It’s Not That Easy

It’s Not That Easy

You brace yourself as you walk towards the beach. Today, you will conquer your fear of the ocean.

The evening is humid, almost airless and you are sweating. You undo your shirt buttons as you walk.  The sand is warm and gritty on your soles. You get to the beach and extend an uncertain foot forward.  The white foam from the crashing waves laps at your toes. The water is cold, a noticeable contrast to the warm sand.

Then the punishing contrast forms in your head. It was warm and cosy with her, your wife before her death.

Before you pushed her to her death, that still small voice reminds you. Now the water lapping at your toes is just as cold as the sorrow that accompanies you at all times, like your shadow.

Another wave crashes on the beach and the water rises higher, covering your feet up to the ankles. The water seems to open that floodgate of cold, not so fond memories you always want to run away from…

You met your wife at the advertising firm where you worked. You were an associate partner, and she was one of the junior executives just employed. At first, your relationship with her was formal. She was just a colleague, nothing more. You didn’t flirt with her like you did with the other female staff. She did not have the physical attributes that made you give a woman a second glance.

It was not until the monthly board meeting that you began to pay her more attention. From the way she spoke, she was a very intelligent woman. She gave strategies for breaking into the market for a new product of one of the top brands your company was representing. You and your partners had been brainstorming on this for several weeks and there she was providing the breakthrough almost effortlessly.

Your wife was not beautiful in the literal sense of the word. She would not pass in a crowd, like your friends used to jokingly say in the university. Her low haircut did not do much to soften her sharp, angular facial features. Her thick rimmed glasses always hung on the bridge of her nose in a nerdy kind of way. Her choice of clothes did not help matters too. They always sat loosely around her body. Not that they was any curves to cling on to anyway. But for every one thing she lacked in beauty, she had ten in intelligence and humility. And you couldn’t miss the shine in her eyes on the few occasions she took off her glasses. Those large round eyes seemed to have a life of their own, especially when she was discussing marketing and advertising.

You were soon drawn to her. Or rather, you lusted after her intelligence. You have always been handsome, no doubt. Tall, with bulging well toned muscles which often gave people the impression that you were a sportsman. You had very dark skin, a shade of dark that had a burnish. When you smiled and exposed your row of perfect white teeth, it seemed like a streak of lightening against dark clouds.

You asked her to lunch, flashing your trademark smile. She accepted, how could she not have? If only you could see how your smile alone plucks her heartstrings, she said to herself. You were the quintessential man and her green mind was soon enraptured by your ‘Prince Charming’ moves.

You started to date her. You discovered that your persons are different, like two parallel lines without a common centre. You got to know that she could stay at home all weekend, listening endlessly to her jazz and soulful tunes. You spent your Friday nights at the clubs, and Saturday evenings drinking with your friends. She devoured books with a passion you had never seen in anybody. You preferred watching movies (she did not know that you have a preference for x-rated ones) and playing football games on your Playstation2. She was a devout Catholic; you struggled to give God five minutes of your time when you wake up in the mornings. And that was on the few mornings that you remembered. You tagged along with her, and most times you were bored to the death in her company. The only times you were alive with her was when you talked about work. Then her large round eyes took on an extra shine kind of life as she talked. Her ideas were unconventional, but they always worked.

You sometimes caught her stealing glances at you. You wondered at such moments if she did not see through the front you were putting up. You would be worried for a while but you always relaxed. In your many experiences with women, you knew that in their battles between emotion and reason, emotion always wins.

You convinced her to marry you, even when you knew company policy did not allow for staff marrying one another. She would resign and pursue a master’s degree, you planned with her. Your scheming mind was elated. This was a good way of advancing your career. You could always bring home official assignments and use her up her novel ideas.

