Climbs the stage majestically... Greets the judges and stares at the Cribbers with a smile.

Welcomeee Cribbers to the second batch of the Judges Review for this stage. In this stage, we have the following contestants:

005 TRAFALGAR VS 025 RENE

007 DNA VS 010 SETH

008 SMERALDO VS 013 BOWL OF FIRE

014 LILY BIRD VS 017 BILLIE

Without further ado, let's begin!

005 TRAFALGAR VS 025 RENE

005 TRAFALGAR

I wasn't meant to see that. The way he tried to get up, doubled down on his lies. Perhaps I would have believed him, I would have gone to sleep, sure my mother was suffering some mild fever, not outside the capabilities of my father; chief healer, king and liar. Only to wake up to her death.

I was sure now. This wasn't some grief-induced fever that a couple of plants from our apothecaries were going to heal even if we had the time. In Fact, in her condition, we’d be lucky if she survived the hour. The delirium, the fever that seemed to boil away the damp, sea breeze, the blank stare in her eyes instead of  intelligence. My mother had been poisoned. And he'd planned it.

My father had always been somewhat wary of me. “You're brash, hard-headed and tough. Had you been a boy picking my heir would have been a lot easier.” He'd trained me to wield a sword and shoot and assemble a gun despite the misgivings of his royal council. I'd become as fluent in swordplay as I was in the white man's language, and I was the best shot in the entire village.

My mom hadn't cared and I think that's what drove my father's advisors mad the most. "I have a princess in your elder sister, and a scholar in your brother, I don't mind a warrior in you," she'd whispered to me after one council meeting. Even when my father had declared me his heir, I'm sure she was not only in support, but she'd orchestrated the decision itself. I loved her so much. Too much. Perhaps that's why my father didn't want me to know she was poisoned just yet. He knew what I'd do and he's been right.

I stormed out of Mom's chambers, breaking into a sprint as my father beckoned me back. I pushed the doors into my chambers so hard they almost flew off their hinges. I grabbed my daggers, a harpoon, and my guns, stuffing them into my warrior's bag. Someone was watching me. I looked up and into the tear-stained eyes of my elder sister, Nchedochukwu, her hands clutched something close to her chest.

"Don't try to stop me Chedo, I'm doing this," I warn.

"Nobody in this village is brave enough to stop you from doing anything," she replied, her voice uneven, like she didn't trust herself not to burst out crying. "You're going to get Ikenna back, right?"

"Something like that," I said flatly, as I tried not to look her in her eyes or I'd start sobbing.

She shoved what she was holding into my hands. It was a bracelet Ikenna had made that always showed which way was North. "Make them pay too, Chinaza."

Surprised, my eyes finally met her now steely gaze. "I plan to make whoever is responsible pay," I said, flexing my jaw.

She drew me in for a hug. "I know you will," she whispered.

"I'll be watching from the sea. When she—If she dies, turn off the torches so I'll know," I ask.

She nodded as she searched my eyes, tears filling hers.

*******

I drew the sails to their full length. The gods had blessed me with a draft. The moonlight was bright and the sea calm, crashing in small, frothy waves at the hull of the boat. It was the fastest boat I could man by myself.

I looked back at the island, and sure enough, the torches were still flickering. I watched, my fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger my brother, Ikenna, had lost when they'd kidnapped him what seemed like a millennia ago, but it had only been three days.

The white men had been around for as long as I knew. My father said they'd arrived sometime in the reign of his father. They'd come looking to trade and my grandfather had accepted them, and so had my father in his reign. My mother didn't trust them and she made no effort to hide it; outrightly denying their requests to live amongst us and getting my father to back her up. It worked that way for a while, my mother keeping them in check and just generally earning their moniker for her—Tempest. That is until they found out about the secret oil wells of the village.

They were a widely kept secret but apparently, someone had betrayed the village. Emboldened by their discovery, they'd tried to rob us but had been caught. Furious, my father ordered the execution of the thieves. My brother had been charged with guarding the oil wells but they'd been stealing from right under his nose and so for his negligence, my father had named me his heir, the first woman king in a century. I remembered how calm my brother had been.

I struck my hand on the mast. I should have known he did it. Entitled anger burns the hottest. His arrogance had blinded him and me too. I knew he should've been angrier but he'd fooled me. Convinced me he'd never wanted to rule. I believed him and then a day later he was gone. The white men claimed responsibility soon after.

I knew it all along. The way he'd covered for that guard when I asked who'd appointed him. "Father's orders," he'd assured me. A day before he'd been allegedly kidnapped and two days before my mom had been poisoned. I should have seen through his smoke and mirrors.

Ikenna had always been arrogant. He'd learned the white man's language a lot faster than both me and Chedo did. Intelligence is a double-edged dagger when you're aware of it. I wanted to believe he didn't know. That he'd been oblivious about that traitor guard. That he hadn't lied to me. But I knew he had. And I couldn't think of any reason big enough for him to lie, but small enough not to matter.

He'd hired that guard, had him poison my mom, and connived with the pale faces to stage his kidnapping. He'd done all this knowing my father would go to war with the white men and would've probably (let's face it) lost. He'd made a deal with them to install him as some sort of puppet king and he'd in exchange, offer them our oil. His revenge for a chance to quench their greed.

It might have worked. No, it would've. But I'm his fatal flaw. There's only one place he could be hiding. It's going to be guarded but not as heavily as the white man's island. He's a glorified slave but a slave nevertheless to them. He'd know I was coming but it wouldn't matter.

I glanced back to the island, and sure enough the lights had been put out. I hoped it was the wind but I knew deep down Chedo had honored my request. I reminded myself not to kill him. He deserved worse but I killed him and nobody back home, even my father would believe me. Not even the heir to the throne can get away with killing the prince without a damn good reason.

Some crimes deserved worse than death anyway.

025 RENE

“It calls me…”
“What is calling you, Obioma? I can’t seem to understand you these days!” Queen Amaka asked her daughter, concern heavy in her voice.

“Mama, you know I’ve always had a connection to the sea.” Obioma said. “It feels like whisper echoing through my dreams, drawing me to a place of comfort that feels so familiar yet strange…”

“Stop all this nonsense talk. This not why I told your grandmother not to allow you play near the water too much. Abeg-” Before she could continue, a servant rushed in.

“Lolo!(Queen) His majesty is calling for you and the Princess in the great throne room.” He informed them. “My father is calling me?” Obioma questioned. “Yes, your highness.”

“Well then, Obim. We wouldn’t want to keep your father waiting.” The Queen said, beckoning her daughter. “Yes mother.” Obioma quickly stood up, adjusting her dress as she did, then followed the servant to the throne room.

