As the Christmas bells rang with euphoria in the valleys of Arizona, the whole city was agog with the celebration. The squawking chickens were slaughtered without mercy as they were roasted for meals. It was time for all and sundry to feast on their favorite meals.
Despite the wild celebrations in the city, the house of the Williams was drenched in utter gloom as the Father of the house, Dr. Drake Williams was lying seriously ill, close to the point of death on his sick bed. It was dead into the night on the Boxing Day, the room of Drake was well lit with the incandescent bulb hanging above and the refreshing breeze flooded the room from the windows.
Sitting at the bedside of Drake was his only son, Dennis. Dennis held on to his father with all his being since he had lost his mother to cervical cancer at the age of ten. The only memory of his mother left with him were the fragments of care and kindness she offered him while she was alive.
At this time when Dennis was about to get married to his beautiful fiancee, Yvonne, these were really trying times for him. He was really hoping for the support of his father as regards his wedding. All his father could boast of was a bungalow built on a plot of land with a beautiful garden at the backyard. Dr. Drake had spent most of his time working on the garden during his lifetime especially after his compulsory retirement.
The searing pain which came from the fangs of death gripped Drake as he gasped for air. Dennis’ face was red and swollen after sleepless nights full of crying. Dennis knew that this was the time for his Father to leave for the great beyond. As Dr. Drake was about to breath his last he kept pointing towards his brown velvet suit hanging in a corner, he pointed like one who wanted to say something. All of a sudden, Drake was gone as his heart stopped. Grief and weariness overcame Dennis but he managed to get to the suit.
He searched all the pockets of the suit like one searching for a precious pearl. He found a small paper folded as a pocket square. He unwrapped it and exposed what was written in it. It was in big bold capital letters: “CULTIVATE THE GARDEN”.
After the funeral rites, Dennis started tilling the garden with his energy and vigor. After weeks of cultivating the garden, he was getting frustrated. Two weeks to his wedding, on this fateful day; Dennis was tilling the soil and his hoe struck something strange, he struck a sack of sand. He brought it out, opened it and lo and behold, there were stacks of MONEY!!!
Dennis was wowed and that was the beginning of an overturn of his fortunes. He later became one of the richest men of Arizona and was happily married to Yvonne as they raised a happy family.
P.S.: This purely fictional and the creative thoughts of the writer. Please note that TREASURES ARE KEPT IN CHESTS,
GOLD DEPOSITS ARE FOUND IN THE DEPTHS,
VALUABLE MATERIALS ARE KEPT IN SECRET CHAMBERS,
DIG DEEP INTO YOURSELF AND DISCOVER WHO YOU ARE.
Osho Samuel Adetunji is a graduate of Mechanical Engineering from Nigeria’s premier University, University of Ibadan. He is a poet, a blogger, a Public Speaker, an on air personality with a knack for short stories, inspirational articles and poems. He is a great thinker, creative and dexterous young man who does not only believe in excellence but also extols the tenets of discipline, hard work and effectiveness.
He co-founded THE COURTROOM in 2012. He is the founder of KREATIVE DIADEM, a new initiative which kicked off on March 1, 2015.He is an inspirational young man who is addicted to going an extra mile in all facets of life. He is also a lover of football, tennis and boxing. You can follow him on Twitter with the handle: @inisamosho.
Something has happened. She knew right away because she felt it once
she entered the room. It was in the doctor’s eye. Pity was dancing in
the mire behind the glasses that made his eyes look like two huge
white balls decorated with black. She sat down without removing her
eyes from the doctor’s lens.
“In the test for HIV, we do not say negative or positive initially.”
Why was he starting with the negative? She knew the reason.
Stop the Stigma
“We say reactive and non-reactive.” Just break the news and forget
about the formalities. Her mind raced through all the means she would
have gotten it. That needle that the hairdresser used at the hair-care
shop? The kiss with that strange man at the bar? Was it that one night
thing with Fred or whatever his name was?
“You have to come back in six months at most for a more conclusive
test. The virus might be on a window period.” She could feel her
It must be the way that girl that she saw having an
asthma attack in their secondary school felt. It was single, heavy
breath that came out like a struggle. She felt her view of the doctor
“You are not reacting to the virus. .You can go now.”
And her lungs wanted to explode with joy as her mouth and nose open to
let in air.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Buike Onah is a poet, a writer and a blogger. His has appeared in many
publications like Naijastories, Black Boy Review, Bukrepublik,
Kalahari Review and on his blog buikewrites.blogspot.com
I had barely entered the huge gate when his large eyes pointed in my direction like the nozzle of a gun in search of its target, his gaze fastened to my figure like the canine of a lion holding its prey. As his eyes pierced through my whole being, I managed to returned the gaze and there was a divorce between his married lips and his gap-toothed dentition was revealed.
His reddish-brown colored teeth were glazed with plague and edges of the crown worn out like a blunt knife. As I walked in his direction, I could see his wrinkles like columns of ridges as they covered the smiles like a blanket. Midway into the walk for a handshake with him, the stench of his mouth almost dragged my legs backwards. I managed to let out a wry smile instead of a smirk as I stretched my hand to shake him. The furrows in his callused hand almost sapped strength from my tender skin as he held on to it like a trophy.