You knew you liked well endowed women. Looking at a bare cleavage made you weak at the knees, and the sensuous sway of a full hip always beclouded your senses.  Your wife was not endowed. She had small raised elevations on her chest that passed for breasts. Her small brown nipples looked like tiny dots. You were sure you had more of buttocks than she did. Yet you relegated this knowledge to the dark recesses of your mind. You would cross that bridge somehow, you said to yourself.

And indeed, you tried to cross that bridge; you could swear to the high heavens that you did. You would come home from work, excited about the new pop tune you heard on the radio and wanting to talk about it. She would want to discuss a new guitar arrangement she just discovered on an Earl Klugh track instead. Or how the protagonist in the last novel she read shouldn’t have died at the end. You didn’t care about jazz music, boring authors and thir books. Couldn’t she see that from the blank tone of your voice when you answered her? You would want to discuss politics, or a new fashion trend. You would be discouraged, almost annoyed by her disinterest which was obvious when she replied you in monosyllables. You would try to raise conversation and you only got lucky if it were a topic that interested her. And it was only a few things that caught her interest outside of jazz and books.

You wanted kids now. Maybe the crying of a child, the tiny patter of his little feet would liven up the desolation that hung thick in your home. She wanted kids later, after her Master’s degree. She wanted you to herself before the arrival of any tiny intruder, she told you.

You tried to find a place in your heart to like her more. You saw that she gave her all. You wanted her to give more, to like the things that you like and you tried to do same. But you just couldn’t. Your interests were too varied. So you gradually became strangers in your own home. You would eat your meal in silence, sometimes punctuated by some dialogue in the evenings. Except on those evenings when there was work issues to talk about. You would head out to the office early in the morning to avoid the traffic jam.

She loved to swim in the ocean. She told you that it was the best form of exercise for her. She said she always had a clear head after a long swim and new ideas sprouted in her mind. You told her that you had always been scared of the ocean’s immensity. You always felt it would swallow you up if you went near. She laughed at this, not derisively but full of understanding.

You would follow her to the beach sometimes on a weekend. You watched her swim as you enjoyed a cold beer. You marvelled at how her slender limbs worked in perfect timing to propel her in the water.

It was on one such day that you met her. The other woman.

She was a new attendant at the bar where you drank. It was her impeccable spoken English that you first noticed. She greeted you, asked if your week had gone well and if you were enjoying the weekend. And God, she was endowed. Your heart raced as she leaned over the table to open your beer bottle. You could swear that if she were to jump up five times, her breasts would spill out of the low necked blouse that struggled to contain them. Your loins stirred as you mentally tore off her clothes. You imagined yourself sucking one hard nipple hungrily. Your free hand was caressing the other one. The spirit of adventure in you sprang up. You exchanged numbers and set up a meeting. A little ‘one time run’ would not hurt anybody, you thought. It may just be the spice needed for the blandness that your life has become.

How ‘one time run’ turned to ‘weekend runs’ you couldn’t really explain. The other woman turned out to be a demon sex goddess, and you were her slave. You could think of nothing else but the times you would be with her to fulfil your teeming fantasies.

Then the lies began. You always had an official assignment every weekend now, or something else that kept you out of your home. You would come home late and your wife was always up, waiting for you. She would embrace you, even when you knew she could smell the scent of the other woman on you. You wanted her to accuse you of your wrongdoings, to pull at your shirt and start a fight. But she never did. You knew she suspected something and her silence killed you. You could see the hurt in her eyes. Those large round eyes had lost their shine, even when you discussed work related issues. You would feel a momentary guilt which you always managed to erase from your mind.

Like a chick in the firm grasp of a hawk’s talons, the other woman had you in her hands now. You stopped her from working at the bar; you didn’t want other men sharing in her endowments.  You got her an apartment and a small car. You gave her money for upkeep that always had a reason to be increased every month. The allowance to your in-laws stopped. You had agreed with your wife to send them money every month, since you had stopped her from working. You told your wife to share the allowance for housekeeping into two and give half to her parents. After all, you ate once at home, and you hardly had guests. You began to rationalise it; you got work ideas from your wife and sexual gratification from the other woman and you were happy and contented. You were getting the best of both worlds.

