uwe gi?” Asked my mother as she glared at me through the mirror. “Chief Adetokunbo paid a huge sum of money to have you meet with him, it’ll he rude if he gets to the hotel before you.”

Translation: Why haven’t you worn your cloth?

Chief Adetokunbo, the so called ‘family man’ who was running for prime minister, it was sickening to see him act all lovey-dovey with his beautiful wife, when I knew well, he was the business’s biggest customer. It was sad to see all of Nigeria fall for his corrupt tricks.

“This must be the last, I want out,” I was tired of selling my body, tired of getting scared of STDs every day, tired of doing what Mrs. Lawal and my other teachers back in secondary school foresaw. I was tired of it all, I needed a restart. “I’ve been your dirty little thing for 5 years since I turned eighteen, I want out.”

“You want out?” She laughed humorlessly, “Why are you acting like this is some low budget ashawo business you could find on the streets of Lekki? Our family business only attends to the top 1% of the country for a reason. Look at your sister, Chisom, she has been here for 11 years, but do you see her making immature complaints?” 

“But you told me las–”

“Shut your stupid mouth,” She interrupted.

“But–”

“And fix that accent.” She warned before leaving the room. I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. “Okay, mother.” I said quietly to myself in a fake British accent.

I didn’t know what I expected honestly, but a part of me hoped she would’ve at least shown some motherly dignity. A tear streaked down my cheek, as I looked out the window. Watching the birds soar in the sky, I felt so jealous, it really felt like they knew where they belonged; in the skies. But where do I belong? I didn’t know.

With tears streaming down my face, I lifted up my bed and retrieved the fake passport I made a while back and my Visa to Europe. “Anita Nwosu,” I whispered, testing the name on my tongue. I threw both into my purse, along with the Credit card that held all of my life savings.

“Are you really leaving?” The sudden voice startled me. I turned around to find my younger sister – Chioma – standing by the door frame.

My expressions softened almost immediately and I quickly moved to give her a very tight hug. “It’s the only way, I don’t even know who I am anymore, I have to find myself.” I mumbled against her neck.

I pulled out of the embrace to look at her directly in the eye, “I promise, I’ll come back for you, and when I do, I’ll bring help.” Tears had already clogged both of our eyes as I gave her a reassuring smile.

After a moment, she dipped her hand into the tote bag she was holding and brought out a gun. “Jesus Christ! How the fuck did you get this?”

“It’s okay, it’s fake, designed by yours truly.” She flipped her nonexistent long hair playfully, “You might need it.”

She handed the fake gun to me, before hugging me one more time and running out of my room. I cleaned my face to hide any traces of tears before putting on a random spaghetti strap dress that hugged my body and a pair of white heels.

I made my way downstairs, to see my mother on a call. She eyed my dress before giving me a ‘You picked an amazing dress’ thumbs up, then returned to her call. 

Goodbye mother.

I entered my usual car, and Femi – my mom’s driver – started driving. My mom had probably given him the address. Once I noticed we were out of the estate, I brought out the fake gun Chioma had given me and placed it against the side of Femi’s head.

“Start driving to Muritala Mohammed Airport.”

Femi glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “You don tell me the plan before nau, no be the two of us wan travel again?”

I giggled, putting the gun back in my purse and turned to face the window, still smiling. “I know, I just wanted to try that.”

COMMENTARY: I told you guys that this is survival of the fittest. As the contestants is giving the Judges, the judges are giving them back😂

Let's hear from our beloved Judges.

JUDGES REVIEW

JUDGE NADIA SULAIMAN

You guys are really trying in this stage. Did we go easy on you guys?😂 Or have you people made up your mind to give us back to back? 😂 Nonetheless, I like what I am seeing. These two entries were good. Lioness, I love the creativity in your work and I am a SUCKER for creativity. From the concept of the illness to the singer who loved it so much to the point that she didn't care if she would die, singing. I know the fear that comes with not being able to do something you love anymore. I love how you showed that through this piece. How you showed how strongly one can be so attached to their calling. And Medusa, I'll give it to you, your funny was very interesting. Engaging read, to be frank. And POWERFUL opening statement. Love that. You both did great, but it wasn't hard to pick a vote tbh. So, yeah. 

JUDGE OLAITAN DAVIS

Lioness, this was good. Teni (I don't know if I'm correct because I suddenly forgot the babe's name) going this far to do the one thing she truly loved. In my mind, I was just scolding her for being a stubborn ass and making her condition deteriorate like that. But the things we do and the lengths we'll go to keep doing the one thing that we love. 

Medusa Medusaaaaa. Honestly, I was invested in the whole story. It's really impressive and I can see there has been an improvement. Still, I didn't see how your work was inspired by the prompt.