As they walked, Obioma sighed. ‘Mum never lets me go to the sea anymore. If it wasn’t for that stupid Damalu tribe and their attacks!’ She thought in anger.

Obioma couldn’t blame her mother for keeping her away. As the princess and heir to the throne, she had to be safe for her tribe to survive another generation. She can only silently curse the Damalu tribe.

As she entered the throne room, she spotted her father seated. The majestic throne in the middle, with the face of a lion craved into it, belonged to her father.

Obioma and her mother’s thrones were next in line, placed on either side of the king’s. Her grandmother, the being the wisest of the elders was also seated, along with the elders and the oracle of Iheje tribe.

Obioma could tell the meeting was serious. Oracles didn’t just attend any minor gatherings. Wondering what the meeting might be about, Obioma headed towards her father.

“Igwe.” She greeted, kneeling in front of him. Her father, King Ifeanyi, placed his ceremonial fan on her shoulder then told her to stand up. After greeting everyone, she sat on her throne.

“Iheje!!!” King Ifeanyi suddenly bellowed, the echoes filling the great room. “Igwe!!!” Everyone said in response

“Now that everyone is here, the meeting can begin. We all know that the neighboring tribe, the Damalu, has been wreaking havoc on our kingdom! This is a disgrace! But we do not have the numbers to defeat these vagabonds.”

“As we all know, we have been praying for a savior. It was revealed that the gods had chosen one person to save us…” He paused and Obioma noticed a slight quiver in her father’s speech. The faces of everyone became very solemn. She didn’t need a soothsayer to tell her that something was up.

“I think I’ll allow to the oracle to speak.” “Igwe!” The oracle said, standing on the his feet. “Few years ago, the gods of our great Iheje land revealed to me who the saviour was going to be.” He said. The short silence that followed was deafening.

“The one chosen to save our kingdom from the Damalu tribe is Princess Obioma!”

The princess was shocked speechless. Though she had thought the other would be too, everyone else seemed calm, including her parents.

She was surprised that her parents couldn’t tell her about it, but she caught her grandmother smiling a bit and wondered what was going through her mind.

“You know our gods are the gods of water?” He continued. “Yes I do” The princess answered. “I’m so sure you have also felt attracted to the sea?” “Yes I have.”

The piece suddenly fit! All her life, she felt so connected with the sea, called to it. A burst of excitement ran through hers

“We waited to tell you. You have now come of age and you must become a vessel for them. Are you ready to take on this responsibility?” Before she could answer, her father immediately spoke.

“Absolutely not!” His voice boomed in the room. “But father…” “I do not want to hear it!”

“Ifeanyi, let her be.” She heard her grandmother say. “But mama…” “Don’t ‘mama’ me. You knew, I knew. She was born for this. You’re scared for her safety, aren’t you? Don’t you know she’s already safe? Explain why out of all the children that were taken away this year, she was the only one brought back. And by sea for that matter!”

“Plus aren’t you tired of suffering? She has to do this. You can’t even deny, my love. I am as scared as you are but she needs to do this.”

Even with that speech her father was still unfazed about his decision. The meeting was over in an instant. Obioma silently went to her chambers. ‘I have to go to the sea! Father does not understand… but I know I must.’ She thought.

That night, there was a full moon. Obioma could feel the pull from its light, could hear a voice singing. She attempted to leave her chambers but discovered it was heavily guarded.

Knowing the palace like the back of her hand, she went to the roof top and jumped on a tree. Obioma hid in the leaves, barely making a sound as she watched the guards pass. She came down and maneuvered her way behind the walls and trees. Once away from sight, she dashed towards the beach where a voice seemed to be calling her.

Immediately, the water parted beneath her feet, making a path of blue seashells to guide her. She followed them until she saw a white and blue shimmery seashell and pearl necklace.

As she walked toward the necklace, the voice calling out to her seemed to grow louder. Before she could wear it, her parents interrupted her.

“Obim, don’t do this! You’re not ready yet!” Shouted her mother.
“Father, I have to. Our people are suffering and before long we will too. Please let me do this.” “But you’re still my little princess” She smiled, knowing all this was from a place of love.

“I may be your little princess daddy, but don’t forget I am soon to be queen.” Without waiting for a response she wore the necklace. The water suddenly rises towards her, submerging her.

“Obioma!” Shouted her parents. But she did not need their help. She arose from the water, her eyes now golden and hair filled with white streaks. Her grandmother, watching from her room, smiled. With the power coursing through her, Obioma knew she was ready to save her people.

The next time the Damala tribe ‘visited’ with their menacing boats and pitchforks, Obioma scoffed. With her people cowering behind her, she commanded the water to swallow their boats.

The gods shared their power and the sea swirled until the boats were forced down. One by one, the people of the Damala tribe were swept away by the current. Obioma, along with her people, cheered out their battle song in victory.

Commentary: We've seen their stories, Let's hear what the judges have to say.

JUDGES REVIEW

JUDGE NADIA SULAIMAN

You this Trafalgar, I just know you're a fine boy.

I don't know, the way you write, I just know you're a spec. Come and take your accolades, abeg! I liked it. Frankly, I did. The MC has so much depth. You can see it with the way he talks, the way he thinks, even his small actions. You are so good at creating characters. I love it. Ikenna may be hot, but you're hotter. Call me. Oops.

And Rene, I'll give it to you. I saw improvement. But there's still room for more. Try to space out your work, pace your work efficiently and be careful to not use excessive punctuations marks at places that don't need it. For example, the exclamation mark (!) doesn't need to be used more than once at a stretch. Please take this into consideration. I want to see you do better in the next stage. I'd like to actually watch you.

JUDGE OLAITAN DAVIS

Trafalgar, you have done wonderfully once again. I don't have much to say but to congratulate you and tell you to keep doing better.

DO NOT SLACK.

If you like, allow the compliments to enter your head. That's your wahala.

Good job though.

Rene. Read this thing with me.

“Ifeanyi, let her be.” She heard her grandmother say. “But mama…” “Don’t ‘mama’ me. You knew, I knew. She was born for this. You’re scared for her safety, aren’t you? Don’t you know she’s already safe? Explain why out of all the children that were taken away this year, she was the only one brought back. And by sea for that matter!”

If you can't see the mistake, knock your head five times for me.

Space out your dialogues. That thing above is jam-packed.

“Ifeanyi, let her be.” She heard her grandmother say.

“But mama…”

“Don’t ‘mama’ me. You knew, I knew. She was born for this. You’re scared for her safety, aren’t you? Don’t you know she’s already safe? Explain why out of all the children that were taken away this year, she was the only one brought back. And by sea for that matter!”

You like this one abi? Good. Work on your punctuations too.

Well done though. This is way better than your last entry. I like the improvement. Keep up the good work.