You wife became more withdrawn, spending more time with her books and drawing comfort for her loneliness from jazz music. She spent a lot of time in church now. She had joined the Sisters of Charity and was always involved in the group’s activities on those days she didn’t have lectures at the state university where she had started her Master’s programme. She knew there was another woman. A woman always knew such things. But she wasn’t one to raise an accusation without proof. She prayed hard. She prayed that the other woman, whom she saw as a fad should soon fizzle out. She prayed that her husband should return to his rightful place, by her side.

You had not come home all weekend. Your wife was bored and decided to go for a swim that Sunday evening. She did not know it was high tide and the currents were very strong. She was swept away.

You had come home on Monday morning, your eyes puffy and red from the binge drinking and raunchy sex you had at the other woman’s all night. You had met your door locked which was strange. You had gone back to your car to take your keys from the pigeon hole. You had wanted to call her on your mobile phone when you saw that you had missed her calls from the evening before. You called her number and was surprised when you heard a gruffly male voice at the other end. “Oga, water don carry the personwey get this phone go o,” you were told in Pidgin English. “Na the last number wey the person call be dis. Dem still dey find her inside water for Eleko beach.” You remembered that you had put your phone in silent mode yesterday evening.

You made it to the beach just in time to see her bloated, eyeless corpse being taken out of the water. A pang of guilt enveloped you; you pushed this woman to her death was the refrain that began to play in your head. You made funeral arrangements. As she was lowered into her grave and the last sod of earth landed on her coffin, you knew a part of you was gone, forever.

You sought solace in the bottle and in the company of the other woman. You became disorderly at work, getting late to meetings and talking nonsense at the few ones you made it to. There was a permanent stench of alcohol on your breath now. You were soon relieved of your job when you couldn’t offer creative ideas any longer. You then realized that the ideas were never yours. They had died with the owner.

A few months after you had lost your job and frittered all you had on booze, you had come to the apartment you rented for the other woman. You wanted gratification as usual. You were surprised when a man in shorts opened the door and asked who you were looking for. From the look of contempt on his face, it was obvious that you had interrupted something. He asked you to stay by the door while he called who you were looking for. You were surprised when the other woman came to the door and denied knowing you. She was wearing the blue negligee you bought her on her birthday. You started shouting and the man made to push you away. The other woman said no, she had a better idea in mind. She went inside, fetched a bucket of water and emptied it on you. The cold water shook you out of your half drunken state. She announced to you that her offerings were for the highest bidder, and you are a broke ass now.

You walked away, head bent, drenched in your shame like a chicken caught in a storm with no shelter around.

So you come to the beach. You decide to step into the water and conquer your fear. It will be symbolic. You are going to let the water wash you clean of your guilt. It will purge you of your sorrows. You are going to come out of the water a changed man. You are going to do right by other women that come your way now. Yes, you are going to honour the memory of your late wife.

The water continues lapping around your feet. But it doesn’t comfort you at all. You step back on the sand. At least that will be warm still, offering some respite. But it has gone cold too. A fresh wave of sorrow, with a vice like steely grip hugs at your heart.

You realize it’s not that easy…

101 thoughts on “It’s Not That Easy” by Lawal Opeyemi Isaac (@easylife2)

  1. Very good one. Loved the tone and mood with which the story was told. Good idea and theme too. Sometimes we get confused by breasts and chests. Sad a girl that intelligent will get confused by chests and charming looks. Keep it up man. Really enjoyed it.

    1. Now this is high praise coming from you Jay.

      This is a lot of ensouragement for me.

      Thank you very much!

  2. Bravo!!!!!!!!
    You killed it Sir.
    Your characters are so well set, they tell a story of their own.
    I truly, really like!