JUDGE NINA OGBEIDE

Lioness, I love the idea of your story. The concept is thrilling and creative. The storytelling just feels a bit weak at some point and that almost affected the pacing. Overall, you did a great job. Medusa, your opening is really captivating. It’s my favorite so far. And your story is impressive; the main story didn't captivate me that much but the ending made me smile. I love it. 

JUDGE UMAR HASAN

Touching story, Lioness. It pulled my heartstrings, because why did it have to happen to someone who just loved music so much? It was a beautiful one, ya daodi. I just feel you need to work a lot more on making your plot solid, all right? To you, Medusa—wow, your story made me chuckle. And trust me, it takes a lot to make me crack the smallest smile. That said, I want you to take note of your punctuation. The way you used your commas was mostly inaccurate, okay? Massive improvement compared to the first stage, by the way. I look forward to more of it. 

JUDGE GIWA FALADE

Lioness, I actually prefer your Stage One entry to this entry. This one is not bad, though. It’s actually pretty creative because you interpreted the theme and inspo given in a way that contestants before you didn’t and that’s one thing I like. You executed it pretty well too, but it didn’t grip me in the way I wish it did. 

Good Job though. 

Medusa, this is actually an improvement from your Stage One Entry and I love to see more of this. This is what we are all about, improvement. Although, I’m trying to link the theme and inspo to your story, and I still can’t see it. But this doesn’t make your story any less of a good story. 

It was really interesting to read.

COMMENTARY: The contestants are beginning to shock the Judges. Let's see how far the contestants can go with this.

Next!

004 JAY VS 016 SUMMER WRITER

004 JAY

A lone tear dropped down my left cheek as I wiped it clean with my sleeve. The ground had something depressing about it, the world did. I looked up at my mother, wailing at the giant gaping hole between us both, a large box slowly lowered into the hole, the reason for both our tears, no matter how gut-wrenching. 

The village women surrounded my mother as she stripped herself of the clothing on her body, screaming for her other. Another tear came through, this time on my right side. I did not wipe it. I walked away slowly, while they covered the hole, my mother's hysterics doubling by the minute. 

The compound was rowdy, except for our small house in the middle. People ate and drank to their satisfaction around in canopies, a few people shaking their heads and shedding a tear or two before getting to the food before them. I looked around and counted my family members, from my uncle who saw me through my secondary education to my grandmother, also surrounded by a group of females consoling her as well. 

I entered the house, the familiar creak from the door only seeking another tear from my eyes. The room smelled of fresh soup, the one mother made yesterday as she was deep in thought. The old armchair felt new again, my tiny five-year-old self jumping repeatedly on it against my mother's will in the shadow of my memory. I smiled at it and paced, picking frames here and there as I went. 

My first graduation, my favorite aunt’s wedding to her first husband, the first time I'd had ice cream, in celebration of my wonderful grades as a new secondary school student. I had come home waving my report card in the air, jumping for all the joy I could muster. As unexpected as he knew it would be, he'd told me to get dressed, that he'd expected it, and it would be celebrated accordingly. 

“I am proud of you, my baby boy. This is just one of many. I know it. You will always make Daddy proud, regardless of the circumstances. Now go get dressed, my boy.” With that, I’d done even better with each term, each session, the smile on Father's face, the only motivation I needed.

Their love. Their duets to songs from their youth whilst they tended to chores on Saturday mornings, their banters on weekday evenings under the only tree in our compound, after a long day at work on both their parts. Their inside jokes, the look in his eye every time she got all dressed up for one event or the other, the playful jab at his shoulder in flattery while she blushed uncontrollably. 

I'd promised myself to bring home my very own version of my mother, sharing a love like theirs, maybe even better. 

Suddenly I felt my mother's heartache with the weight of her losses. I logged my giant suitcase out of my tiny room, looking back at my wall, lined with small images of all the places in the world I wanted to see. Seas, oceans, grasslands, everything sat pretty on that wall, rightly labeled with their names by a younger version of myself, with the hope that I would see the world one day. With one last glance, I was out, dragging my things along with me out of the creaking door that'd been creaking for as long as I could remember. Out of our small house in Badagry, out of my childhood. 

My mother ran to me, crying and muttering prayers through her tears onto my freshly ironed shirt. Her body was frail, her hair ruffled from the rough handling of her headgear. I held her back and muttered answers to each one, the lone tears building momentum with each ‘Amin, mummy.’

I towered over my robust uncle in his oversize sokoto, pulling at it with every chance he got, a hint of stew on the side of his lip. I followed behind him solemnly into the open street, turning back at a ‘Be safe, my son.’ trailing behind me from my mother, still weeping into the shoulder of my Aunty Bisi. 

