Space Boyfriend Returns

I noticed he always “liked” my posts on facebook. i did not know him personally, but knew people who knew him and I always heard niceties being said about him.
Soon, i began taking interest when he would slid into my inbox and gosh I wished it was beneath the sheets. Our chats were intellectual and friendly. His sense of humour was topnotch and it made me hunger and desire meeting him.
He was always there; on the pictures, dropping savvy comments, on posts, making sensible comments that made my soft spot for him become softer till it soon melted. I was overjoyed.
Our chats became frequent. He always had a way of calling my attention and I looked forward to it with glee.
We chatted about books. Books. And bookstores.
We chatted about sports. Football and Even more football.
We talked about what we valued and devalued, We talked about what makes us tick and what we detest. This to me was perfect.
We soon exchanged phone numbers, email addresses and pictures too. Oh, how he adored my “good morning face” and always requested I send him a selfie. I too loved to see his face and soon found myself daydreaming about stroking his beards and running my fingers through his hair. I daydreamed of us locking arms and knocking toes.
“I am coming into town in two weeks and I am dying to see you”.
These words of his melted whatever was left of my already melted soft spot as I grinned from pillar to post. I tried to hide my blush from him as he stared at me with liquid passion in his eyes from the laptop screen. We have become addicted to Skype, Imo, Viber, Video calls on messenger and whatsapp calls too were our new found means of bridging the gap caused by Godforsaken bitch called distance.
On the day of his arrival, I woke up earlier than usul, double checked the time and to my dismay ut was not yet dawn.
I ran into the bathroom, took a quick shower, dressed in one of my shirts he told me he loved seeing me in.
I wanted so much to look into dreamy eyes, confirm his affirmations and rest on his shoulder. K was perfect, and I wanted no other.
He was all what I needed, wanted and desired in a man and he said I too, him.

12th May, 2006.
I ran into his arms and was lost to earth, this was heaven and I never wanted it to end. I was panting hard. I practically forget Dr. Femi’s warning and wanted desperately to live, this once.
Our love was consolidated with kisses, tightly fitted hugs which coiled my toes and sent shivers down my spine. I was alive again and wished things were different.
We hit the sheets in his house and as I lay in his arms, I drifted.
My thoughts came flooding. Tears trickled down my unmade up face. The words of the doctor flashed on the screen of my heart. For once I was scared, yet not afraid. This was a good way to end it.
I wiped my tears, drew myself up to his face for another round of stimulating kisses. My zips were soon undone and I wanted so badly to ask him to hurry, but I kept my cool, besides I still had 5 hours.

We ate amidst chatters, fed each other tiny chunks of the huge chicken I made that morning while I begged time to tick faster.
He complimented my prowess and said the words that pierced my heart deeper than Dr. Femi’s words the last time I visited.
“I am a blessed man, my bride loves me right and cooks tasty meals, I can’t wait to make you mine forever”.
We ate more, but in silence.

We talked about many more things, we reassured ourselves of love eternal, unbreakable by forces of nature and humans, otherwise popularly known as “village-people.
He explained what he meant by village-people
and yet again, he had me reeling with laughter and I soon fell on the bed, absorbing the essence of his being, inhaling the scent of his skin, it will come in handy on the journey.
The flowery bedsheets were laughing too at my love’s explanation of village-people, Yeah, he had that effect on all he encountered.
He touched my temple, closed my eyelids, ran his hands across my face, tickled my ears and touched my lips.
Oh, it wasn’t his hands,. I responded hungrily and let my body succumb to the flush of emotion erupting within me. We satiated our long term yearning and as he planted one more kiss on my forehead, my eyes caught a glimpse of the time, it was 11:55am, I slid my hands into my bag by the bed, gave him an envelop carefully wrapped and the results from the doctor’s neatly folded inside. And shut my eyes, my journey was to begin, I had fought a good fight, but this cancer was a fiercer fighter.
-Maureen Alikor

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One Day

One day, you’ll wake up and find out you’re the only person in the room. Your wife will enter and see you on the bed. She will scream and call for your children and workers. They will rush in and with all vigor, shake you on your bed.