JUDGE NINA OGBEIDE

Trafalgar, an improvement compared to the last stage. It’s impressive; how you told this unique story and how you delivered the twists. Rene, please space your work🙏 sentences and paragraphs all clustered up always make it harder to enjoy reading a story. And generally, I think you could have done better with your story.

JUDGE UMAR HASAN

Honestly, Trafalgar, I expected a lot more from you in this stage. But nonetheless, you did okay. Just do better in subsequent stages—if you do get in. Zo, kawar Rene, whenever you want to change speakers having a conversation, it should start in a different paragraph, you get? That said, you need to find better ways to expand and express your creativity while you write, do you understand?

JUDGE GIWA FALADE

Okay Tralfagar, you wowed me this stage. It was a beautiful story, not without hiccups though. Also, thank you for taking my advice and not writing in present tense. You write better in past tense.

Now, to the hiccups. The first one, which is rather minor, is this;

He'd done all this knowing my father would go to war with the white men and would've probably (let's face it) lost.

The “Let’s face it” in bracket shouldn’t be. It would have been better with commas or hyphens. Eg;

He'd done all this knowing my father would go to war with the white men and would've probably, let's face it, lost.

Or

He'd done all this knowing my father would go to war with the white men and would've probably — let's face it — lost.

Another thing is the way the story the story ended. It was rushed and a story with such a powerful rising action should have such a wishy-washy denouncement. In fact, I’d have preferred a powerful cliffhanger.

Rene, the first thing that put me off was Queen Amaka’s first dialogue. You ended the dialogue with an exclamation mark and still said “Queen Amaka asked”. I know a question came earlier, but that’s where the “Queen Amaka asked” should have come in. What do I mean?

“What is calling you, Obioma? I can’t seem to understand you these days!” Queen Amaka asked her daughter, concern heavy in her voice. ❌

“What is calling you, Obioma?” Queen Amaka asked her daughter. “I can’t seem to understand you these days!” she lamented, concern heavy in her voice.  ✅

This next thing that put me off ehn, I corrected a contestant on this in the last stage so I’m going to correct you too, and I hope I don’t see this icky nonsense again through out this competition.

Space out your bloody dialogues!

What is this?

“You know our gods are the gods of water?” He continued. “Yes I do” The princess answered. “I’m so sure you have also felt attracted to the sea?” “Yes I have.” ❌

Foul!!

Why are there four dialogues merged into one paragraph?

“You know our gods are the gods of water?” He continued.

“Yes I do” The princess answered.

“I’m so sure you have also felt attracted to the sea?”

“Yes I have.”✅

Write well!

Commentary: That being said, let's move on...

007 DNA VS 010 SETH

007 DNA

Lena and the Spirit of the Great Lake.

In a small town by Lake Lichigan, there lived a brave girl named Lena. Her town depended on the lake for fishing and tourism. Lena loved listening to her grandmother’s stories about Lichi, the spirit of the Great Lakes, who protected their waters.

One summer, the lake changed. Its clear waters turned dirty, and the fish disappeared. The townspeople were worried and said that Lichi was angry, but no one knew why.

Lena decided to find out what happened to Lichi. Her parents, though concerned, knew they couldn’t stop her adventurous spirit. They gave her a small boat, a family compass, and their blessings.

As Lena paddled across the lake, she faced a thick fog that made it hard to see. Remembering her grandmother’s stories, she sang a song that Lichi loved. The fog lifted, showing her the way.

She met an old sailor named Captain Bill, who told her about a sacred island where Lichi’s spirit lived. He believed something had disturbed the island, making Lichi angry. He gave Lena a map and a glowing amulet to help her.

Lena continued her journey, facing rough waters and rocky shores. She met a friendly water panther named Mishipeshu, who guarded the lake. Mishipeshu asked her a riddle:

“What is always running but never moves, has no mouth but a mighty roar?”

“A river,” Lena answered. Pleased with her answer, Mishipeshu showed her the way.

Lena reached the sacred island, which was beautiful but in despair. The trees were dying, and the air felt heavy. In the center stood a cracked stone altar. Lena placed the glowing amulet on the altar, and a brilliant light appeared. Lichi, the spirit of the lake, emerged.

“Lichi, great spirit, please forgive us,” Lena pleaded. “Tell me how we can make things right.”

Lichi’s voice echoed like waves. “My spirit was stolen by those who forgot to respect the lake. To restore balance, you must find my spirit and return it here.”

Lena asked where to find the spirit. Lichi replied, “In the cave of echoes, beyond the northern cliffs. The journey is dangerous, but you can do it.”

Determined, Lena set off for the cave of echoes. She climbed cliffs and crossed forests. Along the way, she received help from a wise owl and playful otters. The owl gave her a feather to protect her from evil spirits.

At the cave of echoes, Lena found a glowing orb – Lichi’s spirit. As she reached for it, a shadowy figure appeared. It was Wendigo, a trickster spirit who had stolen Lichi’s spirit.

“You can’t take what’s mine,” Wendigo hissed.

Lena stood her ground. “The lake’s power belongs to everyone who respects it.”

She used the owl feather, which shone brightly, to repel Wendigo. She grabbed Lichi’s spirit and escaped the cave. The lake spirits protected her as she returned to the island.

Lena placed Lichi’s spirit back on the altar. The lake burst with new life. Trees bloomed, fish returned, and the air felt fresh. Lichi reappeared, more magnificent than before.

“You’ve restored balance, Lena,” Lichi said. “Your bravery and respect for the lake have saved your town.”

Lena returned home a hero. The town celebrated, and the lake flourished. They lived in harmony with the lake, remembering Lena as the Guardian of the Great Lake.

010 SETH

It hasn't been 24 hours since we arrived  and I already feel sick to my stomach. I know something bad is going to happen, I just don't know how bad.

“Any problem?” I ask my little sister who is resting her head on the left arm of the chair, with her legs folded over the other arm.

She has been like this since we arrived; she made a fuss about not wanting to come to the village but I didn't expect her to go completely immobile.

She looks up at me with those brown eyes of hers, but doesn't say anything .

“Are you having a fever?” I ask again but this time she doesn't spare me a glance.

I regard her for a few seconds, and take note of how frail she is. I pray silently that she's not about to fall sick, she barely ever recovers from an illness before becoming sick again.

I remember the first time I died.

It was on this particular chair, the girl's mother was almost three months pregnant, and the sisters thought it would be funny for me to die a week before the chances of a miscarriage became slim.

I thought it was funny too.

I can still hear the woman shouting for her husband, I can hear the heavy frantic footsteps as the husband's mother ran in to help her, I can remember laughing with them.

