Andy Eze @andyeze

Once upon a time in a small town, there lived a mischievous dog named Buster. He was notorious for his love of food and his knack for causing trouble. One day, Buster spotted a delivery truck parked outside a bakery shop, filled to the brim with freshly baked pies. Unable to resist the delicious aroma, Buster hatched a plan.

He crept stealthily towards the truck, his tail wagging with excitement. As he reached the back of the truck, he noticed an open crate filled with pies of all flavors - apple, cherry, and even his personal favorite, blueberry.

Buster's eyes gleamed with delight as he considered his next move. He carefully climbed onto the stack of pies, balancing himself on top like a precarious tower. With one swift motion, he grabbed a pie with his mouth and began devouring it greedily.

However, in his excitement, Buster's wagging tail inadvertently knocked over some of the pies. They flew through the air like frisbees, landing on unsuspecting passersby, who found themselves covered in sticky fruit filling.

People started chasing Buster, slipping on the fallen pies as they tried to catch him. Buster, now giggling uncontrollably, darted through the streets, leaving a trail of chaos and laughter behind him.

Eventually, Buster reached a park, where he spotted a picnic blanket spread with an assortment of sandwiches and snacks. Unable to resist the temptation, he pounced on the food, sending crumbs flying in every direction.

The picnic-goers stared in disbelief as Buster devoured their lunch, but soon their grins turned into laughter. They couldn't help but find the whole situation hilarious, with Buster's mischievous antics.

As the day went on, the small town was filled with laughter and giggles, as people traded stories of their encounters with the cheeky pie-loving dog. Buster, oblivious to the mayhem he had caused, happily trotted through the town, his belly full, and his tail wagging.

And so, Buster, the lovable troublemaker, managed to bring joy and laughter to an unsuspecting town, one pie and one sandwich at a time. His misadventures became the stuff of legends, and his name was forever remembered as the pup who turned a regular day into a silly and unforgettable one.

Today, I decided to treat myself to a nice meal at a restaurant. Little did I know that this dining experience would turn into quite an amusing encounter. As I entered the restaurant, my eyes were immediately drawn to a girl who had taken a seat and was indulging in a plate of mouthwatering beans and plantains. Not only was she enjoying her meal, but she also possessed a ravishing beauty that captivated my attention.

I couldn't help but steal glances at her from my table, situated right across from hers. To my surprise, she noticed my glances and began returning them, albeit with a playful smile. This was unexpected and made me even happier, as it seemed like fate had a whimsical sense of humor.

Encouraged by this exchange of glances, I mustered up the courage to approach her after she finished her meal. I imagined we could strike up a conversation and perhaps even enjoy a delightful evening together some other time. She ate like a princess, savoring every bite with grace and poise. I was enchanted, convinced that this girl was someone truly special.

However, my enchantment quickly waned when she stood up to leave. As I glanced at her plate, expecting to see only a few morsels remaining, I found a rather surprising sight – there were still leftovers! It seemed that she had purposely left some food uneaten, possibly to display her manners or impress someone.

That little act shattered the admiration I had built up, leaving me perplexed. Who was she trying to impress by not finishing her food? I couldn't fathom the reasoning behind it. Disappointed, I watched her leave without making another move, questioning the whole situation in my mind.

Please don't blame me, I found myself glued to my seat weighing the option of the reason why she had left that amount of food on her plate but found no good reason enough.
The pride was just too obvious.

my return to the football field after a hiatus of seven long years. The day started with a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through my veins as I gathered with my fellow mates for a practice session.

As I laced up my boots, memories of my previous football days flooded my mind, giving me a sense of nostalgia and anticipation. Yet, there was a lingering doubt lingering within me. Would I be able to keep up with the others? Would my skills have rusted away in my absence from the beautiful game?

My worries were not unfounded, for as soon as we began the session, I quickly realized just how rusty I truly was. My first touch of the ball was an awkward stumble, and my passes were woefully off target. It seemed as though my limbs were disconnected from my brain, each movement lacking grace and precision.

