Project Pen Season One

STAGE FOUR REVIEWS

THEME: TEARJERKER

Missed us? Well, we're back, and this time around, we have our writers work on the theme of tearjerker so grab a box of kleenex because these stories will definitely get you in your feelings.

You know the drill, this is only the first part of the review so we'll get to read the stories from our first eight contestants in this batch and the judges' reviews

001.  Ayinkus

002.  OhhVeeohh

003. Your Cryptic Grey

004.  JagunJagun

005. AB Cleo

009.  The Purple Writer

010. Fiyinfoluwa

011. Akira_016

Are we ready for some stories?

AYINKUS

SERIAL NO 001

TITLE: NO WILL

Downcast, a twenty-four-year-old woman sat on the edge of her bathtub, curled her arms around her midriff, and wept silently to herself. It had been like this for the past two weeks since she had her sixth miscarriage.

Was this life? 

Her parent's life was perfect. Their marriage was stable for Twenty-five years and they were still going strong. She was named after a valiant woman. But, she didn't even feel close to it now.  Her eyes fell on the pregnancy test kit again and a deep sob wracked her. The line was glaring at her. It was positive.  

In the same way, it was positive Uduak was going to kill her this time. Her skin went clammy as spots danced before her eyes. She wasn't even sure she had the energy in her to defend herself when he was back from the garage with the weapons. 

She needed to get the letter she had written down before undergoing the test. They were words she couldn't tell her mum on phone. Or even face to face. Hot tears stung her eyes as she drifted into the room and grabbed the letter from the bed, folded it, and slipped it under a heart-shaped lamp that her mother had given her on her birthday two weeks ago. 

Hands shaking, she grabbed her phone and called her mum. She picked up in a matter of seconds. 

"Esti? Darling, how are you?" Her mum's warm voice almost made her melt and spill it all out. But she couldn't. She was sure he listened in on her calls.

"I'm fine mum. I just want to..." She paused as the sound of the garage door rolling up filled the silence in the large house. He was coming near."Mum, if anything ever happens to me I want you to know I love you. Amara will do the rest."

She heard scrambling on the other side." What do you mean Amara? Esther?"

She hung up. There wasn't any time to explain. She could hear the wooden stairs creaking as Uduak ascended it. She needed to get ready. As his footsteps grew nearer, she hurriedly texted Amara. 

The instant she slipped the phone under her pillow, the door swung open and he stepped in. His dark eyes zeroed in on hers as he dumped the duffel bag on the tiles. The objects in there made a clanging noise on being disturbed. As he unbuttoned his shirt, he seared her a shrewd look. 

Never had she realized how much she hated his overwhelming presence and that lucid eyes of his. Teeth chattering, she pressed her eyes close. How did she end up in this type of marriage? 

Pain churned through her being, swirling through her heart in waves she couldn't bear. Resigned to her fate, she let a tear grace her cheeks and lips. She only hoped her mother would pardon her for everything.

*****

After receiving the alarming call from Esther, Iyanu omoba had hastily slipped on a black kaftan and had phoned several people and her husband telling all of them to get to Esther as fast as they could. Right now, as she sped down the dimly lit street, she drummed her fingers on the wheel and tried not to cry.

What had her baby meant by 'if anything happened to me'? Was she planning on committing suicide because of the last miscarriage? She fervently hoped not. Where was her husband, Uduak? Wasn't he meant to be around his wife at this time? 

Head racing with all sorts of Scenarios, she pressed the accelerator. She couldn't lose her only daughter. Not now. Not ever. 

Minutes later, she pulled up in front of the grand mansion her daughter called home. As she drove down the wide-open gate, she noticed familiar faces and vehicles. 

Her daughter's neighbors flanked the house all looking frenzied and horrified. The look on their face sent her heart thumping. Had something happened? An ear-piercing scream shattered her thoughts. 

The sound pumped her into action as she jumped out of her Jeep and made a bee-line to the house. No, please. Be okay. Let all be well. 

Please! 

Her eyes burned with tears when it fell upon a body covered in crimson soaked sheets. A girl she recognized as Esther's best friend, Amara, strongly wept over the body at the bottom of the stairs. 

Pain.

Vision blurry, legs acting on their will, Iyanu slowly moved towards them. Shaking her head in denial, she fervently hoped it wasn't Esther. Fingers trembling, she knelt beside the body and lifted up the sheets. Blood seeped into the linen material of her kaftan and smeared her fingers. 

Her heart sank to the floor. It was her. A deadly raw sound that resonated through the building emanated from the depth of Iyanu. 

Neighbors ran to comfort her, but the agony was already swimming through her. "No. No. Wake up. Please! Esther, wake up!" As she spoke, she pressed Esther's head into her bossom. A thought snapped her head up. "Where is Uduak?! Hasn't anyone called him?"

A couple of odd glances were exchanged before one of the comforters finally spoke." We can't find him. He ran away covered in blood. We believe he—"  

The rest of the words died in her ears. Only ambient sounds rang in her head. Uduak? Uduak killed Esther? She felt Amara's arms wrap around her in an embracing hug, to keep her from bursting into hysteria. 

Eyes soaked with tears, Amara recalled the message Esther had sent to her. Sniffing, she released Iyanu and pressed a piece of paper into her hands. "Esther, said to give you."

Iyanu's ears perked at the mention of Esther's name and instantly she swiped the creased paper from her fingers and smoothened it out. 

Mum.

No one knows how much I've wanted to be called that. Six different times I had the opportunity. But it fluttered away. Now, I suspect I've been given another chance. Iya mi, I've been lying to you. The pregnancy I told you about wasn't my first. On my birthday, was the day I lost my fifth child due to being severely beaten.

I'm sorry for disappointing you. For never opening up to you about how Uduak beats me anytime he discoveres I'm in the family way. I'm sorry for not being as strong as the woman I was named after. I'm sorry I didn't stand up to him as biblical Esther did to her husband. I'm sorry, my one-year-old marriage didn't live up to the standard of yours. 

Mum, if I could pick a day in my life I could change? It would be the day I said yes to being Uduak's wife even after knowing he had lost two wives. You had warned me, about it. But as usual, I argued with the saying: The Heart wants what it wants. How my heart wishes to stop beating now. How my heart wants this pregnancy test I'm about to undertake to be negative.