But now they are laughing without me, at me, because I decided to stay, I broke the rule of being an Ogbanje and stayed more than I had to.

I have stayed away from coming back here, where it all started, because I know this is the only place they have the greatest power over me.

They call me back everyday, every waking hour, but right now I can feel them stronger than ever.

I know something bad is going to happen, I just don't know how bad.

“Make sure you lock the door oh, we will come back tomorrow.” Mummy warns as daddy takes the car keys from her and walks out into the night.

“Yes ma.” I reply but I no longer have her attention, her eyes are on my sister, she stares at her with so much hate burning in her eyes I fear she’ll set her on fire. She faces me,

“Don't forget to take in the buckets outside.”She pauses and thinks for a while “in fact come and take it now so you can lock up once.”

I often wonder if the mother of the girl wants to kill me.

I always catch her staring at the long slash across my cheek, the one she had the nurse give to my body when it came out as a stillborn.

She's staring at the slash as she leaves the house. Can she hear how loudly I'm being called? Does she also feel that something bad will happen tonight?

Once they leave , I feel my eyelids becoming heavy. I know it's not ordinary, the sisters are trying to communicate with me.

I fight and fight, but before the girl can return to the room, I'm already asleep. They win, they always win…

I don't expect my sister to be fast asleep by the time I return but I guess she finally gave into fatigue; I lock the front door and make my way to the kitchen to tidy it up.

“What is holding you from dying?” My soul has barely left my body when I'm met with the question.

I can't tell who among the sisters asked it because they talk like a legion.

“I'm happy here.” I repeat my mantra and they burst out laughing.

“Happy?” They ask and I reply positively.

They don't inquire further, they just let me wake without putting up a fight, that's how I know something is wrong.

I'm halfway into dumping the dirty plates into the sink when I'm suddenly unable to breathe. I start gasping for breath, holding onto the kitchen counter for support.

I'm not supposed to have an asthma attack today, I  had taken a  puff of my inhaler (which is still buried deep inside my bag, this morning before we set out) my sister even made sure of that.

I can feel my legs slowly give way and just as I catch a glimpse of my sister by the door, darkness evades me.

The girl drops to the ground the moment I walk into the kitchen and I rush towards her dropping to my knees at her side.

I knew for certain the sisters were up to something, they are fond of using her to get to me, they know she's the only one I care about, they had been the ones to give her asthma and they had also been the reason she broke her leg last month. The control those girls have over this world can be scary.

They know too well that I am incapable of feeling pain so they use her pain to get to me.

I am smart enough to have gotten her inhaler before coming here and as calmly as I can be, I begin to administer her inhaler to her.

Nothing!

She just lays there, motionless.

I feel her skin slowly becoming cold against mine, and as stiff as mine when I came out as a still born.

“Please…” I whisper into the air knowing fully well they can hear me,  they cackle loudly, causing the foundation of the building to rumble.

“Please…” My plea is accompanied by a teardrop, then another and in a  matter of seconds I’m crying; this has never happened before, they plan on killing her, they will if they want to and there’s nothing i can do about it.

Their laughter rings continuously in my head, making my eardrums hurt. I have to touch my ear to make sure I'm not bleeding out of it.

“Please!” I loudly demand, knowing fully well begging won't help and the ringing comes to an abrupt stop, the house becomes so quiet that I hear the whispers of the breeze outside.

“You know what you have to do”

I wake up to find my sister staring down at me with tears streaked face.

She engulfs me in a hug once I sit up straight and before I get the chance to comprehend what happened, she sprints towards the door.

I run after her, yelling her name as I try to keep up with her pace, just when I'm about to get a hold of her, I trip on a rock and fall to the ground.

“Why do you chase after someone who was never there?” I hear a faint voice whisper as I get up and before I can comprehend what it just said I hear a splashing sound from close by, turning to the direction with wide eyes, I watch as my sister's head disappears into the water.

The water is cold, colder than how the girls' body was a few minutes ago but it's a familiar type of coldness. I let it fill my lungs until breathing becomes impossible, I let it kill me.

I let it take me home.

Commentary: Hm... Judges, over to you 🎤

JUDGES REVIEW

JUDGE NADIA SULAIMAN

DNA, e get as this one look for my eye sha. But okay. No p. E go be. And Seth, not bad. I liked your work specifically for how neat it looked. You connected the story to your theme a little. Not bad. But to add, if I may, DNA, your issue was your story telling. The usual 'once upon a time' narration type is not a bad idea... But to pull that off and not make it look like you are telling a bedtime story or a primary school textbook story, you have to be very careful. And very creative with it. I'd recommend laying off it until you've mastered it better.

JUDGE OLAITAN DAVIS

If someone asks me to give me a run down of Moana, I'll just send them your work and that's it. This is just a summary of Moana, and the only thing missing is Maui. You didn't even try, DNA. At all.

“Wo, let me just write this thing for these people so they'll not disturb me.”

That is what this whole thing is giving.

I don't know why you guys like putting brackets in your work.

“I'm not supposed to have an asthma attack today, I  had taken a  puff of my inhaler (which is still buried deep inside my bag, this morning before we set out) my sister even made sure of that.”

Let me just make a full correction.

"I'm not supposed to have an asthma attack today. I had taken a puff of my inhaler, which is still buried deep inside my bag, this morning before we set out. My sister even made sure of that."

It's fine like this abi?

Good job, Seth. I enjoyed your work.

JUDGE NINA OGBEIDE

DNA, your story concept is so amazing, and the world building is impeccable. I really love your creativity but sadly, the way you told the story didn't do justice to the story at all. Your story would have turned out so well if your writing was better. You need to work on your word play, on your pacing, and the way you build intrigue. Then you're good to go. Seth, focus more on your punctuations, please. You missed a couple of commas. Generally, I think I like your story, it’s not bad but it’s not great either. And I can say it really did justice to the theme.

JUDGE UMAR HASAN

Ah ahn, Deoxyribonucleic acid, I thought this was supposed to be a Nigerian story. And this story is a lot of telling. You know how, when you're watching animations that don't exactly move, but have a narrator telling the story? That's exactly what this sounded like in my head. Honestly, the writing isn't bad, but it's not what is expected of you at this point, you dig? Now to you, Seth. I mostly didn't understand your story fa. But I guess it made sense towards the end. And you can do a lot better. Your punctuation needs fixing. You need a more solid plot. Think that's all.

JUDGE GIWA FALADE

DNA, why did your introduction feel like you are narrating a story to a bunch of kids?

And honestly, your story was very underwhelming. Too narrative, barely any descriptions, a lot of telling and little to no showing. Extremely bland. If Moana was told like this, the world would hate it!

Seth, you made Giwa Falade speechless and yes, I’m a good way. I am so impressed, I have nothing else to say.

