Death Cries!!! Episode 1

Death Cries!!! Episode 1


POWERED BY STORIES DA VIBA in conjunction with Twins’ Writers Association(TWA) & NP Film Production.

Genre ; Third world Crime Fiction!!!

This story is written, thought-out and proofread by Njoku Nonso Emmanuel also known as Nonsegzy De Magnificenti.


please note that this is a work out of my love for fiction. Any resemblance to the action reffered is an unsaged coincidence. Beside that, No part of this book may be reproduced or represented in any form or by any means whatsoever including sharing, printing without the prior permission granted by the above author.


Have you ever seen Death cry? Or Forget easily the actions that once caused the abrupt evansce of your loved one? Everyone tries to forget but many aint successful, because Nomatter how much we try ploughing those sands, some thoughts break its Terminus. ‘Death Cries’ revolves around Martins Odunga, a young Superintendant of the Negratta Police Force whose life circles Love, Pain, Anger, Loss and Revenge which sourly became his final verdict- would he live after accomplishing that?- All hidden in this piece.


To keep up my writing after much stretched editing and proofreads, I decided to do a one-month challenge. Hopefully this is is a snippet from a trilogy, am planning to publish, Perhaps by end of the year. This is the first draft, so you are likely to see wrong spellings, bad sentence structure and all misses but over that, I would need your awesome critiques;(


Dominus vobiscum!!!


Authored By Njoku Nonso Emmanuel.
Episode 1 [:Chapter One]

Something kept me awake, away from acknowledging the severity of the day and surely not the previous days. The previous days rolled quite hectic than i once envisioned, greased by numerous unsolved cases from the parts of the state. Everything immoral cascaded sporadically after the abrupt death of our commissioner which got me thinking If its ‘perpertrators’ waited for his demise, before flooding Negratta with polychromatic balls, more than what a young man of my age would solve without getting tethered in wrinkles as the man below his feet and these balls are like peebles flecked on rippled water. Truly the unsolved cases kept no stronghold on me rather it was something more, more than my relationship with Elizabeth, more than the warning orders from superiors and more than . . . I sat up, dragged my waned legs to the white-coloured fridge that laid at Hypothenuse, just few meters from the bed and took out a bottle of water which I gulped down in one greedy guzzle. Like a modelling zombie, I returned to the bed while that ‘something more’ clouded my thoughts. Lying down, I stared deeply into the white-varnished ceiling embracing ‘that something more’. It was the past version of my life nurtured by regrets, pain and an undying revenge and ‘that something more’ enveloped me.

Mr Dolphin Omenego was rich, not just rich, but vauntly ranked among the tenth wealthiest men in the state and, he was and is my father. Despite his strict demeanor and busy vanquishes, father and his family lived in an extra-bonded intimacy, more bonded than blood. My twin brother Valentine resembled father at all ramification, Unlike me who was the other picture of mother: a meek creature who avoided troublewaters like Satan avoids God. Our one happy family ended on a day, not predicted or can’t be predicted by lives tangled in a lordly twist of undying love.

That moonless night that bore no acoustics other than the faint chatters of families till this day stay glued tightly to the walls of my heart. We had stayed eating at the dining room girded to a family bond when three masked men stormed into the house brandishing sophisticated guns and without waiting for any explanation, one of them shot father right on the head. Mother was about saying something when another knocked her out with the edge of his gun. I sat transfixed, for a child older than a decade watching my mother slowly drift to subconciousness and Father lying in his pool of blood was rather painful, killing and highly piercing. I glanced at my brother and saw his eyes turn red in watery fury. Something touched my lip, I tasted it with my tongue and it tasted quite salty; that was when I realized that I’d was crying. A sudden rush of energy surged through my bones, that energy which tells you the possibility and probability of your action but you get urged on by some coercive hope, a hope of not slamming your butt with a visible pestle. Valentine seem to experience the same urge, both of us got on our feet at the same time and like twins fighters of mendalion rushed to one of the gun men hitting him with all the peurile strength we can gather. The gun man shook his head in sheer confidence and sent us simultenously to our own dreamworld with the ‘deadliest’ slap worth more than our young minds could tolerate.

I had woke up admist pain-written groans as water splashed on my face only to see Mother and Valentine tied to a dining chair. I made to stand up, but fell to the tiled floor, I was tied also. My heart sank into my stomach looking at my dead father and my mother whose face wrote notes of disappointment and the assassins who stood in an indian file peering menacingly at three of us.

‘Such a stubborn squire.’ One of the gunmen grunted, brought out a phone from his right pocket, pressed few keys on it and rested it on his left ear. His reciever seemed to be giving orders, whoever he was, because he kept nodding his head in affirmation. After what looked like centuries, he hunged up the call, then turned to his two partners as they rolled their eyes.

‘Are you OK?’ Mother asked softly as torrents of tears slided down her auburn face. I just nodded. Our tears flowed: Mother, Valentine and I.

It happened so fast, faster than thought. One of the gunmen shot my mother after the eye commutation, and everything became motionless and my eyes clouded in tears like I was crying out blood. My eyes grew doggy, but I could see another line of bullet pierce Valentine’s heart and still saw the red matter circle round his woven. . . The gunman pointed the gun at me with his finger on the trigger. I closed my eyes, close enough to see my family smiling at me and happy to reunite with them in the underworld if it exists.

WIP 1?

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