    1. I’m very glad you feel this way remiroy.You know, I kinda prided myself on putting so much into this story, and I am very glad you feel same.

      Thank you too plenty!!!

  3. I’ll start froem the end back.
    That phrase “THE END” , was poignant for me. It was like you were saying, oh well,you’ll die in that sorrow. I almost felt sorry for the guy.
    Good use of the 2nd person POV, and protagonist’s character was quite vivid. Well done!

    1. Thanks berry.Glad you think characterisation was good, that’s one of the areas I struggle.

      You are too kind!

  4. ahaaaa,Mr Opeyemi,was wondering when you’ll daze me and this one threw me off balance,noticed only one typo but other than that,t’was perfect,the flow was uninterrupted and the descriptions were vivid,may God forgive that brute of a guy.
    Thumps are up.

    1. Feminist gretel, beware, hm? :)


        1. You brief anger at that ‘brute of a guy’ just brought out that femininist streak, dear. Just noticed it, that’s all.

  5. Thanks gretel, glad this one ‘dazed’ you…

    Appreciate the thumbs up,you are too kind!

  6. Nice 1 u got there bro,u just kip improving,don’t tnk d grabbn of nipples is necessary…mayb d real wife shld v a kid or somtn 2 mk up 4 her misery kind of….thumbs up bro!

    1. Thanks nervy for dropping by.This came out fast as the muse inspired, didn’t want to interrupt her flow at all.

      Appreciate the thumbd up.

  7. This is exhilarating…U amazed me here….Love your descriptive way…thought the story had another end to it but well….sure felt bad for the guy….

    1. Thanks treasured1.I appreciate your coming around to read my posts all the time and you can see through the descriptions.Thank you very much.

  8. This is beautiful. You are a wonderful writer, Opeyemi and that is stating the obvious.

    1. Haba Lade, this is high praise from you o, and you know my head swells up easily o…

      Thanks for dropping by,a brother appreciates.

  9. love this piece Opeyemi
    you are on top of your game
    well done

    1. ‘You are on top of your game’. That is high praise Anderson, indeed.

      Glad you stopped by and enjoyed so much.

      A brother appreciates.

  10. Really heartfelt. I like the use of the second person POV. Great work.

    1. Thanks Uche.Was experimenting with the second person POV.I’m glad it turned out well, at least from these comments.

  11. You are such a brilliant writer. I think this is great!

    1. Tee, you flatter me so.Glad you liked, and thanks for stopping by.

  12. The second POV is a technique normally used to show the witticism of writers, but here, Isaac, you created ‘pathos’ with it. Hm, thank God no NS gal and guy has asked for part 2. I just hope there isn’t. If this story be rewritten, I would think the narrator would be more cocky and self-righteous in discussing his situation and actually blame his late wife.

    1. Yes Emmanuella.As at the time of writing, i wanted to make the reader empathise with the self-pity the main character was grappling with.

      I’m happy you noticed.Thank you for stopping by.

  13. @Emmanuella…???????
    who are you to say what a second POV is used for? Have you written a book?

    1. Ouch, that was quite ‘feisty’ coming from you. That force sure did tickle my spine, hmmm… ;) Please, em, if you can refute what I’ve just stipulated PROPERLY, please do so. I’m more than willing to learn a new thing or two from you, hm. I’ve seen that POV creating a humorous witty effect in books, ok.

      1. It’ll be nice if you listen to what I’m about to say.
        I’m relatively new to this site and I joined for 2 reasons.
        a. To get a platform for my works.
        b.To receive feedback …in the way of criticisms and validations.
        Now having said that, I remember one of the first posts I read on NS was a post by a certain young man.He titled it ‘OH PASTOR’…u didn’t like his interchanging use of prose and poetry and you said so in very clear terms, and saucy terms too. I read that and I was like, whao, this person should have framed her comments better, or maybe she’s this forceful because she’s really good!..
        In replying to Opeyemi’s Its not that easy and RemiRoy’s Love , in a mortar…u have just done the same thing!
        Sister, this is a site for grownups, budding , aspiring writers and we need criticisms but because we are all grownups, we expect everyone to be respectful and to be gracious with their speech or pen!
        I wont say any more on this matter, but I think you should pay heed.
        And I did read ‘My Best Nigerian ……’ by Emmanuella Nduonofit!