Commentary: NEXT!

008 SMERALDO VS 013 BOWL OF FIRE

008 SMERALDO

Normal — I guess this word best describes my 25 years of life. The click-clack sound of the keyboard, a computer screen full of numbers, the low humming sound of the office printer and the sound of my co-workers as they gossip over their cubicles are all major parts of my day. Closing hours don't feel much different. The drive home in my 2018 Camry model, the lavender smell of my home, the sounds that follow as I go about my duties in the kitchen or the rhythmic knocks my delivery man makes, the low hum from my LED TV when I put it on as background noise and my favourite leather couch.

I feel unfulfilled. My career as an accountant in one of the Big3 accounting firms, a car and house all before entering my thirties should be enough but there is a void in my heart that I can’t seem to fill. It doesn’t matter what I already have, it never feels enough. Living every day feels draining but I manage to always put on a smile like I'm fine.

Today is just like every normal day. Except that there is a pep in my step as I find my way to my car. The plane carrying my childhood best friend who I haven’t seen in years will be landing soon. I’m racing to the airport at 120km/hr. It’s not like I’ll get caught anyway, this is Nigeria.

Derera is strutting out of the lobby like she's on a runway. My lips perk up in a smile and my feet are running to catch her in a warm embrace.

“My God, I’ve missed you so much.”

“Same here, babe. Same here.” Her loud shriek echoes in my ear and I burst into loud laughter, a wide smirk forming on my face. “When the fuck did you get so tall?”

We both stood at 5ft6 back then but now I have two inches over her. There is a cute pout forming on her lips.

“Stop laughing at me.”

I ignore her statement, the smirk still on my face, to grab her luggage and dump it in my trunk.

Derera soon makes herself comfortable in my place. I hear the familiar three soft raps on my door. I rush out to grab our dinner. We find ourselves catching up over our meal.

“So what are you doing now?” She asks, her eyes big as she stares at me, some pasta hanging out her lips. I laugh at her cuteness.

“I work in PwC as an accountant.” My voice comes out in murmurs. She hears me nonetheless, her eyes now judging me.

“Accounting?” She quirks her brow. “Since when? That wasn’t the plan.” Her famous glares are now directed at me, her arms crossed, her fork now abandoned in her dish.

“I still do that on the side. I freelance once in a while,” I stare at her, my tone unsure.

“Why accounting?” Her eyes search mine for answers.

“I don’t know. I guess I now have passion for it,” I lie, avoiding her eyes.

“You don’t!” She states plainly, her tone deadpan.

I look up to her, shock now marring my features. The stare-down lasts for about a minute before I give up and look away. I sigh and prepare myself to spill. I have never been able to successfully lie to her.

“What’s going on?” Her tone is soft, my hands now clasped in hers. My eyes well up in tears and I try hard not to sniffle.

“Dad wanted me to. You know the company is in its developing stages. He wants me to gain experience before I’ll return to work for him.” I sigh. It feels good to let that out.

I look up to see her big sad eyes staring at me, unshed tears in them. She lurches forward and gathers me in her arms. I let out a loud sob and then the tears are flowing down in torrents. My face is red and I feel a headache coming once my eyes stop running.

“I’m sorry. I think I ruined your shirt,” I pout as I stare at the huge wet stain on her clothes. She laughs and murmurs that it’s fine.

“What do you want to do now? It’s obvious you don’t love what you do.”

“I don’t know really. I can’t bring myself to disappoint Dad.”

“So you would rather live an unfulfilled life?” Her tone is sharp, her eyebrows raised.

I don’t have a response, her words striking a chord deep within me.

Every day after that, I find little notes of encouragement plastered on my walls. Derera makes sure to flood my DM with links to various motivational videos, all of them encouraging me to take that step, leave my comfort zone and find my happiness.

It has been 3 months since Derera arrived. Her vacation has ended. The drive to the airport is quiet making my thoughts very loud. Thoughts of the application I filled on impulse swarm my head. It was a random ad on my LinkedIn. I was excited at the prospect of working with my role model so I clicked on it without a thought. Now, I feel a spark in my veins but also fear.

We get to the airport and I accompany her to ‘Departures’. Soon, there is a call announcing her flight but I don’t want to let her go. I’ll miss her so much. I hold onto her tightly in an embrace and then, there’s a sob escaping my lips. She pats me lovingly, murmuring soft words into my ears.

“I love you so much, babe. I know you have it in you to take that step. It might seem scary but you can do it. I trust you and I’ll see you soon.” A soft peck is planted on my cheeks and then she is going through the checkpoints.

           I stay rooted in that spot till I can’t see her anymore. I take a step, two steps back and then I’m running back to the car.

I let out a huge breath and then I hit the send button. My resignation email is now out. I pick up my phone and send a message to my dad after which I place my phone on DND. I drive myself to the publishing house where the interview is to be held.

“Are you here for the interview?” The lady behind the counter asks, her voice robotic and a disinterested look on her face. I'm too excited and pumped up to care about her little attitude.

“For the position of editor, then yes. I am.” My lips spread widely, my pearly whites peeking through, excitement bouncing off me in waves.

“This is it.” I thought. “I'm finally where I'm meant to be.”

013 BOWL OF FIRE

Title: Lost Love.

It's been five years.

Five years since I lost the will to live. For sixty months, the deep and calm bass of your alluring voice evaded my ears. For two hundred and sixty weeks, the loving doe eyes of your mother begged me to move on. For one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days, I contemplated taking my life.

They said that five-year anniversaries are to be celebrated as the wooden anniversary, symbolic of strength and wisdom — but the strength of my bones and the wisdom of my mind have been whisked away with your passing.

“Adanma, are you sure of this journey you're embarking on?” your mom asked, worry etched on her face. She's been the mother I never had.

“Of course, mama. I just want to go and clear my mind. It's the first place we met, so it feels right to end it all there too,” I assured her, as I laid my hands on her fragile, wrinkled cheeks.

She stayed up all night, arranging my luggage, prepping my meals, and praying. Her parting hugs channeled peace to my heart. I hoped to get the closure she did. I wished I could move on so easily, but the voice in me sang a different song.

As the bus galloped over the never-ending potholes of the road, I reflected on the memories we shared—the belly laughter that we shared, the love for afang soup that bonded us.  The truth I kept hidden from everyone was that if I went on this journey, there was no telling how far I'd go.

The next morning, the sun shone brightly as I came out of the resort hotel. Obudu Mountain Resort has always been a captivating sight, but this morning, every turn I took brought me back to the soft beats of your heart.