For mum, I don't think I have the strength to go on. None at all. 

Love,

Esther and her unborn child.

Salty tears slipped unto Iyanu's lips and she crumbled to the floor for she didn't see any reason to go on either. None at all. 

REVIEW

Your grammar, tenses, and use of punctuations were all good. I really didn't feel your story from the beginning and I was starting to think you won't be able to deliver and do justice to the theme but I got to where her mother entered the mansion and that part really got me in my feelings, especially the letter part.

I've said and I'll keep saying it, I'm a fan of writers telling so much with so little words and I loved how you were able to do that with your story. Telling a story about domestic violence and how victims find it very difficult to open up till it's very late was a very good idea. I loved it.

I noticed a few mistakes though.

"...He seared her a shrewd look." He seared her a shrewd look how? I don't understand what seared is doing in that sentence.

"Esther, said to give it to you." There shouldn't be any pause or break after Esther so that comma shouldn't be there.

OhhVeeOhh

SERIAL NO 002

I wasn't normal nor special... I was worse. And it made me realize what made people give up... so soon. 

When life crushed them to the hardest and they didn't know who to run to, where to go to, how to let out their burdens... they just do what they thought was best for them.

Just like I was about to do now.

Sometimes, we wade through life thinking we know what to do. We think we've got it all planned out so we believe in our skills. We put trust in our future... we think we know what's best for us. We are fully persuaded that we'll build up to the roof the blueprints of our destiny. We... we... I... but... 

There's nothing really here!

Nothing!

What's the guarantee?!

How am I to know I would live to see the next day?!

How am I certain all of this wouldn't end up as trial and error?

Oh, yeah, that's bullshit already because I've just realized this is the end of my story. Yeah, for real. I know.

I know. 

I know.

“E-ekene...” Her croaked voice reached out to me but I paid her no mind as more tears poured out of my eyes.

My sick yellow eyes.

“Ekene, please, biko–” She latched onto my trousers while on her knees as she cried the more. Even more than myself. “I-I thought I-I wa-was doing the right thing by hiding it from y-you,” she sobbed out and squeezed my clothes hard.

“Please, my son, nwa m, biko–”

I swallowed hard. “Mama, leave me alone... leave me!” I pushed her, and her slim figure didn't take long to land forcefully on our cemented floor. But I was past caring. “Do you know the ridiculing I had to endure throughout these years?!” I glared laser beams at her as she was curled up, her knees hoisted up, and her head between them as she shook vigorously.

To be honest, I have never seen my mother this torn apart, but what about me?

I was already broken. Crushed. Driven to despair. Persecuted and deserted.

There was really nothing left of me.

Rocky lumps clogged in my throat and my chest tightened till my airflow was restricted and I slumped. My eyes continued to dim with each second ticking by, and my blood seemed to boil inside of me. A sharp shiver shot up my spine and forced a scream out of the shelter of my mouth. 

Everywhere suddenly felt hot. Like there was fire. All of my joints went into a muscle pull and I laid helplessly paralyzed on the floor.

“Jesus! Ekene! Ekene!”

My mother screamed as she rushed to my side and shook me fervently. “Ekene! EKENE! No, no, no! You can't do this to me. EKENE! Ekene.”

The spirit of slumber overtook me and the world was slowly shutting out on me as my eyelids almost kissed each other. 

But that didn't stop the spring over pouring from my eyes, and I could still make out a blurry image of my ebony mother. Her beautiful face was adorned with fear of the unknown. And... the sight of it made me happy. At least, she'll get paid for her mistakes. 

Which was me. I was a product of her mistake. A costly one.

“I-I didn't take the drugs this morning,” I whispered.

“Jesus Christ. Ekene, why nau?! Why? Did I not tell you to take it every hour? And how many hours has it been now?” She made a hasty glance to the clock hanging above our television. And when her gaze returned to me, I was almost losing it. 

My breaths came out in pants, and though the paralysing pain surged up, there was no more strength left in me to cry. Besides, this crisis is what I've dealt with since I was born. 

As a sickle-cell anaemia child.

“You-you know you did this t-to me, right?” I asked my mother.

“Ekene, let me go and get your medicine, you missed 12 hours of it already. Haew! Chineke nna! I–”

“Why did you lie to my father about your genotype?” I wanted to hate her. But my heart already failed. And the pent-up anger in me guarded my entire emotions. I could only... do nothing. “You knew Papa was AS and you tampered with your results just so you could marry him. Because of what? Love?” I shook my head at her in disbelief. “No, you're a liar.”

“Ekene, please forgive me, I didn't think we'll give birth to SS–”

Everything inside of me blared alarm and I wanted to scream at my mother. But when I opened my mouth, only words forced out yet weak could I say. 

“If-if you truly loved him, you would have told him you were AS too,” I countered weakly. “Why didn't you even check at first before you allowed your so-called love to drive you further? Now, look at me... I've been on drugs since a kid. I've- I've missed out so much on life because of y-you, mama. Yet you hid it from me when I–”

I couldn't keep on as I broke down further. There was a constricting atmosphere laid on me and it felt like death was near me. The sensation began to choke me and before I knew what was happening, I was convulsing. I wheezed breathlessly, and my surrounding began closing in on me. 

I felt cornered. My heart pounded heavily against my chest and I was hopelessly pulled into the desolate unknown. My hands were literally tied, and numb. I wanted to grasp at something, anything, but there was a force driving me farther from the world I've always known.

My fears mocked me into oblivion and it was then I knew I didn't want to die. 

Somehow, I could hear my mother screaming and wailing but I couldn't make out what she was saying neither could I see her. 

But it was up.

My time.

And I had done nothing; achieved nothing; loved no one; despised everyone. My mother had lied, birthed me by reason of her selfishness and I only got to know of my predicament by name just yesterday. 

My case was worse than the rest. It was what made me to still be in elementary school as at the age of twenty because of how much my crisis had made me lag behind. My father had put in so much money into my hospital bills till debts killed him. 

Poverty came in like an armed man and caged us into a wretched nature. I realized in my agony of a destiny, that life was not we planned. Life wasn't a friend of ours because just as time was always against us, life was even more alarming at how much it was ready to give up on us if we didn't learn to make peace with it.

Life was what happened to us. 

And fate?

Fate was how it happened to us.