        1. Berry, there’s nothing wrong with what Emmanuella said here, infact she commended the story.
          Am i sensing a ‘carry over ire’? *wink, wink*

      2. I don’t agree that all the time the second person POV is used for witiccism.If you have read Chika Unigwe’s The Phoenix, you would see that the writer used the technique to create ‘pathos’ for the main character, like you have so stated here.

        1. Well, like I said, Isaac, like you said too, pathos was created here, but a lame one. To me a reader, the narrator’s tone for mercy and understanding (even still being irritably self-important and annoying) is really lame indeed, even if it may not be technically true that the narrator actually drove his wife to her death, meaning that he wasn’t physically there with her when she entered the beach water which at that period, took her away to her watery grave. The narrator could do this again with another woman if given another chance from the way he spoke. Like @gretel mentioned, he is a brute of a man, an unrepentant bastard, God! Hmmm…

          1. I agree with you Emmanuella, but not completely.I want to think that this issue of ‘pathos’ ia a subjective one, it is open for to various interpretations…

            Thank you all the same.This story really made you talk…..

            1. Hmmm… ‘subjective’. ‘Subjective’ here personalises it, you know. The narrator WAS subjective, yes. Or maybe the writer himself. Hm, I’m not too sure about that yet. Like I’ve always said, I yearn to possess true analytical criticism to dissect literary works. Comments are just on the surface. Yes, Isaac, several interpretations are in order, yes.

  14. Or was it Favorite Book Dilemna…..?

    1. Damn it! I just KNEW my NS-past would catch up with me, darn :( !

      Permit me to laugh a little, hm? (or a lot, I guess) :D :D :D :D :D My dearest Berry, I see that you wanna use your feisty pen at me. It’s ok. Em, please did you thoroughly read all the commentaries under OH! PASTOR written by a woman actually, not a ‘certain young man’, if I’m permitted to correct you on that one? Maybe when I mentioned the word HORRIBLE, you thought I was being ‘saucy’. It’s ok. You weren’t patient enough to read the rest of my commentary, am I right? And of course, you ‘flogging’ me on that came in too late, dear Berry, so I guess you are hitting air here. Really, I want you to re-read (study) the commentaries under OH! PASTOR once again, and trust me, you’re gonna really enjoy the creative banter there, hm.

      In this short piece, I just observed (took note) that the second POV created ‘pathos’, meaning the narrator wants us the audience to show pity on him, on his situation. Hm. Something just came up in my mind: The tone in this piece reminds me of the tone used in that famous Robert Browning poem MY LAST DUCHESS. They are so similar in nature. And if it were to be re-written, I bet the narrator would want to justify his actions by being cocky and self-important in his narration, the same way the persona in MY LAST DUCHESS was.

      I would like you to re-read my commentary here as well, if need be. This is my observation, this was what I noticed. If my tone sounded harsh to you, I apologise, hm.

  15. Good sense of humour from NS ladies. Way to go.

  16. I’m not going to say anything yet. I’ll be back.

    1. HIS EXCELLENCY.pls just commend the story and leave the rest,k?!??

    2. My Presido, you have to say something o!You know your HONEST FEEDBACK MEANS MILLIONS TO ME!!!

  17. dis is off d chain
    i love ur expression
    it really matter’d to me
    i must confess
    U RE A PRO

    1. Ibkinx, PRO ke!when i consider myself still learning the craft of storytelling?
      This is indeed high praise coming from you. I’m glad you stopped by and liked the story so much.