The resort was filled with people—couples lounging under the sun, children building fragile sandcastles, teenage lovers playing with the waves. It was a beautiful sight, but it felt like stale soup in my mouth. I visited the thatched huts, saw the old mystic lady who predicted our short but beautiful love, and admired the intricate drawings on the mud walls that you once complimented.

After I spoke to your mom this afternoon, I went back to the comfort of my room—specifically, the room we stayed in. I laid in the soft, cozy white blankets and imagined you running your hands through your thick, black beards as you presented my breakfast in bed; your muscular hands that became delicate as you spoon-fed me. The thoughts of you kept me longing and longing.

As night drew closer, the moon rose in the sky, the stars gleamed and shone hard. I flipped the curtains to ascertain the thickness of the night before stepping out. The pearl necklace that housed your love was carefully hidden under the flowing bubu I wore—the one that always made you sing my praises.

I walked around the resort; this time, the peace and quiet of the night enveloped the sea, void of the chatter and happiness of the day. It was beautiful. The vast ocean, the shimmering water, and the twinkling stars added to the pretty night.

I journeyed closer to the water, feeling the cold wind enveloping my being. The closer I moved to the water, the deeper I felt your presence. The salty sea air left a sweet taste on my tongue—reminding me of the water fight we had. The whispering wind brought your voice, thick and clear to me.

No! I had to feel you deeper than this; I had to follow the sound that came through the silent whistles of the night. Even the stars cheered me on as I walked away from the ocean towards the lonely hill; Adaora hill, where we hiked and laughed together, the name we gave it coined from our names, Adanma and Obiora.

As I ascended to the top, my muscles ached and breathing became a struggle, but your spirit engulfed me, and the scent of you filled me deep. Looking from the top of the hill, everything looked so tiny and insignificant—exactly how my life felt without you.

The rushing wind filled my ears as I moved
across the width of the hill, I approached the centre of the hill, where the grass was wilted. I pulled out the pearl necklace and laid it beside the rock where we etched our names, “Obiora loves Ada”.
I chuckled as memories flooded in—the mini proposal with the wine cork, how you captivated my attention and made my heart pound with the regular words, “Will you marry me?”
But now I hoped deeply that as I closed my eyes in death, I would wake up in your embrace.

As I took off the bubu, to reveal the all-black swimsuit I had on, my leg kicked against the rock and I stooped low to view the effect.
Then I noticed a letter, wedged underneath the rock; it was folded neatly, fraying at the edges, and the once-white sheet now had a brown hue. I hurriedly opened it to view the contents:

Adanma, the one who makes my insides bubble and my outside radiate joy.
I love you deeply, so deeply.
I bless the day I set my eyes on you.
Every breath I take willingly is to seal the fact that I have dedicated my life to loving you.
For our fifth anniversary, this is the surprise I've planned for you.
Hopefully, we have our first kid, and our love burns stronger.

By this time, I hope I have been able to destroy the monster that threatens to eat me up. I hope this day that I present to you the doctor's report of my defeat of cancer.
If in any case, it doesn't go as planned, know that I will love you forever.
Let the love we have/had always be a renewing hope for you and not lingering pain— Go on, explore the world. The satisfaction I will have is knowing that you have peace, happiness and joy. It hurts me deeply to write this, but if I leave, God is ever faithful to bring the earthly love you deserve through another person. I love you deeply, my Ada…

The remaining parts of the letter had wilted, and even the words were very difficult to see.
My eyes welled in tears, as I hugged the letter deeply to my chest.
The winds blew faster, the chilly air engulfed me, causing goosebumps to sprout as the ends of my hair stood on end. I broke down in tears as the wind carried hope and peace into my dark heart—the invisible chains that once bounded my heart were broken apart.

For the first time in five years, I allowed myself to weep deeply; I never mourned your departure, knowing it will mean that I have sealed my loss of you. Standing on the hill, bent over the rock, I wept deeply. As tears left my eyes, peace rushed into my soul.

Maybe, you would have wanted me to find peace. Seeking you, I sought death, but I found you in the light of our love.

Commentary: Wipes tears from my eyes, I feel bad for Ada. Judges, what do you have to say about these entries?

JUDGES REVIEW

JUDGE NADIA SULAIMAN

Bowl of Fire, you almost lost me there. The random use of second person had me scratching my head in confusion. I'm not sure what you were going for with it, but I think you could have told your story efficiently without all that complication. Stick to a narration. If you're first person, run with it. Second person, fly with it. Third person, moonwalk with it. If you were writing an Ode to someone or a letter to someone, then there are ways to show it in your narration. I wasn't able to enjoy this work the way I should have.

And Smeraldo, I'll give it to you. I saw improvement. Lots of it. That's nice. But I do want to see more from you.

JUDGE OLAITAN DAVIS

SMH, Smeraldo. SMH.

If you don't know what SMH means, knock yourself on your head five times, then go and find the meaning.

I get your work. I truly get it. But it wasn't enough  to get and keep my attention. Honestly, it was plain. It was giving “another day in my life.”

A narration.

“Normal — I guess this word best describes my 25 years of life. The click-clack sound of the keyboard, a computer screen full of numbers, the low humming sound of the office printer and the sound of my co-workers as they gossip over their cubicles are all major parts of my day. Closing hours don't feel much different. The drive home in my 2018 Camry model, the lavender smell of my home, the sounds that follow as I go about my duties in the kitchen or the rhythmic knocks my delivery man makes, the low hum from my LED TV when I put it on as background noise and my favourite leather couch.”

This to me is a lot. I would have preferred it if you broke it into two. Especially because you're talking about her day during work, and after closing hours. I see them as two different views or parts or warreva you wanna call it.

“Normal — I guess this word best describes my 25 years of life. The click-clack sound of the keyboard, a computer screen full of numbers, the low humming sound of the office printer and the sound of my co-workers as they gossip over their cubicles are all major parts of my day.”

“Closing hours don't feel much different. The drive home in my 2018 Camry model, the lavender smell of my home, the sounds that follow as I go about my duties in the kitchen or the rhythmic knocks my delivery man makes, the low hum from my LED TV when I put it on as background noise and my favourite leather couch.”

You get?

Not bad. There's still room for improvement.

Bowl of fire. It didn't help that a sad love song was playing on my radio as I was reading your entry. And the lyrics were in line with your story!!!😭😭

Bowl of fire, don't let your fire quench in your bowl ohhhh. Let it burn very well!!

Runs to go and smoother my Hazel with kisses and cuddles and never leave her side.😪

JUDGE NINA OGBEIDE

Smeraldo, I love how you attempted to do something different but it turned out to be too ordinary. Your story was hardly intriguing or thrilling. The concept is great but you could have done the build up and pacing better. Nice try but please, try to outdo yourself next time. Bowl of Fire, that's such an amazing opening paragraph. And your word play? It’s close to perfection. But why did you have to disappoint me like that? Your story started out so well but everything went downhill after the third paragraph or so. I don't think you even have a story. It just wasn't enough.

