Woodwork Part 2

Woodwork part 2

Woodwork waited impatiently, sensing the barriers keeping her in the background start to crack a bit and a bit was all she needed. She hammered forcefully at the crack until it gave way and she could take control,  that was always the easiest part, the other one was too weak to put up a decent fight once she was stripped of the mental barriers that she used to keep Woodwork at bay.

Woodwork blinked, finally in control of the body, she could still feel the other one try to surface but she knew that the other one was getting weaker. The first thing she did was find a mirror, a full lenght mirror in her bedroom, when she looked at her own reflection she grimaced, the other one really had no business owning a body when she tortured it so. She got out a blade and removed the cheap tangled extensions on her hair and began the slow process of the transformation into herself.

When she was done,  in a red skintight dress with a black jacket and sky high heels, she put the pills in a clutch and the keys to her safe house in her bra. Her neighbours had stopped wondering about the mystery of the quiet girl who seemed to change completely every night,  but that didn’t stop husbands from staring at the dark eyed beauty even as their wives berated them and closed the curtains.

Woodwork soaked up the attention,  it really was her right to be adored and he would have to adore her.

Who wouldn’t? Especially on nights like this when she was dressed to kill.

This Woodwork character fascinates me, don’t worry, I’ve promised myself that I won’t post another short story before finishing this series. I have issues with ending a series. Take care friends.

Funbee

 

Woodwork Part 1

Woodwork pt1

She sat there and watched him pass her again, as always, barely acknowledging her. Along the line, she forgot her name as she continued to lose herself, so she renamed herself. Nothing dramatic and self serving like “Phoenix” but nothing common and dreary like the name “Sandra”, she renamed herself after the very substance she seemed to fade into with no one left to care. She called herself “Woodwork”, and Woodwork was a different person from herself because Woodwork took no excuses, and whoever didn’t notice Woodwork, she made notice her. Woodwork was the colour red, she was bright, terrible and very capable of stopping traffic.

And so she was born, ordinary nameless girl by day, captivating siren by night, the ordinary girl watched the boy walk past her again, but this time, his eyes brushed past her slim figure, taking in her baggy suit and cheap extensions,  he judged her with his gaze and found her lacking. This time he walked past her, bumping slightly into her without pausing to apologise,  her hands shook with the effort of holding in Woodwork but she knew that tonight she couldn’t deny Woodwork her prey.

“Poor boy” Woodwork thought, frustrated by the walls blocking her from taking over.

“Tonight you will be mine”

This is the first of a two/three piece short story series. Sometimes,  people ask me “Funbi! What goes on in your head that you write such weird stuff sometimes?” Incase you’re thinking the same, I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told those people;

“I don’t know,  but if you ever want to understand,  just keep reading”

Wow, I just looked at what I wrote and that isn’t stalkery at all… is it? Anyway, I need to leave before my sister finishes off my powder.
Its still me,

Funbee

Funbee

 

Renew me

It used to be easy,
Taking pen to paper,
Just to talk about me,
It used to be easy,
Before I lost sight of what made me,
It used to be easy,
Before debris floated past and attached to my skin,
Covering,  burying,  until I was no more myself,
Until I was what the debris made of me,
A girl of dust, dirt and paper,
A girl of blood, tears and nightmares.

Walking down the road of despair,
I yell and my voice echoes back,
I’m the only one here,
Misery loves company and I just want someone else to share,
My pain,
My fear
My life,
And all I hold dear.

Its 1:41 am and I’m still up like an owl, that’s not creepy at all. Is it?

Funbee

 

The Interview

I look so calm,
Hiding the shaking of my hands,
I look so calm,
Camouflaging the twitch of my eyelids as a blink,
The crack in my voice as a cough,
I look so calm don’t I?
And I am calm,
I’m as calm as the raging wind.

I hate my nerves,
For they shouldn’t be here,
I should be cool, poised and without fear,
Everything I pretend to be,
A deep breath in,
Sticks in my throat and refuses to rush out,
I’m choking now but,
I refuse to let it show.

The girl steps outside,
Looking harried and tired,
She calls my name,
And I know its my turn,
I refuse to let it show,
And I stand up,
Ready for my interview.

Oh and by the way, I bombed the interview so hard that it must have thought it offended N.korea. I jest! I jest! But seriously, it was like watching the titanic hit the iceberg in 3D! That horrible! Oh well, the next one will be better.

Funbee

 

Voice of hope

I’m not really in the mood to talk much tonight, someone I had so much respect for disappointed me. It just makes you wonder doesn’t it? Who can be trusted? Respected? Who can you trust to keep your trust? When all else fails me I write so I hope you like this.

Voice of hope

I realise now my mistake,
And like the pieces of a puzzle,
All has fallen into place,
The light blinds me with the truth,
And I can’t imagine why I was ever blind to it,
The light has come,
Now I can see clearly,
But a selfish part of me wishes to go back,
To go back and simply forget.

I was a remarkable damsel in distress,
Truly I moaned and wept as often as I could,
My demons surrounded me,
And all I could do was cry and hope,
To hope that one day my prince would come,
I wrung my hands and gnashed my teeth with alarming frequency,
Watching and waiting for him to charge in on his white horse.

In a way I think I still am that girl,
But I’d also like to think that I have grown beyond that,
Though my demons are still around somewhere,
The voice that soothes me and leads me on is not that of my prince,
Its is my voice that helps me now,
And if I’m being honest,
I believe it was always my voice and no one else’s,
That may be incorrect but this is now my truth,
It is my new reality,
It reassures me,
And it scares me badly.