My lackluster performance did not go unnoticed by my teammates, who took the opportunity to mock and tease me mercilessly. They jeered and laughed, their unrelenting jibes piercing through my already fragile confidence. The pain of their taunts only fueled my determination to prove them wrong.

With each passing practice, however, I noticed a glimmer of improvement. The muscle memory slowly returned, and my coordination began to resurface. I dedicated myself to long hours of extra practice, honing my technique and stamina. Gradually, I started to regain my touch and find my place on the field.

Then, on that glorious day, it happened. During a practice match, an opportunity presented itself, and I seized it with all the desperation and drive I possessed. The ball soared towards me, and with a flick of my foot, it sailed into the goal, much to the astonishment of my teammates.

In that moment, a surge of joy and pride enveloped me. The years of absence had been worth it for this one glorious moment. The disbelief on my teammates' faces turned to genuine respect, and I couldn't help but bask in their accolades. The feeling of scoring that goal, the rush of adrenaline, made all the struggles and doubts melt away.

I found myself waking up feeling unusually tired and drained. The thought of attending classes seemed daunting, and my body yearned for a few more hours of sleep. I laid there in bed, contemplating whether to push through or give in to my exhaustion.

Just as I was about to surrender to the idea of skipping class, my phone buzzed with an incoming call. It was my friend, Sam, who was scheduled to have the same class as me that morning. Curiosity piqued, I answered the call, and Sam's voice echoed through the receiver.

"Hey, are you coming to class today?" Sam asked, concern threaded in his words. "Remember, this lecture is really important. It's going to cover the topics that will be on the upcoming exam."

His reminder jolted me out of my lethargy. I appreciated his concern and the fact that he reached out to check on me. It made me realize that this class held significance not just for me, but for my academic progress.

With a newfound determination, I mustered the energy to get out of bed. However, the tiredness clung to me like a weight, making even the simplest tasks feel arduous. I sluggishly moved through the morning routine, dragging myself to get dressed and pack my bag for school.

In spite of my best efforts, time slipped away faster than I anticipated, and I soon found myself running late for the class. Panic and desperation intertwined, pushing me to concoct a plan to be admitted into the classroom without too many questions asked.

Arriving at the classroom door, I took a deep breath and prepared my excuses. I knocked gently and peered inside, hoping to blend in seamlessly with the ongoing lecture. The professor, a stern figure at the front of the room, looked up from his notes and raised an eyebrow at my tardiness.

Summoning a semblance of confidence, I approached him and muttered my explanation, blending a lie or two into my words. With a sigh, the professor allowed me to enter, but not without a gentle warning about the importance of punctuality.

Last week, after a heated argument with my elder sister about her excessive time spent at the market and her tendency to loiter around even after finishing her shopping, the family decided that it was my turn to take on the grocery-shopping duties. Reluctantly, I accepted the challenge and prepared myself for an evening of chaos at the market.

As I stepped into the crowded marketplace, I was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer number of people bustling about. It seemed like the entire population had decided to converge on this one spot, leaving no breathing space in sight. My heart sank as I realized that navigating through this chaotic sea of bodies would be no easy task.

I found myself lost among the endless rows of fruit and vegetable vendors, desperately searching for that elusive breathing space. With each step, I was met with wailing sounds from the hawkers shouting out their prices, to the chatter of shoppers bargaining for a better deal. This was war in disguise.

Not only were the people overwhelming, but the distribution of food commodities also seemed strangely scattered. To make my shopping list, I had to hop from one end of the market to the other. I would buy tomatoes in one corner, then embark on a seemingly endless journey of a hundred miles to find a vendor selling vegetables. And just when I thought I was done, I had to take another turn and walk another hundred miles to find a place where rice was sold. It was as if the market itself was playing a cruel game of hide-and-seek with me.

Time seemed to elongate as I spent double the amount of time my sister usually spent at the market, desperately hunting for each item on my shopping list. The evening grew darker. With a sigh of relief mixed with frustration, I finally managed to gather all the necessary items and maneuvered my way out of the people's zoo.