JUDGE UMAR HASAN

Okay, Smeraldo, big ups to you for recreating the Moana scene to a more modernized and opposite version. Trust me, I know what you did. And even though you did better than last stage, I must say, child, that something is missing. I think you need to focus a whole lot on finding your voice as a writer. Start from there and all other things should fall in place. Hm, Bowl of Fire, lukatchu using style to blend the lyrics of How Far I'll Go with the story. Nice tactics. Real nice tactics. Also, "The stars gleamed and shone hard"? Really? No other prettier word you could use to describe what you were trying to say? That said, I don't know exactly what to make of your story fa. But for an overview, you did good. Work on your execution and use of punctuation too.

JUDGE GIWA FALADE

Not bad, another story on career parts. You switched from present to past at the end though, it was just one mistake.

“This is it.” I thought. “I'm finally where I'm meant to be.”

Should have been;

This is it. I think to myself.

I'm finally where I'm meant to be.

It’s a thought so it should be in italics, not in quotes. This is so much better than your entry from Stage One though, so good job on the improvement.

Bowl of Fire, you brought tears to Giwa Falade’s eyes. How dare you? That’s Ivandor Fejaun’s job! Damn you! 🤧

Commentary: Okayyyy.... Last Pair for this batch!

014 LILY BIRD VS 017 BILLIE

014 LILY BIRD

A SEARCH FOR A BETTER WORLD

Silence deader than death.

That's how I like to describe the world around me. It is an endless limbo—a void where neither time nor reason exists as I stand, gaping at nothingness. And not feeling my chest move as I breathe. And having my form rigid—like I'm set in stone.

Somehow, I'm aware normal me will be terrified. Normal me won't hesitate to seek help, determined not to die.

But here I am, watching as what was previously a dark void ruffle into something colourful.

A red wall kept standing by bamboo sticks. White murals snake across it—the professional prints of a craftsman and an amateurish work of a child.

And then I get it. The feeling which blesses me with relief: longing. I'm not dead after all. I still possess emotions.

A faint giggle meets my ears. The closer it gets, the more anxious I become until the makeshift curtain—a threadbare wrapper—flies upwards, ushering a young girl who oozes exhaustion.

She drops to the mat on the bare floor and shuts her eyes. Her breathing gradually comes to a slow tempo.

That feeling reemerges. Longing. Nostalgia.

I'm not able to dwell on it, however, because the girl smiles. Her eyes, once dreary, sparkle with life. With the agility of a monkey, she hops to her feet and skips past me to a raffia basket slanting against the wall.

She takes out a calabash, before reaching for what was previously covered. A crumpled page of a newspaper. It must smell as mouldy as it looks.

Back on her mat, the young girl buries herself into the paper—her neck strained; I worry it might snap. Then, she takes me by surprise when her head jolts up. Our eyes meet; although she can't see me, I mirror her smile. And I wonder what the stinging around my eyes mean. Still longing? Or kindred spirit?

Next I know, I'm behind her as she leaves the room to the darkening night and to a hut adjacent hers.  I watch as she makes meal with an older woman, sharing a laugh and passing an unspoken message. I watch as the meal is poured into dented bowls that are then arranged on a tray and set in a painfully quiet obi.

There is that feeling again. Longing. Sour-ness.

The family gathers around: Father, Mother, Young Girl. Silence dissipates as the father speaks.

"Anih be praised. The crops did much better than last season." A swipe of the hand across the bowl of olive broth. "It can only mean one thing."

The mother affirms with a nod, her thoughts swirling in the air: It's good we came here.

All through, the young girl stays silent. Not solemnly so, however, but with a guarded excitement which gets me curious. Curious enough to follow her back into her hut where she stays up, staring at the ceiling.

My heart wrenches when a lone tear slips from her eye. I realise with intrigue that her emotions are the same with mine. Wistfulness. Desire.

Ruffling sheets snatch my attention. There is the girl pulling the wrapper-curtain aside and slipping out.

Wait! I badly want to say, but can't so much as open my mouth. I hurry behind her, eyes widened and limbs numb with nerves, while she pierces deeper into the night, her home now a mere dot from where she stands:

It is another hut but squalid with overgrown bushes. She strides towards it. Unlike other times, I don't follow. Seconds, minutes—hours, must have gone by but I continue to stand, waiting, staring at the door she went through.

She eventually appears, slinging a bag I'm not sure I saw earlier. She makes a run for it and stops close to the edge of a hill.

Young girl empties her bag, exposing a neat sheet of newspaper that bears the headline: Band X Decries the Poor State of Ihemba; gas mask; UV shielding lotion; luminem— a rare soil type only found in an ancient city in Ihemba.

That very last item jars up realisation in me. My glance darts to Young Girl who caresses the items. I recognise that look in her eyes.

Nostalgia. Hope.

A longing for a fresh, lighter air, which carries with it a heady scent and a touch so gentle it flatters the skin.

A dream to have the waters flow languidly, muttering sweet nothings to the ear lucky enough to be present when it passes over outcrops and tinkles under the sun. Water which is rid of decay, debris and oil—becoming the source of life it is meant to be. Not the reason for ravishing plaques and deaths.

She longs for a healthy soil to make food for the scrawny one; and the farmer who pours libations in the mornings; and the woman piggybacking a crying, red-headed child. The world will be redolent with laughter and a new beginning.

This is a dream that's been stuck with her. It makes life worth living.

When she turns to the horizon, I rest my head on her shoulder.

The following morning, after a fight with her father, she leaves. Clothes, souvenirs and all. She doesn't want anything reminding her parents of her. It'll be much easier for them to forget.

Young Girl was caught with the items taken from the squalid hut. She confessed to sneaking out during the nights and dreaming of a better world. A healthier Ihemba.

But her father failed to understand.

After daunting hours trekking and hurdled up in a train, she meets Ihemba's fortress. The capital city. Its gloomy skies and endless thugs transform her into a dire-devil. One who don't fear the dark, but mediates in it; who practises martial arts more than she clasps her hands in prayer and checks boxes upon boxes of arduous tasks.

By her comes a stronger Band X, an organisation set to clear off the bad eggs from power, and return happiness to the people. They succeed. A ray of sunshine cracks through the dark sky little by little. The government feels threatened, people become infected with the Band X objective, living standards improve.

But Young Girl isn't content. She aims at one final goal. After that, she can reunite with her parents.

A mission to eliminate Ihemba's top ruler.

The images vanish. Young Girl, Band X, mangled bodies of leaders…

And I'm tapped by my senses. Softly.