How much do you treasure your freedom?
He was a tall man in his late seventies with a sagged potbelly which looked like a deflated tyre. He was scantily dressed with just a red towel around his neck and a black faded boxer shorts. As we took a stroll, I could see his back with a nicely drawn map of scars spotted with flakes of eczema. I tried to steady my gaze looking into his eyes and I saw compassion plugged into the sockets of the eyeballs. He often scratched his bald head which looked like a valley of water surrounded by white ferns.
He was highly respected among his clan as they all gathered to look at me like a circus show. Some grinned while others beamed with smiles but all was from a considerable distance. As we approached the Chapel for a fellowship meeting, his deep weakened voice cried out to others, “It is time for fellowship, let us gather here for prayers”, he said. At the sound of his voice, they all gathered to arrange the Chapel for a fellowship meeting. While they were putting things in order, he took me aside to have a word with me,
“I have been here for the past 25 years, I am a lifer* and only what brought me here was an act of anger which went out of hand”.
He cleared his throat and continued,
“I caught my wife red-handed sleeping with my best friend, and without thinking twice, I strangulated my best friend and the fight paralyzed my wife till today”, he said.
My hands shuddered, my eyes blinked and my heart bled like a thumb in the midst of thorns as it raced faster than a FERRARI.
“My humble submission is that whenever you are angry, just pause for ten seconds before you take the next action and do something great with the freedom you have”. He advised with his gentle fierce look.
*Lifer: a prisoner sentenced to life in prison.
***Purely fictional and creative thoughts of the writer.
Osho Samuel Adetunji is a graduate of Mechanical Engineering from Nigeria’s premier University, University of Ibadan. He is a poet, a blogger, a Public Speaker, an on air personality with a knack for short stories, inspirational articles and poems. He is a great thinker, creative and dexterous young man who does not only believe in excellence but also extols the tenets of discipline, hard work and effectiveness. He is an award-winning individual who is multifaceted and consistently measures success by effective impact.
He is a writer per excellence with articles published on VAVANE AFRICA, THE SCOOPNG, KONNECT AFRICA, Paarapo and Home zone media. He co-founded THE COURTROOM in 2012. He is the founder of KREATIVE DIADEM, a new initiative which kicked off on March 1, 2015.He is an inspirational young man who is addicted to going an extra mile in all facets of life. He is also a lover of football, tennis and boxing. You can follow him on Twitter with the handle: @inisamosho.
My eyeballs retracted back into its socket like the antennae of a snail hitting an obstruction, goose bumps surfaced on my skin like raindrops on a shiny surface, compassion gripped my heart as it began to shed tears. I shuddered and trembled, this definitely was not because of fear but I was rather overwhelmed by a gust of sympathy.
The polished surface was creased with flakes of dirt and fragments of soot trapped beneath the horizon. Fire kissed the surface with its lethal venom spitting scars like a viper. The surface gave way to intense heat and lost its once adored status to the brutal flames. Two weeks ago, it was shining like a refined gold attracting the attention of all and sundry. Men wanted to touch it and ladies prayed all night for one.
And the beauty died
Though we exchanged pleasantries and she had spent close to five minutes in the cab, my eyes groped around trying to steal a closer look at the degree of skin burn she suffered. I was lost in the pool of pity and compassion; both my probing eyes and melancholic voice kept saying “sorry” to the beautiful damsel. She was a young beautiful fair-complexioned lady with large eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. I had been staring at her legs and thighs which were covered with fresh wounds sustained from a fire accident. The fairness of the skin was ridden with spots and torn apart by the heat. The only word I could utter was “sorry” until she alighted from the cab.
I saw the fleeting deceit of beauty, the vanity of a fair-complexioned skin, the ephemeral nature of handsomeness, the evanescent smoke of a gorgeous face and the transitory echo of a melodious voice. I had serious pity on men who are tossed and swayed by their eyes like reeds beside the river. They think with their eyes and not their heads as they plunge into the loch of lust calling it love. They are lost in lust and it takes only a test of time for their eyes to be opened.
P.S.: Build your fortress of fortune around character and not beauty which will soon vanish. Ask couples how soon the fragrance of beauty vanished after sipping a bottle of honey in the moon. A beautiful face and a handsome face will not give you a great home if it is not supported by a personality of good character. Character speaks long after the funeral of beauty; it fills the chamber of destiny long after the fragrance of beauty has disappeared into the thin air.
Osho Samuel Adetunji is a graduate of Mechanical Engineering from Nigeria’s premier University, University of Ibadan. He is a poet, a blogger, a Public Speaker, an on air personality with a knack for short stories, inspirational articles and poems. He is a writer per excellence with articles published on VAVANE AFRICA, THE SCOOPNG, KONNECT AFRICA, Paarapo and Home zone media. He co-founded THE COURTROOM in 2012 with Tijani Mayowa. He is the founder of KREATIVE DIADEM, a new initiative which kicked off on March 1, 2015.
He is an inspirational young man who is addicted to going an extra mile in all facets of life. He is also a lover of football, tennis and boxing. You can follow him on Twitter with the handle: @inisamosho.