The journey to the docks went by in a blur, the dirt roads gathering dust behind the keke that carried us, as I tried to gather strength from a place I remained unsure of, even as we joined the passengers of the ship, loading our luggage alongside theirs.  

As we boarded the ship, I turned, finding my father standing at the dock in his signature clothes. He could not be mistaken in his favorite suit, his stories with it the most mind-blowing ones I'd ever heard. There, he waved me the final goodbye as his words filled my consciousness,

“I'm proud of you, my son.”

I smiled as my tears found new ground to walk on. Eyes filled with tears, I boarded the ship, wiping my eyes furiously as I searched for my uncle amongst the sea of people. My father was proud of me, and he had good reason to be. With all the strings he'd pulled before his last breath, I couldn't afford to let him down now. 

I was finally ready, willing to seek my future and wrestle it out of life's hands. I wanted to do it. It was required. I would get it done. Not for me, but for my father. 

016 SUMMER WRITER

In the heart of the floating village, where shanties on stilts of bamboo were homes to its inhabitants. Its infamous turbid waterways flowed through the village like lifeblood, carrying odds and ends of the town's despair. The village, though immersed in filth shone with ethereal beauty as it was bathed in the final rays of the setting sun.

Ovi paddled her weathered canoe along the waterways. She paddled towards an island in which a tower foundation of a concrete bridge stood and berthed her canoe on the beach at its usual spot before sitting cross-legged on the sand.

The onshore breeze rustled through her thick coarse hair as she read through a travel journal she had found. She could only make out a few words which seemed to be addresses and coordinates. As much as she loved reading she still couldn't figure out every word in the book. She closed the journal and picked up an old hardcover from the pile of notebooks scattered beside her.

Some minutes elapsed and the orange sky was engulfed by darkness. Ovi had only noticed how late it was when she couldn't make out the letters in her book; it then dawned on her that it was past her curfew. She jerked to her feet, packed her books into a sack but hid the journal underneath her dress and dragged her canoe to sea, muttering words about how careless she could get. 

Ovi paddled away but kept looking back with each stroke she made. She sighted tall buildings that stretched beyond the height of the bridge and took notice of the thousands of lights that illuminated the darkness.

She had read about the world beyond the concrete bridge in her old books; a world aside from fishing and salt making, a life better than what the villagers claimed was best for them, but she knew the bitter truth was that they were blinded by their fear, not following the witty beliefs of their ancestors. She paddled away slowly towards her village.

***

"Ovi!" A middle-aged woman yelled and Ovi cussed under her breath. Unfortunately, she could never escape her mother. "Child, your father is enraged."

Her mother stood akimbo in the middle of the living room, while a much older woman was seated in a bamboo chair. 

Ovi quickly hid the sack in which she put her books behind her.

"Enraged? He's aware I wasn't home."

"Mendo made his first catch today. A netful of fish." Her mother said, gesturing with her hands how big the catch was.

"The boy is a man now. The chief must be proud" The older woman interposed.

"Good evening, Grandma." Ovi greeted. She didn't expect a response, knowing the old woman heard sparingly.

"Mendo has nothing to do with me going out."

"I expected you to be present upon his arrival from the sea!" A masculine voice thundered and the wooden house shook. The villagers heard and instantly knew what the situation was. 

Ovi went down on her knees as her father approached her and her mother stood beside him.

"You went beyond the town border, didn't you?" He spotted the sack behind her. Ovi became mute. Suddenly, she felt the sack being dragged away from her hands and didn't realize when she stood to her feet.

"These mere papers have made you defiant." Her father said taking the books from the sack and the unexpected happened. He tore them up in front of her. Ovi's eyes widen. Her mother's mouth dropped in surprise.

"You've disobeyed me enough. You are henceforth banned from crossing the village border."

Ovi's ears blocked out his words as her eyes were solely fixed on the shreds of paper on the wooden floor.

"Are you shouting at Ovi again?" The old woman asked, noticing the tension in the house. Ovi ran to her grandmother's side. "She's just a curious child." 

"A child?" Her father laughed. "She's of marriageable age."

"I'm only eighteen!" Ovi ejaculated. "I refused to be married off. I have my life to live, Pa." Tears flowed down her cheeks as she burned with anger.

"Child, you are talking to your father." Her mother cautioned her.

"Mendo has asked for your hand in marriage. The engagement ceremony will be held tomorrow. That is final." Her father said and exited the living room. Her mother followed suit.

Ovi dropped to the floor beside her grandmother and wept the old woman could hear her sobs.

"What did you learn today, dear child?" The woman asked out of the blue. Fortunately, her words were able to grab Ovi's attention.

"I-I learned that the sun dips below the horizon. It doesn't bury itself in the sea." 