I never accepted my fate, and that was why it hurt so much to live such a miserable life. I should have done many things while I could.

REVIEW

At first glance at your work, I was a bit concerned and disturbed by the excessive use of ellipses and somewhat scattered language.

However, as I continued the work, I realized what you were trying to do and I was beyond impressed.

You wrote your story in the mind of a depressed person who was giving up, so it was bound to appear somewhat distorted. So the 'concern' and 'disturbance' that hit me when I started the work was giving me a little intro into the mind of a dark, depressed soul. You killed it!

At the part you wrote "We… we… I… But…", I felt it deeply. It was like the character was really breaking there, in their narration, and couldn't even find their words. I felt myself wanting to break the fourth wall and give the character a hug. It was heartbreaking and that was just the beginning of the story.

I noticed some tense switch ups here and there and something tells me you had written them in italics and probably, there were some errors when sharing the work that caused all italized sentences to be 'un-italized'. Hopefully, that was the case, but if I am wrong, then let me make some corrections.

I'm the beginning where you wrote;

How am I to know if I would live the next day?!

And,

How am I certain all of this wouldn't end up as trial and error?

Those two, for example, should have been italized, since the entire narration of your work is in Past tense.

Furthermore, where you had written, "Oh, yeah, that's bullshit already because I've just realized this is the end of my story. Yeah, for real. I know."

It should have been in italics too. Even down to the repetition of 'I know' twice.

I understand that you are writing in a distorted character's point of view, but try to obey the rules of writing, and in this case, tenses while at it.

Although, I have to commend you for your wonderful description skills. Especially in the aspect of evoking emotions. You know how to make me feel the same thing the characters are feeling and that, right there, is a super power. That aside, there was something about your descriptions still, not with emotions, but more with the imagery, that was a bit off. I don't know why this may have been because you are usually very neat with your imagery. I failed to get a image of the surroundings around him, his mother's eyes, or even himself. You don't have to be thorough about these things, but one sentence would have been enough to create a picture in my head.  Next time, take your time to make sure these things are in check, yeah?

This did not affect your story though, because, boy, you slapped with this one! I loved the ending especially. The use of words got to me and I felt every emotion in the story. You did a good job.

YOUR CRYPTIC GREY

SERIAL NO 003

"Will it hurt?" I lift my head and look up at my husband, Joshua, lines of worry appearing on his forehead. "I don't want it to hurt."

I allow a smile spread across my face. Squeezing his hand in reassurance, I say, "It won't."

My name is Phoebe Ayodeji and this is my story.  

I was born with cystic fibrosis, but I didn't know until I was ten. 

I used to have these terrible cold and coughs that wouldn't go away no matter how many prescriptions I took and eventually, I just assumed I was born different. 

I thought maybe the cold wasn't good for me and that maybe I needed to wear thicker clothes for the harmattan, but then it didn't really make sense because I had the coughs almost every single day, regardless of the weather—although they got increasingly worse whenever it was cold. 

At ten years old, I got diagnosed with cystic fibrosis.  

From then henceforth, I was warned to stay away from the rain and wear thicker clothes. To do anything I could to avoid the cold at all costs and I followed those rules strictly. 

I was put on medication. Taking drugs every single day. It didn't matter whether I wasn't in the mood to take drugs or not—I had to take them if I wanted to live longer because apparently, cystic fibrosis reduces one's lifespan to one-tenth of what it's supposed to be.

That wasn't a comforting thought at all, so because I want to live longer, I took my medication seriously. 

When I turned eighteen, I was told that I had a year left to live. A year-and-a-half at most. 

I was confused, staring at my doctor like I was seeing a ghost. 

A year. 

I had a year left to live. 

How was that possible?

I'd heard of people with cystic fibrosis living up to forty years, so why did I have just one year left to live? I couldn't wrap my head around the thought that I was going to die at nineteen. 

All those years spent taking my medication religiously, setting reminders to make sure that I didn't miss any day until it had become a part of me and I started taking my medicine like I ate food, all those bloody years...

They were pointless. 

Everything was gone. Down the drain. 

I was dying anyway, and sooner than I'd imagined. 

I was going to die. 

That news was an eye-opener for me. I had focused on taking my medicine to make sure that I lived instead of actually living.  

I stuck to my medicine and my books, wore thick clothes that were twice my size and had people staring at me weird and I didn't have any friends. 

I was just Phoebe. 

Phoebe Ayodeji with cystic fibrosis.

And in a year, I wasn't going to be anything anymore. 

Because I was going to die. 

The pain in my parents eyes when the doctor delivered the news had wrecked me. My father managed to keep his emotions in check but my mother was unable to stop the tears from running down her cheeks.

I felt so bad. 

I wanted to hug them, wanted to take their pain away. I wanted to absorb some of it so that it would be bearable for them to carry. I hated seeing the heartbroken looks on their faces anytime they looked at me, probably replaying the doctor's words in their heads over and over again and trying to come to terms with the fact that I wasn't going to be here next year. 

I hated myself. 

Hated that I had to come into this world only to go back in such a short time, hated that I brought them so much pain, bloody hated everything. 

I hated my own existence and wished that I never came into this world. 

I cried my lungs out, begging God to let me live longer. I begged him to prolong my years, even if not for me, for my parents because they didn't deserve it. They didn't deserve what I was making them go through. 

But the condition of my lungs didn't change and with every single day that passed, I drew closer to my death and one day, I decided; fuck it. 

I was not going to sit idly and wait for death to come for me. I was going to live the life that I never got to live. 

The life that cystic fibrosis had stolen from me—I was going to steal it back. 

So I dressed up and stepped into a club for the first time in my life. 

There, sitting in the corner of a booth, was a guy with his head bent low as he typed away on his phone, nursing his drink. 

I felt a pull towards him unlike anything I had ever felt and he turned out to be the love of my life, however short it might have been. 

I blink back to the present and find my husband watching me with an incredibly solemn expression, lips turned down. 

Well, why wouldn't he look like that? 

Today is the day I die—at twenty. Somehow, I ended up beating all odds and living another year.

Another year in which Joshua had decided to take advantage of things and turn certain impossibilities into possibilities. 

Secretly, I always wanted to be a wife and Joshua decided to make that dream a reality. 

I had a family that loved me more than anything, had the best husband in the whole world and...well, I had everything. 