  18. This is a really good story, very believable and I like the way you maintained the tone through out. Though I did see a different ending (and am glad it ended – most works on NS tend to be open ended). Berry, Emmanuella, Ladies! Your banter/debate just distracted me! It was like a dramatic side show attached to the story. You’re both good writers and I hope ‘Feisty’ stories come out of this. :-D

    1. Thanks annabella.I’m glad you think so highly of the story.and of course I’m enjoying the debate too,it is indeed a side attraction.I hope it continues…

  19. Lawal, I enjoyed this story very much – thanks! It was well written (bar a few minor typos here and there), I liked the theme of endless regret, where the MC is consumed with a guilt that can never be assuaged.

    I have to say, I’m not a big fan of the 2nd person POV; I tend only to like it used when I could really see myself in the situation that the story teller describes; otherwise, it’s a distraction (especially because Tola Odejayi is not a philanderer). But fortunately, your story was compelling enough for me to want to keep on reading.

    1. Thanks a lot Tola. This means a lot coming from you.I really appreciate the fact that you thought I was able to pull through with the seccond person POV.

      Appreciate your stopping by.would send you a message now.

  20. THis your story ehn…is gripping and emotional without being weepy or overly mushy…noticed a few typos…but i guess they would have been pointed out. I like the narration…the way you took us back without losing the narrative…

    All in all…WELL DONE.

  21. For a story to generate these kinds of reactions a lá the back n forth, it must be very good…..and this one is. I love the tone, and the thread was very clear for all to see…Great work Mr Lawal…Very nice…

    1. Thanks a lot Raymond.Story was here sometime ago.Just redid it and opened up some closed areas.

      Glad you liked.

  22. i’m wondering, do you drown in your sorrow, in the bottle or in the waters that took your better half? can’t say for sure but its certain, you DO drown.
    nice one sir.

    1. Yes, the MC certainly did drown…

      Thanks for stopping by Matthew.Glad you liked.

  23. LAWAL OPEYEMI ISAAC next time you critic a work of mine i’ll just shut up and listen. GOD! you are a master with narration. of course it can be better but this is just RIGHT!!!!!

    1. what I like most about your comment is that you said ‘it can be better’. I appreciate that very much, because I feel that the room for improvement is the largest room in the world.

      Thanks for stopping br xikay. I appreciate.

  24. Bravo Opeyemi! Bravo! you’ve got a story here that incorporates all the elements of a great story.Well developed characters,plot consistency,and a story with a moral behind it! you’re becoming one of my fav writers around here and i’m not flattering’re gooood!

    1. Now estrella, my head is swelling. I pray it doesn’t burst o…

      Happy new year to you, and thanks for stopping by and its good to see you on NS again.You are too kind with your comments.

  25. a very beautiful story you got here, nicely narrated.well done opeyemi.
    thumbs up!

    1. Thanks Posh for stopping by. Glad you liked.

  26. good story, the encomium can never be too much.

    1. Thanks again xikay, the thanks can never be too much too.

  27. There was a natural rhythm in your lines which I want you to keep up… And you indeed have a voice… I love the way you used the technique… It would go a long way… Man, I learned something from you that I wouldn’t say… LOL

    1. Thanks for stopping by Idoko.It would be good to share what you learnt o, maybe I can learn from that too…

  28. opeyemi abeg when the next poem go land na!?

    1. The poetry will come xikay. Got one posted already.

  29. Support this story for second term.

    1. No forget say na’second term’ be this o! Abi na third term you mean?


    1. Thanks 2cute.This is a good one, dont really get comments from you.

  31. @opeyemi abeg give me the title

    1. No rush now xikay.If you understand Yoruba, dem dey talk say ‘Eeyan ti a n gbe iyawo bo wa ba, ko ki n ga orun’. If you no understand, find a Yoruba friend on NS to translate for you.