Her granddaughter chuckled. "My father told me that when I was ten. You remind me of him." She ran her palm across Ovi's back to soothe her.

"He was an adventurer, just like you. On several occasions, he woke up and boarded a boat and whenever I asked him where he was going, he told me that something was calling him." 

Ovi couldn't make out what her grandmother was saying but she enjoyed hearing stories about her great-grandfather's travels. 

"I know you took his journal from my room." The woman said and Ovi hung her head in shame from being caught. She pulled the journal from underneath her dress. She thought to herself: at least it wasn't ripped to shreds.

"It's yours, dear child. I have no use of it." The woman said and took Ovi's cheeks in her palm. "My father used to say when something calls you deeply to the point that it doesn't refuse to let you go, you follow." With that, the old woman got up from her chair and walked towards her room.

"Do write a letter before you leave. Your great-grandfather always did." The old woman said with a smile before heading into her room.

Ovi felt an urge rise inside her. She dashed into her room and threw some rags into a sack. She held on tight to the journal.

At the crack of dawn, she boarded her boat and paddled eastward; her frail but deft hands gripped the paddle board as she stirred her canoe out of the village. She crossed the border and looked behind her. She had ceased to paddle but the current stirred her canoe further away from the village. A satisfied grin stretched across her face. There was no need to turn back. Unfortunately, Mendo will have to marry himself and she hoped her parents find the note she left on the table telling them not to worry and that she would return when it was due.

COMMENTARY: you people are looking for what I will say ahbi, I will not talk.
Over to the Judges🎤

JUDGES REVIEW

JUDGE NADIA SULAIMAN

You did alright, Jay. But I wasn't sure I enjoyed the procession of this story. And Summer Writer, you had a wonderful concept. But the storytelling was not as gripping as the concept in mind. I would suggest one thing... When you wrote works that have elements of mystery and adventure, it calls for WILD suspense. Keep your readers at their toes every chance you get. I hate to use another contestant to show you what I mean, but I have no other way to show you what I mean other than recommending it. Check out The Pen Reaper's work (SN 001); they wrote a story with an almost similar concept. Finding what it was like at the other side. And, you could feel the anxiety and suspense with every line they wrote. You had a nice story line. Just make sure to tell your story impeccably, to compliment what you're going for. 

JUDGE OLAITAN DAVIS

This is okay, Jay. Just okay. And I also feel like he should have stayed for a few days after the funeral before leaving. I can't imagine the pain of the poor woman burying her husband, and her dear son was leaving her the same day. Well, who knows? There might have been other reasons why he left that day. 

Summer Writer, this your big grammar usage ehn, please reduce it. You can get your message across, and you can make your story interesting without too much of it. Asides that, your work was good.

JUDGE NINA OGBEIDE

Jay, I want to like your story but there's something just missing about it and I couldn't get into the story. It’s a fairly good story, it just didn't stand out enough. Summer Writer, you did okay but just like Jay, there's something missing in your story. I think it’s in your story telling; it’s not captivating enough to do justice to your story idea. 

JUDGE UMAR HASAN

Um, okay, Jay. So...I'm not sure what happened here, but okay. I don't think I have anything more to say than there's so much to improve on. First off, Summerwriter, please do not use "ejaculated" as a dialogue tag again; it doesn't exactly fit into that context. There's many other words you could use. To your story, I didn't find the creativity I was looking for. Yes, you do write well, but in subsequent stages—if you make it to them—I want to see proper and better execution of your imagination, okay, zaurawa?

JUDGE GIWA FALADE

Jayy, your story was too narrative. And then, there were a lot of telling, not showing. Also, was it ideal for the lead to leave on the day of his father’s burial? There was a story, but there wasn’t a story at the same time. 

Maybe you were aiming for nostalgia? I’m not sure you pulled it off sha. 

Summer Writer, If you were trying to bamboozle me with your introduction, you missed… like mad! One thing you should learn is, if your aim is to use big words to wow the judges, at least know how to put the big words into sentences that won’t confuse anyone. 

“In the heart of the floating village, where shanties on stilts of bamboo were homes to its inhabitants.”

In simpler words 

“In the middle of the floating village, where people lived in houses built on bamboo stilts.”

In as much as I know what you are trying to say, simpler words could have passed the message well. Let me speak for myself right now and say big words don’t impress me at all, and too much of big words in a story just makes the story lose its flavor, no matter how interesting it is. 

Honestly, I almost stopped reading at that point, but I had to continue reading so that I can judge fairly. 

And your story… despite everything I said earlier, was a lovely one.

COMMENTARY: We have officially come to the end of the first batch of our Judges review 🎉.
Expect the second batch by this time tomorrow 😉.