They will only see you on the bed, they won’t notice you’re actually by the door, calling out to them. Soon, relatives will begin weeping their way in, some will be trembling, some with hard faces, others will be smiling. They will say a lot of good things

“Oh He lived well..” “lovely man..”

They won’t speak out the bad but true ones, but you will be able to hear their thoughts

“Useless bastard..” “sad and irresponsible…” “Full of hate and secrets…”

You will not care, all you will want now is to tell your wife you’re sorry for always being a jerk, to hug little Sara and tell her sorry for constantly smacking her. You’ll want to tell John, your first son that you love him for the first time. You’ll have so many wishes, but you will never be able to have them. You’re the only one in the corner.

They will later carry you out of the luxurious room and you’ll float behind, tired from screaming out to them. You’ll now clearly see your love-deficient wife wobbling behind. Her wrinkled and tired face will break you and you’ll shed ghostly tears. You’re now being carried out of the house you broke so many rules to build. You’ll see the exorbitant cars, many of which you bought from your unhealthy struggles at work.

The latest version of the iPhone you just bought will ring, but you won’t be able to touch it. Three other phones will cry out too, because many will call. Your hands will keep slashing through them all, you won’t be able to grasp anything.

Now, only one word will be ringing in your soul. Vanity.

Soon, one of your close friends will rush in, sobbing. He will be screaming too

“Is it true what I just heard about senator! Is it true!”

Senator. It will smash you, how you made your family and other important people pay to have that title, how you deprived them of love, care and attention. Vanity.

He will with a sham grieve pull on the white cloth you have been covered with, revealing your nakedness. Your organ that has destroyed lives will slightly and helplessly dangle in front of the world.

You’ll get angry and start a fresh wave of your ghostly screams, warning them of the new mourner

“Don’t mind him, take him! He poisoned and killed me! yesternight .. He is a murderer”

They won’t be able to hear you. You will quit crying and finally acquiesce that you’re gone, you are truly now on your own. Vanity.

\Soogun Omoniyi is a medical student who sits on cadavers and writes crazy beautiful stories.

Of desires

I sat by my window listening to him whisper all the whisperings he had to whisper to this lady sitting comfortably in his room, very close to his window.
I could see her smile and look of admiration as each word dropped off his mouth and as his brows rose and fell each time. She laughed every now and then and with each fresh laughter, came a tightening in my bowels. For what reasons, I couldn’t fathom.

Bayo moved into our neighbourhood few weeks ago, he had strong biceps and obviously matured bones. His room was close to mine, we were window neighbours, and have remained so for four weeks, three days, five hours, twenty-two minutes and five seconds. Oops, I’ve been counting. Steadfastly.

He had the Michael-Ealy-kind-of-eyes and his skin shone like Idris-Elba’s, his sturdy voice always exhibits it power in breaking down the walls built up over the years when I dusted my gloves and boots for man-drama.

Yesterday, I eavesdropped on his chatty session with someone presumably a friend or relative and as icing to a cake, so his sense of humor was to my already beating heart. Perfect. Touche.

As I heard her giggle, I felt a pang of pain pierce through me. My palms itched and soon became damp from holding on to my window pane. I looked away but taking one last glance, I saw her hair was bouncy and curly. I wished I was her. I wished I was giggling to Bayo’s every speech. I wondered far, trying to guess what he could be saying and why she was laughing so shamelessly.

Then, I heard a sharp scream, my hair stood, my toes curled, and my lips quickly dried up.

Oh, what nerve she had, I thought to myself when I thought I heard moans. I could see her silky hair no more, the blinds were now down and my vision impaired.

“It should be me”, I said angrily, writhing in pleasure on my sofa as I sat, gathering composure.

I heard it again. The moan. This time, I just felt it in my bones that he was a “killer” and I so desired to be killed by this one.

I crawled to my cold bed, got entwined in the embrace of my sheets and drifted off to the land of pleasure.

The blaring sounds of siren woke me up. Peering through window blinds, I saw my dear Bayo, cuffed and led into the black Maria.
Few seconds later, a body lying on a stretcher was carried into an ambulance standing by.