  32. This is lovely..kept me on till the end..Well Done

    1. Thanks Dave.Glad you liked the story.

  33. Mazi Nwonwu (@Fredrick-chiagozie-Nwonwu)

    Had to say this, Lawal you just too much!

    1. Now that is high praise Fred, that is high praise! You know say we just dey try get better everyday ni. I’m glad you liked the story anyway.Thanks for stopping by.

  34. @lawal, you no understand yoruba reach me o! i was born in ife… ese ko ni mo fi de ile yo’oba

    I AM WAITING, without masks of course

    1. Ehn ehn! se wi pe ori nla e yen lo fi so ile si Ile Ife? O ki n se omo atohun rin wa?……….lol

      Wait a little more my friend.Sometimes a little anticipation makes the heart fonder.

  35. @lawal, a kiin bere kiloo bi lowo oloyun, afi ka duro dojo ikunle… i am waiting bro

  36. this real good carried my emotion

    1. Thanks for reading Uche.


  37. This was excellently done. Well done.

    1. Thanks for reading Igwe.Was suprised to log on and see this as an editor’s pick.


  38. Ditto, really like this story big time. I was not happy though that you had to tell us the reason for his going to the beach, because it was obvious enough to me! Im mighty proud of you on this story…It is really GOOD!!!

    1. I am mighty proud that you like my stories this much too irene. Thank you very much.


  39. The first thing that drew me to the story was the title. Definitely catchy. The second thing I loved was the use of second person POV. Not many writers use this, you did and you used it well. The only suggestion I have is that you read through and tighten up your sentences by trimming some words. Because you are drawing us readers into the story with the second person POV, make us care about him. Even though we know his dead wife’s mother would have gladly pushed him into the ocean. I am painfully learning that less can be more in writing. Especially when conveying deep emotions. It was a pleasure reading :)

    1. Hmmmm…mind lifting Yejide, I’ve never been a fan you though, but your words here…”Less can be more in writing….Love this…

    2. its suprising that i just saw your comment now yejide. Thank you very much for it. would look at the construction of the sentences again.


  40. I love this. it was beautifully written.

  41. A very wonderful story, interesting in itself and interestingly told, I like the way it was written in past tense but i want to point out something.
    ‘you had very dark skin,’ you didn’t specify that maybe due to the weather the skin changed so i think that should have been written in present tense.
    All the same i love your writing style.

    1. Thanks a lot Kookaburra. I appreciate your taking out time to read.

  42. Mr Lawal, Terrific! Ur best that I have read!

    1. Thanks Gboyega.We just dey try naa ni.

  43. Wow…wow…wow.


    This is one of the most interesting short stories I have read in many years. You have summarised life itself in this story. You have captured one of the most rife and yet most painful human experiences in a most unusual way. And what makes this work so well is that the style you have chosen is accusatory; as though the man is now in an interrogation room with you the author replaying his life and the evil deeds it spinned to him.

    I have not enough words to communicate how exceedingly amazing this story and the telling of it is.

    More grease to your elbows. You would be great writer.

    1. Thanks a lot samuel. I am glad that you feel this much about the story. Cheers.

  44. Stunning descriptions, brief yet rich. It was a sad story too and you captured the sadness very well.

  45. Thanks a lot is a suprise that some people could still come back to this story after all this while.


  46. I absolutely love dis doesnt feel like it should have any other thing added to it cos itx Complete..well told story i must say..

    1. Thanks a lot for coming by to read. i feel so honoured.


  47. I like that you made use of the second-person pronoun ‘you’. It takes a certain level of creativity to be able to pull that off effectively without making the work look clumsy. You did good. Well done.

    1. Thanks a lot Taiwo.Glad you liked .


  48. Congrats Isaac..This really deserves that spot on the anthology…

  49. Thanks a lot Bubblinna. It humbles me that this post is still getting comments till date.

    Well done!!!

  50. @easylife2
    characteristically great……….

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