When the day came, I decided to do it in my husband's arms. What better place was there to leave this world than in the arms of the one man I loved most?

So I curled up with my husband, his hands around me while I played with the button of his shirt, pretending like I didn't feel the way his heart raced in his chest. 

My eyes shift to the clock on the wall. 12am.

It's time.

"I'll always love you," I tell him. "You know that right?"

Tears well in his eyes but he forces a wonky smile. "I know. I'll always love you too. Even when we're world's apart, it wouldn't change anything because my love for you only grows stronger."

Pain lances through my chest and I force back the overwhelming urge to cry.

Not today. Not now. 

So, instead, I whisper, "Tell me a beautiful story."

He exhales a shaky breath and stays quiet for a long time, probably trying to get himself under control, and when he speaks, his voice is low, hushed. "Once upon a time, there was a girl..."

I sigh in contentment and close my eyes, resting my head on his chest and listening to his heartbeats. 

I found love and even though that might not be everything, it was enough for me. 

I lived a fulfilled life and I was okay with that. 

And, with a smile on my face, I take my last breath. 

REVIEW

The first thing that got to me in this story was the way the writer was able to switch tenses pretty well each time she went into a back story and when she switched back to the present. That, was impressive.

It was almost perfect.

Almost.

One little flaw I noticed in the course of this, though, was in the scene after she told the story of how she met the guy at the club (who ended up being her husband), and switched back to the present when she was with him, 'dying in his arms'. When she was back to the present, her narration transition was not good enough.

She was back to the present, yet her narration suddenly stayed in past tense the entire paragraph, before she switched again in the next;

'So I curled up with my husband, his hands around me while I played with the button of his shirt, pretending like I didn't feel the way his heart raced in his chest.'

This could have been constructed better, to suit the present tense narration, as thus;

'So, curled up with my husband, his hands  wrap around me while I play with the buttons of his shirt, pretending like I didn't feel the way his heart raced in his chest.'

This would have been a better transition into the normal present tense narration.

This story was really good, all in all. The use of words were splendid and artistic, and the description was perfect. The writer has no problem in these aspects. Good job!

JagunJagun

SERIAL NO 004

TITLE: BURUKU

Some of us were just born to be unfortunate. For people to look at and be grateful that they were not in our place. That was simply our destiny, to show people that their lives could be worse, that they were lucky to not be in our shoes.

For about a year, this filthy place had been home, the markings on the grimy wall telling stories of the people that had lived and died in the same fate.

Here in Orisha, we citizens are of two classes: the nobles who are of high class and us burukus of useless fates. There was no in between, those rich folks trampled upon whoever was beneath them, no matter how decent of a living they could gather for themselves.

They usually presented it on a platter of gold, how they offered to lend us some shillings only for a little interest after a short time.  And when one is not able to pay, their collateral is thrown into the dungeon. By collateral, I mean a selected family member of the debtor, or the debtor themselve. 

Baba had fallen for it, their cunning words that accompanied their irresistible offer. We had needed the money last year when Mama was down with an unnamed illness, we had to pay the healer for treatment.

It was amidst all those things that I realized that I was truly unfortunate, because Baba couldn't pay those people on time and I turned out to be the collateral they wanted; Baba was too fragile to serve in their dungeons. And then, during one of the visits allowed once in sixteen market days here, Baba had broken the news to me that Mama had died from whatever that illness was.

He looked lost, listless even. And from the heaviness of his heart, he had told me, "I'm going to end it all."

He had looked at me with tired eyes, holding nothing but agony in his dark orbs. Perhaps, he had expected me to say something, plead with him to not take his life. Maybe that was all he needed to keep living. But I had kept mute; I, for some reason, could not feel anything.

"I don't think I will ever be able to pay this debt." He fought it, those stupid tears that had brimmed his eyes, because men don't cry. "We'll meet again… somewhere that's not this world."

And he rose to his full height, my eyes following his face. I wanted to speak, say something, anything. Yet, my lips were still sealed, and it was because I knew that nothing I was going to say could change his mind. What could I even say to a man that had nothing left in this world? 

There was no hope for both of us. At least, I had none to offer. I was doomed to this place.

"Jimoh." Frail hands shook my shoulder, pulling me out of my reverie. I blinked weakly as I turned to look at my cellmate—Hakeem. With his feeble voice, he told me, "He's coming."

I didn't need anyone to clarify who he was. His footsteps approached in slow but heavy thuds, like he wanted the terror he he knew his presence sparked to last longer. This man was everything evil and inhumane, every second he got to hear us wail and scream for mercy energized him in some kind of sick way.

And when his boots stopped right in front of our cell, I could no longer breathe, I didn't have the guts. Something about him made me feel unworthy of breathing in his presence.

And oh, the way my heart went erratic in my chest when his low, baritone voice announced to my cellmate and I that, "it's your turn this week."

For weeks, I had been dreading this day. When my cellmate and I would leave and only one of us would be alive at the end of the day.

The nobles, they called it the dual of burukus, how they make cellmates fight at the arena every week, for their own entertainment. To win, one must kill their opponent, and the grand prize is their freedom.

"Get up, you maggots." The man's voice sent a slight shiver down my spine.

My knees wobbled as I rose from the floor and approached the man that held my fate in his hands, Hakeem trailing behind me. Our wrists and ankles were cuffed immediately we stepped out of the cellwhy did he even think we'd try to run? We hadn't been fed for days.

And as he led us down the dimly lit hallway, toward the arena, Hakeem leaned in and placed a soft, feathery peck on my cheeck. If not for the quietness of the hallway, I wouldn't have heard when he said, barely above a whisper, "I'll miss you."

I looked at him, searching his eyes for what he meant. It could have been one of two promises: either 'I'll die for you' or 'I'll kill you.'

I dragged my eyes from his lazy ones and within me, I concluded that whatever will be will be.

These rich folks looked at us as nothing more than the filthy creatures that we were once we were dragged into the arena. And if they didn't have to look down at the middle pit to see us, all their noses would have been up in the air.

Useless peasants like us couldn't waste their time, so the anchor immediately announced, "let the games begin!"

That was when whoops and hooting erupted from everywhere within the cicumference of the arena; our anguish brought them so much joy.

We were given daggers, short ones made of syanite. Hakeem and I circled the pit, holding each other's gazes; his eyes still held a mix of promises. 