I lay on the floor, impaled by pain and ringing ears. Blood spurts from my neck and I know it. Death knocks.

But I drift as a happy fellow. Like Young Girl, I chased my dreams. And although greed for utopia costs me life, I'm pleased I ridded Ihemba of the bad eggs.

017 BILLIE

THE LIGHTHOUSE CALL

In the quaint coastal town of Badagry, nestled between the lagoon and the ever-churning sea, strange tales whispered on the wind. The old lighthouse, abandoned for decades, loomed over the town like a sentinel of forgotten secrets. Legend had it that on moonlit nights, a haunting melody would drift from its highest point, calling to anyone who dared to listen.

Ayo, a fearless young woman with a  quest for adventure, had always been drawn to the sea. Her heart echoed with the song of the waves, a mysterious melody that seemed to beckon her closer. One fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, she felt the pull stronger than ever.

"I need to find out what's calling me," she whispered to herself, gazing at the lighthouse silhouetted against the twilight sky.

As night came, Ayo made her way to the  abandon lighthouse. The air was thick with anticipation, each step towards the ancient structure filled with both fear and excitement. The melody grew louder, more insistent, weaving through the air like a siren's call.

She paused at the base of the lighthouse, looking up at its towering presence. "Are you sure about this?" a voice broke the silence.

Ayo spun to see Chinedue, her childhood friend and secret love, standing behind her.

"I have to know, Tunde. Something inside me needs to understand this mystery," ayo replied, her voice trembling with determination.

With a resigned sigh, Tunde nodded. "something dey worry you but I can’t let you do this alone we do this together."

Hand in hand, they ascended the winding staircase, the melody growing clearer with each step. It was hauntingly beautiful, a blend of sorrow and longing that seemed to resonate deep within their souls.

As they reached the top, a cold breeze swept through, carrying the scent of salt and the promise of secrets unveiled. The room at the top of the lighthouse was dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through cracked windows. At its center stood an old gramophone, its horn pointed towards the sea. The melody flowed from it, ethereal and enchanting.

But it wasn't just the music that captivated them – it was the figure standing beside it. A woman, dressed in a flowing white gown, her hair cascading like waves down her back, turned to face them.

"Who are you?" Ayo asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I am SHAMA," the woman replied, her voice echoing like a distant memory. "I once lived in this town, loved, and lost. My soul is bound to this lighthouse, forever calling out for the one who can set me free."

A chill ran down Ayo spine. "How can we help you?"

How that take concern us, chinedue whispered to ayo hearing

Shama glanced at chinedue, a sad smile playing on her lips. "True love holds the key. A love strong enough to break the chains of time and sorrow."

Chinedue stepped forward, his grip tightening on Ayo hand. "We'll do whatever it takes."

Shama nodded. "The melody you hear is my heart's song. You must follow it to its source, deep beneath the waves. Only there will you find the means to set me free."

As Shama spoke, the old almost dilapidated lighthouse began to tremble. The walls seemed to close in, shadows dancing in the flickering light. Ayo and Chinedue ran down the stairs, the melody guiding them towards the sea.

They reached the shore, where a small canoe awaited them, its sails billowing in the night breeze. Without hesitation, they embarked, the waves  cutting through the water like a knife.

The melody grew louder, more urgent, leading them to a hidden cave beneath the cliffs. The entrance was dark and foreboding, but ayo felt an intense pull, surging her forward.

Inside the cave, the air was cool and damp, the walls glistening with an otherworldly light. At the center.

"Do you trust me?" chinedue asked, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes.

"at this point we are in the water I definetly trust you," Ayo replied.

They dove into the pool, the water enveloping them in its icy embrace. Deeper and deeper they swam, following the melody to its source. As they reached the bottom, they found a glowing necklace, its light beat in harmony  of the song.

chinedue grab the locket, his hand brushing against ayo. A surge of energy coursed through them, and the melody reached a climax. The cave walls shook, and the water around them began to spin violently.

In a flash of light, they were pulled to the surface, gasping for air. On the shore, Shama stood, her form flickering like a fading dream. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves. "You have freed me."

With those final words, she vanished, the melody fading into the night. Ayo and Chinedue stood in silence, the weight of what they had experienced settling over them.  Ayo turned to Chinedue. "We did it."

Chinedue smiled, pulling her into an embrace. "We did. Together."

But as they walked back to town, hand in hand, a lingering sense of unease followed them. The melody, though faint, still echoed in Ayo mind, a reminder that some mysteries are never truly solved.

As they approached the town, the sound of drums and laughter filled the air. The annual Badagry Festival was in full swing, and the town was alive with music and dance.

Commentary: Let's see if the Judges were amazed by these entries.

JUDGES REVIEW

JUDGE NADIA SULAIMAN

Both stories were nice... But one stood out to me more. Of course, we can only know which during the Judges Verdicts.

But Billie, one little advice, edit your work before sending it in. There were too many errors in your story. It almost ruined it. You started your sentences with lower sentence and missed some punctuations here and there. These little things can go a long way to ruin a beautiful work.

And Lily Bird, no words, man. No words. 👏🏿

JUDGE OLAITAN DAVIS

Good job, Lily. Keep up the good work.

Biko, is it Tunde or Chinedu? Ehn, Billie Eilish??

You were missing a lot of punctuation. Abeg, help us to help you. Always cross-check your work for errors nau.

Also, if you don't know how to spell a name, look it up, or ask someone.

JUDGE NINA OGBEIDE

Lily Bird, this is a competition, please. You tried, no doubt about but it feels like you wrote a comfortable story instead of writing a story that'd wow the judges. Billie, is the FC’s love interest Tunde or Chinedue? There was a mix up there. “Ayo” is the name of a person and the first alphabet should always be capitalized but there was an instance where you missed that. I'm sure it’s an oversight but oversights like they should be affected at all cost because this is a competition. There were also instances where you started sentences with small letters. And for your story, it’s just an okay story.

JUDGE UMAR HASAN

Yo, kawar Lily, I'm not sure I was able to, while reading, point out a single theme your work was talking about. I really didn't...get it. I'm sorry. And you, Billie, is Chinedue the same person as Tunde? Plus, mama, what happened to editing your work thoroughly before submitting? I'm even stuck on where exactly to tell you to improve on. But yeah, there's a ton of space to be filled up with improvement. Gotten? Good.

JUDGE GIWA FALADE

Not bad, Lily Bird. Not wowed though, but at the same time, not disappointed. You tried small.

Billie, is Tunde Ayo’s childhood lover or is it Chinedue (what name is Chinedue? Igbos in the house, help me). And I’m so confused, what is the resolution?

Commentary: We've come to the end of today's review for this batch guys 🤭.  See you tomorrow 😗