As I arrived home, completely drained, I offered my apologies to my sister and the rest of the family. It was a humbling experience, to realize the challenges and frustrations that come with grocery shopping in such a public market. I vowed to myself then and there that I would never subject myself to such chaos again.

While my siblings laughed at my exhausted state, I rushed to the racks, picked a plate, and arranged for myself a large mountain of delicious-looking noodles from the pot.

I remember the day when I went to the market with my close friend, Victor. We had decided to go shopping for clothes, looking for something stylish and affordable. As we entered the clothing store, we came across a rack of shirts from a popular brand that we both liked.

While going through the shirts, I noticed that the ones with the originality tag were significantly more expensive than the ones without it. I decided to opt for the cheaper shirts, knowing that they were of the same brand and quality, minus the inflated price and the originality tag.

However, Victor had a different approach. He insisted on buying the expensive ones, stating that he wanted to showcase his preference for quality and authenticity. He made fun of me for choosing the replicas, calling them cheap imitations. I tried to advise him, explaining that the only difference between our shirts was the tag and the price. But Victor wouldn't listen. He ignored my advice and insisted on his choice.

Days later. By coincidence, we both ended up wearing our newly bought shirts on the same day. As we walked through the streets, I couldn't help but notice the attention my shirt was getting. People were complimenting its vintage charm—its slightly darker shades giving it a unique and distinct look.

On the other hand, Victor's shirt didn't seem to attract as much attention. As time went by, it became evident that his expensive purchase was fading away, losing its original color, and losing the appeal it once had.

Meanwhile, my cheaper replica shirt remained as good as new. Its fabric retained its vibrant colors, and its authenticity shone through, despite the absence of the originality tag.

I have conserved my money and had something of higher quality.
Victor regretted his decisions and has been taught.

As I made my way to church today to catch a sermon, the familiar sight of children, dressed in their neat school uniforms, flooded my senses. They walked with purpose, their bags hung over their shoulders, some of them held books in their hands. The image of these young students trooping to their respective primary schools stirred sleeping memories of childhood, transporting me back to the days when I too was part of that eager crowd.

I couldn't help but smile as I watched the young ones hasten to avoid being late, some sharing stories of what they ate before leaving home while others kept walking mute and focused.

As I walked amidst the bustling group of youngsters, I couldn't help but reflect on my own experiences during those years. The friendships I made, the lessons learned both in and out of the classroom, and the gradual change from a curious child to a young adult set to explore the world.

I wished these young souls the same enthusiasm for life that I had, the same thirst for knowledge, and the same determination to face the challenges that awaited them. Their journey was just beginning, and it held lot of opportunities, so much than they can ever imagine.

Samuel was undoubtedly slow in class and can be called a dullard but he was always a conscious child.
Growing up, he had received strokes either for being a slow right, having rough handwriting, or not being able to read.

Despite the flaws, Samuel had charming looks, a white set of teeth, and captivating eye balls. He dreaded canes and anytime he came to school, his heart throbbed hardly at his chest till it was dismissal.

Samuel experienced a hard life, basically in school. Always bullied, bellitled and when he should seek safety from his teacher, she ends up stroking him.
No one knew or understood why Samuel hated going to school because he wasn't much of a talker and so his life continued.

Break time was the only opportunity that placed Samuel in an important position. Due to the fact that it was Third term and the school regularly hosted a graduation ceremony where they display many colourful exhibition in honour of the graduants and all moving on to a higher class.

During breaktime, they practiced marching walks and Samuel was always put at the front as a result of how stylishly, he moves his hands and legs and how he tilted his head and shoulders.

It was the day of the graduation and the students were already lining up. Samuel was waiting to join the queue when his brother Mark caught his hand and begged that he borrowed him his shorts.
Mark was graduating that year and was given many roles to perform. Considering this, Samuel agreed to exchange after gaping at the ink stain that painted the shorts which would have spoilt his brother's image.

After they exchanged, Samuel ran to retain his front position but when the coordinator sighted his shorts. She asked him out...