He lurched at me, and it was only by a mere inch that I escaped getting my throat slit. We went on like that for several more minutes, slashing wounds on each other's bodies, but no strike was enough to kill. Occasionally, the nobles would groan in disappointment whenever we missed a chance to die.

With one fluid movement, I kicked Hakeem's ankle and trapped him between me and the floor, my dagger's sharp edge pressed against his throat. I was about to push deeper when I caught someone light up his eyes: hope. It was dim but it was there. I saw it in his eyes, everything, his dreams, wishes and aspirations.

Hakeem had something to live for, he had the will to live. And that was when it struck me that even if I had the chance to leave here, there was nothing left for me in this world.

This chance, I had no right to take it away from a person that still had a shot, from someone that could still dream.

So, I nodded, and he understood. With one fast thrust in my chest, he fulfilled his promise. I'll kill you. 

I let myself fall, closed my eyes and welcomed everything that came with a dagger in my heart. And it was right there that I began to feel everything I didn't feel all these while: the longing for Mama, the agony in Baba's eyes, the great sadness that comes with losing everything you ever dreamed of, seeing your life crumble right before your eyes. I felt it all, everything painfully intense.

And within me, I wished that wherever this wind of death transported my soul to, I would see Mama and Baba again.

Hakeem leaned in and planted another peck on my forehead. This time, it spelled gratitude. 

My vision had gotten hazy, the noise in the arena had muffled, my time on earth had run out. So, with my wish still bubbling in my chest, I closed my eyes and welcomed forever darkness.

REVIEW

God! I want to hug youuuuu because how? how? how're you this kind of a beautiful writer? Right from the beginning of the competition, your entries have always stood out and this one is even more beautiful. I've always loved how diverse your stories have always been, and how you bring the in-depth of Yoruba culture into play and I feel so proud of you. You're such a beautiful writer and the world isn't ready for you.

I don't have any review for this entry except that it's beautiful, it's perfect, it's amazing, it got me in my feelings, I teared up, I felt the lead's pain, his despair and you did mad justice to the theme.

Once again, I love your entry and you're such an amazing writer. Take all your crowns, please. Thank you for blessing project pen with your beautiful stories.

A.B CLEO

SERIAL NO 005

It wouldn’t stop raining. 

Dara stared outside the window while mindlessly starting the pot of stew in front of her. She’d always hated the rainy days ever since she was little. They seemed to be some kind of bad omen to her as they made the sky so grey and came with the terrible sound of thunder ever so often.

All of a sudden, lightning flashed across the sky along with an ear-deafening thunder, making her jump in surprise and making the spoon she’d been using to stir fall to the floor with a loud clang.

Her mother who had been washing the rice at the sink turned to glare at her. She was dressed in a simple faded blue t-shirt and an old Ankara wrapper around her waist. She was barely 45 years old but her wrinkles, eye bags and rough skin made her look like she was in her late fifties. The months had taken their toll on her.

“Are you still a child? How can you still be afraid of thunder at your age?” Her mother asked with a scowl.

Dara picked up the spoon from the floor with a frown.

“I’m not a child.” She replied. “It’s just that the sound of thunder is still scary at times.”

“Scary my foot.” Her mother responded with a hiss. “You better not let that stew burn. Do you know how much I had to borrow from Mummy Tomisin just to be able to buy the ingredients so we’ll not starve?”

Dara clenched her teeth as she continued stirring the stew furiously. 

“We shouldn’t have to borrow at all.” She said with a bite.

Silence.

“Don’t start, Dara. Not today.” Her mother wearily replied after a few seconds as she poured the rice into a pot.

“What do you mean ‘don’t start’?!” Dara exploded. “We shouldn’t have to live like this and we wouldn’t have to if you had just begged daddy to stay.”

Her mother turned to glare at her furiously, her hands gripping the hands of the pot tightly. 

“Should I have to beg him to stay? He has a family here but still decided to run to Lagos with his mistress. Is that the kind of father you want to stay?” Her mother ranted frustrated.

 “Still, he was good to us. We wouldn’t have to suffer in poverty if he was still here.” Dara fired back, her mind no longer on the food she was preparing. 

“Enough of this!” 

“There you go again, trying to shut me up. I am a human being, I have opinions too and I should be allowed to say them.”

The situation was getting out of control and she knew it yet the anger and resentment against her mother ever since her mother had left had piled up and was now overflowing. 

“I know you’re frustrated and I am too. It wasn’t my decision for your father to leave us and I can’t change that even though I wish I could, but I am trying my best here. Why can’t you notice that and be grateful for once?” Her mother responded, trying to make the situation better.

“Notice what?!” Dara answered with a shout as hot tears of anger fell from her eyes. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to be seen like this? To be borrowing from people who used to owe us before? I should’ve just gone with daddy instead, at least I’d have a better life there than with you.”

The slap that followed her statement was almost immediate. Her mother glared at her with red eyes, her palm still raised in the air. Dara raised her head back up and glared back at her, her cheeks stinging from the pain as she clenched her fists. They glared at each other for a few seconds, the tension in the air crackling like lightning. 

“I. Hate. You.” Dara gritted out and ran out of the kitchen, finding her way out of the house while ignoring her mother’s yells in the background. 

A few moments later, Dara,  soaked to the bone in only a baggy t-shirt, a pair of jeans and a slipper, trudged back to her house. She had been walking in the rain for up to thirty minutes and her anger had cooled down leaving only painful remorse. How could she have said that to her mother? She knew she was trying her best, having watched her for several months now. She had to go apologise and beg for forgiveness. What on earth would she do if she didn’t have her mother?

A few metres from her house, she saw a crowd gathering around what looked like an accident. All of a sudden her heart began to beat faster and faster in fear as she walked toward the crowd.

“Eyah! What a poor woman. This Life is so wicked.” A person in the crowd commented as they beheld the scene. 

“And she has a daughter too. What is the poor girl going to do now?” Another voice commented. She recognised that voice, it was Mr Nweze, the friendly robust man that owned a kiosk right next to their home.

Her heartbeat pounded so loud that it silenced all the other noises. The rain continued to fall as she pushed through the crowd ignoring the angry complaints of the bystanders. Hands trembling and praying that it was not what she feared, she broke through the crowd and took sight of the ghastly scene before her.

