Emeka Anike @inkon

The crowded Idumota market was in chaos as people rushed to escape the flames engulfing the nearby stalls. Iya Oja stood amidst the chaos. It was not her stall that went down in flames with fully loaded goods. If she had one, it was an empty space where market levies are counted. Adeola, her 14-year-old maid, cowered beside her, trembling with fear. The fire outbreak was so sudden that everybody had to scamper for safety. Picking up her iPhone 13 that her son recently sent her from the US along with a few other valuables, Iya Oja fled from her seemingly empty office. Sadly, her purse was not luckily in sight at the moment. That was not too much of a problem. Adeola will fetch it even if that would cost her life.

"Iwo babalawo yi, lo gba apamọwọ mi fun mi!" She yelled at Adeola, her voice piercing through the chaos. The fire had overtaken her empty office where she ran out from and where the purse was supposed to be. Adeola hesitated, her eyes wide with terror, but Iya Oja's glare left no room for disobedience. The young girl crept towards the burning stall, her small frame trembling as she tried to lift the heavy wooden beam that pinned down the purse. Flames licked at her face, and she screamed as the wood fell, trapping her beneath its weight.

Iya Oja's face contorted in rage as she realized her purse was gone, but her anger quickly turned to concern as she saw Adeola's limp body being pulled from the wreckage. The market crowd gasped in horror as Adeola's charred and battered body was revealed. Iya Oja's eyes welled up with tears, but they were not tears of sorrow or remorse; they were tears of anger and frustration.

For seven long years, Adeola had toiled in Iya Oja's service, a slave to her whims and fancies. She had been denied the joys of childhood, the comfort of a warm bed, and the solace of a loving embrace. And now, she lay broken and burned, a victim of Iya Oja's insatiable greed and cruelty. The market crowd murmured among themselves, their voices a gentle breeze that carried the whispers of condemnation and disgust. Some dared to approach Iya Oja, but she warned them off with a fierce glare, a lioness protecting her den.

Adeola has met tens of other girls that suffered a similar fate in the hands of Iya Oja. Some were 16 years old girls that looked like 10 years due to constant heavy weight they carry that stopped their growth. When they are too weakened by hunger and useless to Iya Oja's service, they disappear without traces. Nobody has dared to ask her the way about of the little girls she successfully turned into dummies but whispers are in the wind that they alway end up in the hands of organ harvesters.

PS:

@blvck_boy
@paschaline
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@nekkybella
@sewhento
@brownshuga
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@mindseth
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Kindly read and tell me what you think. I like using my story to relate real life issues. Scenarios of this nature is happening in Idumota as we speak. Pls don't forget to like and share the story if you like it. Thanks

Tunde's heart was a canvas of love, painted with vibrant hues of devotion, and Tosi was the masterpiece that adorned its center. He loved her with every fiber of his being, every beat of his heart, and every whisper of his soul. When her life hung in the balance, like a delicate petal trembling in the breeze, Tunde gave her the most precious gift – his kidney. The surgery was a symphony of hope, a melody of life, and Tosi's smile bloomed like a sunrise, illuminating the world around her.

Tunde's love was a gentle brook that flowed effortlessly, nourishing Tosi's parched soul. He was the anchor that held her steady, the shelter that shielded her from life's tempests, and the warm embrace that soothed her fears. But like a fleeting dream, their love was short-lived. Barely two years after her operation, a healthier and wealthier suitor appeared on the scene, and Tosi's eyes wandered like a lost traveler in a foreign land. She forgot the sacrifices Tunde had made, the pain he had endured, and the love he had poured out like a libation.

Tunde's heart shattered like a mirror, reflecting the shards of his shattered dreams. His soul was a desolate landscape, ravaged by the storm of Tosi's abandonment. He felt like a tree that had been uprooted, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. The ache in his soul was a constant reminder of the transience of love and the cruelty of human hearts. He had given his all, only to be discarded like a worn-out shoe, left to gather dust in the corner of Tosi's memory.

Yet, even in the depths of his sorrow, Tunde's love remained pure and unwavering, a beacon of hope in the darkness. He prayed for Tosi's happiness, even as she walked away from him, leaving behind only the echoes of their love and the scar on his body that would forever remind him of the woman he loved. Tunde's story is a testament to the enduring power of true devotion, a reminder that even in the darkest depths of sorrow, the human spirit can find solace in the beauty of its own resilience.

PS:
@blvck_boy
@paschaline
@huways370
@rally
@damselbabe
@nekkybella
@sewhento
@brownshuga

Kindly read and tell me what you think. I like writing what people will like to read so suggestion or criticism will be appreciated

In the sweltering streets of Ikorodu, a father's world crumbled beneath his feet as his talented musician son was brutally snatched away by the cold hand of death. The once vibrant melodies that filled their home were now replaced with haunting whispers of accusation. The community, quick to judge, pointed fingers at the grieving father, branding him a murderer. The weight of their scorn crushed his soul, as he struggled to come to terms with the loss of his child. The memories of their laughter, their late-night conversations, and their shared passion for music now taunted him like a cruel reminder of his supposed guilt.

But fate, in its mysterious ways, slowly unraveled the truth. The son's wife, once a picture of innocence and devotion, was revealed to be the mastermind behind the heinous crime. Her deceit and betrayal cut deeper than any knife, as it emerged that she had killed her husband to conceal the shameful secret that their only son was not his. Mentioning DNA around her was the greatest offense anyone would commit against her because that for her son would be the evidence her remaining few supporters need to desert her - and perhaps, completely clear the father's name. Even so, the scars of the ordeal would still linger, a constant reminder of the darkness that humanity is capable of.

Close relatives, the very few that still cared, wandered through the desolate landscape of their hearts. The must have realized that the devil isn't the one fingers are pointed at. It was not the horned creature of myth and legend, but the one who wore a mask of love and deceived them all. Where is the goodness in masked angels?