Her mother with her faded blue shirt and overworn Ankara wrapper was lying in a pool of her blood on the asphalt road.

“It was a hit and run.” Someone commented beside her. “What a wicked person. God will surely judge them!”

With shaking legs, she walked towards the body of her mother, falling beside it.

What was it that was falling from her eyes? Was it the rain or her tears? She couldn’t tell. All she knew was that her grief was greater than any pain she’d ever felt.

All of a sudden, she released a large scream startling the onlookers as she grasped her mother’s cold and rain-soaked body in her arms.

“No, mummy, no! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry. I won’t run away again. I’m sorry.” She wept bitterly as she rocked her mother’s body, blood staining her clothes.

“Please help me! My mother needs to go to the hospital. She’s still alive, I know she is. Please!” She shouted and begged the crowd as she wailed in sorrow yet they only looked on in pity as some tried to drag her away from the corpse.

“No, no, no!” She screamed, pushing away their cold hands away as she held onto the body. “Mummy, no! I said I’m sorry. Please don’t do this to me. Mummy!” 

“Ahhhh!” She screamed again, pain and grief overwhelming her voice. Now numb to the rain falling on her and the cold hands that tried to pry her away from her mother, she slumped beside the corpse and let the darkness take her away just as lightning flashed across the sky.

REVIEW

It was a tragic story, would have lived up to the expectations I had surrounding the theme. No doubt you attempted, but you could have done better. You didn't do justice to the theme. That said, I noticed a few spelling errors, I know sometimes they are just there, and could hardly be spotted. Your punctuation was okay. You made an attempt, kudos to that.

The purple writer

SERIAL NO 009

"Baby? How are you?" Medayese asked as he answered the phone. He was not in any way ready for the response he got.

"The owner of this phone was involved in an accident and she has been rushed to the Chesterfield Hospital at Adekunle Fajuyi." The good Samaritan hung up immediately.

With light's speed, Meda shut down his system and rushed out, yelling instructions to his staff as he ran to his car.

-----❀-----

"Doctor! Doctor, how is my wife? How is Ehoni?!" Medayese questioned immediately he saw the doctor step out of the room.

"Mr Wright, your wife is fine. She's stable now and we've been able to control the bleeding…"

"And the baby? How's the baby?!"

"Mr Wright, calm down. Your wife is stable now but I have bad news. Let's go to my office." The doctor said as he led the way to his office.

The look on the doctor's face was enough to tell Meda that something was wrong but he followed nevertheless. "Doctor, what's the matter?"

"Mr Wright, I'm sorry but your wife suffered uterine rupture as a result of the impact of the collision. We couldn't save the baby and I'll suggest an hysterectomy for your wife."

Meda slumped in the chair and ran his hand over his face. "Oh God!" How is Ehoni feeling? He thought. "Have you told her?"

"No. I wanted you to be there so she'd have a support system."

"Can I tell her instead?"

"If you want to, then you can. She's asleep now."

Meda nodded and walked out of the office. He walked cautiously into his wife's room and  walked towards her bed. He sat beside her still figure and held her hand.

As though she had been yearning for his touch, her eyes fluttered open and she smiled.

"Baby," he smiled at her. "You're awake. How are you feeling?" She nodded softly as he stroked her forehead tenderly.

"Am I okay?" Ehoni took note of the way tears pooled in her husband's eyes and sat up. "Meda, am I okay? What's wrong?" The baby! " Did anything happen to the baby?"

Meda cleared his throat and held her hands. "Baby, calm down. Don't stress yourself."

"Meda, talk to me. What's wrong with me?"

"As a result of the accident, we lost the baby and your uterus got ruptured. The doctor said an hysterectomy is the only option." Ehoni's hysteric screams filled the air as her husband pulled her into his arms.

Medayese and Ehonioye Wright had been married for ten years and they had been through fifteen miscarriages. The baby was supposed to be their rainbow baby.

❊╌──┈⊰᯽⊱⊰᯽⊱┈──╌❊

"Babe," Meda called as he walked into their bedroom. "Ehoni love, how are you feeling today?" He asked, sitting beside her on the bed. "Ehoni."

It had been seven months since the accident, six since the foetus was buried, four since her hysterectomy and she hadn't said a word to him since she cried at the hospital after he broke the news.

"Ehonioye, talk to me. Please say something, Ehoni." When she didn't respond, he sighed and stood up to change out of his work clothes. He was used to it already but it still hurt to see his once cheerful wife become a shadow of herself.

The small pile of papers on the dressing table caught his attention and he walked towards it. "Did the courier service drop documents for me?"

"No. They're divorce papers."

Meda whipped his head around in light's speed to look at her, shocked not even because she spoke but because the first words she uttered was wanting a divorce. "What?! Why?! Ehoni, did I do something?!"

"No babe, you did nothing wrong. This is for your sake, Meda. Every man deserves children and I don't want you to suffer for my mistake."

Meda walked back to the bed and held her hands. "Baby please. I'm not suffering for anything, okay? I'm fine with us not having kids, Ehoni. I'm fine with our family of two, baby. Please don't do this." His voice broke at the end.

She pulled her hands out of his and cupped his face. "Medayese, I love you and this is for the best. I want you to have kids. I want you to be happy. I know you keep trying to stay brave but I see the way you look at babies or children anywhere we are. Meda, I see the longing in your eyes and I don't want to be the one thing that would stop you from being happy, please. Just sign the papers. You can't get married to someone else, someone that can give you babies, Meda."

"Ehoni, it is you I want. I don't want any other person but you as my wife. Besides, having kids is not all there is to a marriage. Ehoni please," Meda pleaded with tears streaming down his face. "We've been through a lot together, babe. Please, Ehonioye. I love you so much, please don't do this to me."

Ehoni sighed as she stood up, walked to the closet and came out with a few suitcases where she had packed her things. "Meda, I can't let you suffer for my sake. Please sign the papers and when you do, be sure to contact me," She walked towards him and gave him a light kiss and whispered, "I love you." With that, she was out of the room.

If there was anything Meda wished his wife didn't have, it was her stubbornness. He knew very well that going after her would have been a futile effort. He sunk into the ground and for the first time since he got married, he wept.

REVIEW

I must commend your research. It was obvious you did one before you wrote this story. Because it did show in your work. I was able to learn something new from your work,' uterine rupture and hysterectomy' It was a sad story though. I sympathize with the couple because what they went through was so scary and emotional.

Your story was a good one, but your punctuation was a little off, you should be mindful of that.

At a point, the story felt rushed though, but I loved how in progress. Everything said, kudos.

FIYINFOLUWA

SERIAL NO 010

TITLE: MY BELOVETH GRANDMOTHER

She stood back and watched helplessly as her sister continued to sob heartbreaking sobs that were silent but agonizing to observe. Her sister had her head buried in the clothing she took out of the suitcase, inhaling deeply and thinking back on the memories the clothing brought. She was at a loss for what to do. She had been crying so much that she had huge, swollen eyes with black circles under them.

 Last week, she recalled seeing a bag— which turned out to be a souvenir from a burial ceremony. The celebrated person, deceased, had lived for a good number of 95 years. She wondered why that couldn't have been her grandmother. Why she wasn't so lucky.

Recalling those memories, which had been ingrained deeply in her mind, made her feel nostalgic. She remembered seeing a bag last week; it turned out to be a souvenir from a funeral. The public figure passed away after living for a good 95 years.

She wondered why her grandmother couldn't have been that. Why she didn't get more luck.

Her grandmother had become ill a few days prior. Everyone started crying since she was so important in the family because they were afraid that the worst could happen. Even though she wasn't completely sure herself, she had soothed her mother everyday by telling her everything will be okay. The simple fact is that, she was also terrified.

Then, in an effort to see her grandma and, at the very least, console her, her mother fled back to her hometown. She prayed for her grandmother as soon as she awoke every morning, something she had never done before.

She wanted to take care of her grandmother and the rest of the family when they were all grown up because their family had not been stable financially. It was just her mother growing up as an only child.

Although she wasn't as close to and understanding with her grandmother, it was still clear that she had a significant influence on the family. She was significant beyond measure. Every morning in their home, only her grandma awoke to pray for the entire family while holding up pictures of each member. No one brought as many clothes, fruits, and gifts for her from their hometown as her grandmother did. Her grandmother raised hens even during the stressful Christmas and New Year seasons so they would be large enough for the family to eat. It became an unspoken family tradition. Many times, her grandmother and her mother would fight because her mother didn't want her to get sick. But her grandmother would rather fall sick, than not raise the hens for her children.

The night her mother had made a video call to everyone, she had come face-to-face with a grandmother she didn't recognize. The grandmother who always pestered her, trying to engage her in conversations while she slyly shied away, not interested in making small talk with her.

But at this moment, she was filled with regret, because she wished she had been friendly enough to her grandmother back then.

*"You are always in the bedroom, you don't talk to me. Why?"*

She remembered that question, and how she had replied with a smile and a shake of her head, saying; "Nothing."

Tears began to pour from her eyes in torrents, her shoulders shaking aggressively with uncontrollable sobs. She was desperate to see her again. She wanted to see her again.

She needed to see her again.

It was always too late for somethings, but she didn't want to fall victim to that.

*"What do you want me to bring for you when I'm coming? Fruits?"*

She burst into more sobs, burying her head into her palms to muffle the loud  volume of her crying. She didn't like crying in front of people, but here she was, breaking down in front of her sister.

The harsh realization that no one would and could play the role of her grandmother dawned on her. She felt an empty space in her heart, where she hadn't realized her grandmother filled. It was painful to feel, making her chest constrict with pain and her head bang heavily as she cried.

"Bye bye, grandmother." She recollected saying that to her grandmother.

*"Bye bye, my child. Please read your books, oh. I'll be coming back to visit again,"* her grandmother had replied.

Those were the words exchanged between them when her grandmother had last visited. If only she had known, the voidness that lingered in the atmosphere in the house after her grandmother left for her hometown would be permanent... if she had known she wouldn't get to see her again, maybe she would have hugged her tighter than she did, and begged selfishly not to let go.

*"You'll know your books, you'll live long."* Her grandmother always prayed these very basic prayers for her. She was just starting to see the true worth of those simple, uncomplicated prayers.

She was drowning deep in surrealism, unable to face the truth about her grandmother. Was she dead, for real? How about all what she had planned for her?

Even her mother had wanted her to leave her hometown and come live with them, in their small room and parlor apartment. 

But they were going to move to a bigger house this month. Why did she have to fall sick and leave everyone?

No one would wash the clothes of everyone because she wanted to. The neatest person in the family, generous, kind-hearted, yet strict but loving, was no longer with them.

Life had its ups and downs. 

Losing a loved one is no easy thing, but what's even harder is regretting when you are supposed to be reminiscing. She missed her grandmother, and she thought she would have a chance to make things right after her grandmother recovered from her illness. 

Unfortunately...

She couldn't.

REVIEW

You know, reading this story, I suddenly felt sad, I felt a teardrop. Do you know why? I could relate so much to it. This wasn't my case with grandma, but it was a bit similar. My grandma was the mother I never had, and whenever I remember that the holiday I refused to visit, due to a stupid lame excuse I had, was the holiday she died. Whenever I remember she asked me to come to visit, and I refused because of a lame excuse, I feel so hurt. I would give anything to see her one last time. It still hurts. This made me so emotional. I loved it.

You are a very good writer, though I noticed from your past works, your only problem has been storytelling and executing the theme properly if you get what I mean. In other words, the difficulty in properly pulling off the theme. But you have progressed as the stages go by, I am very proud of you. In the last two stages, I have noticed massive progress. And you were able to pull this one completely. You can do it, all you need to do is take your time to brainstorm, trust me you can pull anything off.

Akira_016 

SERIAL NO 011

The high pitched giggle from my roommates snaps me out of my slumber and I wonder what they are all giggling about, until... 

"Daniel is going to be the king of prom this year for sure. Omoh I can't wait oo." My eyes flutter open at Bolanle's, my first roommate, announcement.

It's prom, the last night party I'm going to have in a boarding school. A feeling of victory washes over me for some seconds as I realize that I have endured all secondary school problems till this moment. The taunts, the sneers... they would all be a thing of the past. I can't help the smile forming on my face as I feel tears pricking my eyes. 

"Amaka your dress is pretty o," Tolani's voice comes from the other end and my smile broadens. 

I want to see her dress too, and I want them to see mine. Even though they've not been the best of roommates since I resumed into this school, at least they should be happy with me today. 

"Christ!" I hiss loudly, as I try to sit up only to be pushed back down by the agonizing pain that shoots through my spinal cord. 

I blink, once, twice, then do a quick breathing therapy. I try to move my hand first but a sharp, throbbing pain soars from my elbow joint to my shoulder and that only meant one thing. 

My crisis were back.

"Ah, o ti ji." I hear Bolanle's laugh, as I bit down on my lips to reduce the scream that was rising to my throat as pain suddenly swirls through my heart region. 

Oh god.

"Bolanle, don't tell me the sickle cell patient would also want to dress for Prom," Tolani snickers and they all laugh.

"Oh my goodness, don't make me laugh o... Remember that the _weak_ thing cannot even knot her tie properly." Amaka scoffs. 

I tune them out and focus on the pain I'm feeling. 

I need to go to prom, even if it's just to stay in any dark corner and watch, I just need to be there. I need to say my final goodbye to the only, unbelievable person who always stand for me anytime I'm being treated unfairly. 

The one guy who doesn't care about my slim body or my crisis. I need to thank him, I need to say my last goodbye.

I need to see Daniel. 

"Do you think Daniel will notice me in this dress?" That brings me back from my thoughts. I turn my head gently only to feel my heart churn at the sight of Bolanle in nothing less than the pretty dress my Grandma sent to me few days ago.

No, no, no

"Bola—"

"I don't _think_ he'll notice you. I _know_ he will." Tolani cuts me off as she claps Bolanle's shoulders with a grin. "I think you should wear these nude pairs too." My eyes widen, as it follows Tolani's little movement of picking my pair of heels which lay glittering in all glory underneath the table. 

Not minding the pain that soars through my throat or the way my diaphram tightens, I open my mouth to plead with my roommates. "P-please naw. Those were gifts from my grandma, don't wear them. Olorun ni mo fi be yin." I stutter.

"Perfect picking, Tola. They definitely look perfect with the dress," Bolanle giggles, ignoring me totally. 

Knowing that I can't fight them, I let Bola wear my dress. I let them act as if I am not with them. But I can't just ignore everything. 

Going to prom is the only thing I know will give me the joy I crave, even if it would only last a couple hours. Seeing students laughing and dancing — something I know I can never enjoy — is the only thing I crave right now. Is that really too much to ask for?

I want to see the one person who stands by me everytime be crowned as the king of prom. I want to see my roommates — even though they don't want to see me — happy together for the last time. 

I just... I just want to go to prom. 

"Amaka?" I call quietly but I know they are listening so I continue. "Please, help me up. I—"

"Abeg, call your dead parents to help you ooo cause as you see, my hands are not created to help sickle cell patients. Na Bolanle wan study Nursing o." She hisses loudly. I want to say something, but...

"Olorun ma je! My Nursing does not reach this ugly thing's side o."

...Bolanle shoots me a deadly glare as she speaks. 

I want to be quiet. I want to ignore the pain, dress up and walk out on them but I can't. If there is any hope that I have now, it's them. My roommates are the only hope I have. They are the only ones who can help me out of my painful misery right now but they don't even give a damn about me and although I'm used to it by now, I can't help the way it tugs painfully at my heart as tears cloud my vision. 

"You know, you girls can actually be humans for a day, right?" I pause, "you know you can actually stop being monsters or bullies to me, even if it is just for today." I close my eyes momentarily, as I speak and as I open them back, Bolanle is already towering over me.

"You daughter of a bitch!" Having no energy to move, I allow her. I allow her wrap her hands around my neck, harshly. I struggle to breath, retching as her fingers tighten against my neck. 

Tears runs down my face as I stare into Bolanle's brown orbs which are filled with nothing but anger and I know I'm supposed to scream or even trash around but can you just put yourself in my shoes and imagine me trashing around when I'm literally feeling nothing but agonizing pain all over, impossible right? 

Yes, impossible 'cause I can feel blood drain from my face as my finger itch to move. Beads of sweat mixes with my tears as memories of the only people I loved dearly flashed through my vision.

The memorable scene of how Daniel, the school's head boy decided to be my friend flashed through and I closed my eyes tightly to embrace the memory. I feel Bolanle's hands grow tighter around my already burning neck. 

I feel the pain in my knee joint going numb but the pounding in my head growing louder. 

Memories of how happy I was before my parents died swirls around the black background behind my closed eyes and I sniffed. 

But, nothing feels more consoling than being pulled into darkness. Perhaps peace of mind is finally an option. 

I thought.

I feel myself slipping into darkness with the image of the two persons I knew my death would actually hurt the most in my head. 

I'm sorry, Grandmother.

I'm sorry, Daniel.

Bye.  

"Beat her oo... She just called us monsters!" That's Tolani, alright.

Then I feel it, the heavy object colliding with my head…

REVIEW

Your story is... okay. That's honestly the word I can use for it because it wasn't best. I didn't feel anything. Maybe just pity for the lead, but nothing heart-wrenching and moving. I think it's because your descriptions were a little shallow, or maybe you could have executed the storyline you went with a lot better to represent the theme that was given.

You punctuations were okay as well, even though I sighted frequent unnecessary use of ellipses where there wasn't meant to be ellipses. Other than that, your punctuations seemed a little accurate and properly used. Moving on, I think I'd have enjoyed your story a little more of it were in last tense. The present tense didn't work for me, maybe because I prefer past tense.

Also, there was a wrong use of word/words.

"...only to feel my heart churn at the sight of Bolanle in nothing (less than) the pretty dress..." ❌

Note the words in bracket. That's where your mistake is. What I think you meant to write was.

"...only to feel my heart churn at the sight of Bolanle in nothing other than/else but the pretty dress..." ✔️

Do you understand? Please be very conscious of your vocabulary.

All in all, your story could have been so much better. I know that according to the note that was sent to the house concerning this theme, you were asked to also bring out a lesson from your story. I can see that you tried to do that with the whole "Say No To Bullying" Trope, but it wasn't properly executed. You could have done so much better.

Omoh, these stories definitely made me tear up.

Which one is your favorite? Which one made you tear up the most?

And what do you think the judges' reviews?

Stay tuned for the second part, we'll be back soon ✨❤