Funbee

 

I can be your judge and jury

Dearest… dears,
Today, while I was praying, something came to my mind. Let me give you an inkling of what I was thinking then:

So, there’s this person in my church who seemed so awesome, so well rooted in his faith that it came as something shocking to me when I discovered that he/she wasn’t the person I thought he/she was. My faith was rocked! How is it possible for someone who I believed in to reach such depths? How were we(members of the church) all so easily fooled? And because my faith seemed so attached to the assurance of this person’s, when his/her faith seemed fake to me, mine took a nosedive.

Of course I have resolved that issue now, my salvation is mine, so is my faith, not to be attached to someone else’s, but today I looked at myself and felt shame, shame not for tying my faith to his, but for judging him/her without knowing his/her full story. This came to me while I was praying for clarity on how to handle the matter:

You see, we look at other people around us and judge them almost immediately, in the court in our minds we are judge, jury and prosecutor. This is not me trying to spoon-feed you my religion, so I ask that you not treat it that way. This is me, horrified at man’s inhumanity to man, scared that the readiness with which I judged would reach others and pull me into THEIR court.

Its easy to see other people’s mistakes and think “I can’t do that, I could never be that weak” “I could never be that loose” “I could never have allowed it”.
But if we focus on judging people on their mistakes, we might just stumble and make bigger mistakes on our own.

“See how skimpy her clothes are, she must be a prostitute”

“Look at him laze around,  he has no shame”

“They must be thieves, how else would they get money?”

A good friend once told me that “assumptions are the death of a relationship” and I agree, we make too many assumptions and judge on those “facts”.

What am I trying to say? I’m saying that I as a person am making up my mind to leave the judging to the actual judges. I’m a bit worried about what I wrote but I won’t re-read it so I won’t be tempted to edit.

No longer your judge or jury,

Funbee

 

I’m Afraid

Dearly beloved, you have clicked on this post to watch me explain away my absence,  so let me. My school just resumed and I have a ton of cases to cram, heavens forbid that I’m not ready for whatever impromptu test my sadisti… *coughs* I mean awesome lecturers have planned.

This is a piece that sums up how I feel most times, the pressure sometimes gets too much but I’m too afraid to admit to being afraid (if that makes any sense to anyone awake at this time. Its 12:46 am btw).

I’m Afraid

I’m afraid that I’m a mannequin,
A wordless sightless model for things I cannot feel,
I’m afraid that I’m a mannequin,
Forever to be spoken about but never spoken to,
I don’t want to be a mannequin,
But it seems I have no choice.

I don’t want to be a puppet,
Speaking only when told to,
Speaking only what told to,
I want to be my own and no one else’s,
But it seems like I never can,
I’m told to submit,
To look down and look away,
With a shift of my scarf and an adjustment of my skirt,
Be demure,
Be relaxed,
Be perfect,
Be decent.

“But never ever be yourself”, they say.
I know its harsh and unthinkable,
But if I have to submit,
I know that I’m already gone.

Funbee

 

Antichrist

This is not fodder for a religious argument! I repeat, not fodder! This short story was inspired by a friend of mine who gave me an idea “The devil praying for peace in hell” and I thought to myself… what would make the devil cry? Now honestly, you don’t have to believe in the existence of the devil to enjoy this piece. I hope you enjoy this piece, and if you don’t,  help me get better by telling me why.

Antichrist

The devil was frustrated,  his normally pristine white suit was torn in several places and blackened from its encounters with coal and to make things worse, he didn’t even notice the screams of the damned. For the first time since that meddlesome son of God invaded his domain and took the keys to the gate of death from him, he had a headache and the cause of his headache was one of his own making.

If one was to think about it logically it was all Abaddon’s fault, his right hand man came to him with an idea. An idea that normally, he would have refused but on that particular day he was at the end of his rope. A businessman who had pledged his soul to him decided to “give his life to Christ”! And when he sent a message up to the man upstairs, he received a simple reply, the picture of the key to the gates of death that was no longer in his possession. This particular scenario had been going on for a while now, a person would devote himself to him only to get in contact with those busybodies that called themselves Christians and renege on their agreement.  Something had to change, and Abaddon brought what could be a game changer to him in the form of a prophecy. The former angel told him that all he had to do was father a child, and sit back and watch the carnage unfold, the child was destined to be a foil to humanity.

But four years, three frustrated head demons, two hundred temper tantrums and one very annoying baby momma later, Lucifer was beginning to believe that Abaddon and him read the prophecy wrong and instead of being the Antichrist, his child was destined to be the Anti-devil. His daughter at the age of three managed to outsmart three of his head demons on a regular basis, slipping into the pit of fire and throwing coal at the people suffering in it. That in itself wasn’t a crime but she deprived the other demons of that regularly, and when they challenged her she pelted them with coal too.

Her favourite past time was hide and seek, but instead of actually hiding, her version of the game involved her hiding his things from him. This particular round had him scraping his way through the tunnels that supplied coal to the pit for his scythe.

“Daddy! Daddy! Play again!”

He heard her voice long before he even caught sight of her and his right hand came up to massage his forehead.

That day, the devil prayed that there might be peace in hell once more.

Funbee

 

Are they male or female?

Dearest *yawns* people,  its 4:43 am and I’m awake. Why? Well, long story short I stayed up to read a novel and the ending of the story was so beautiful that I just… couldn’t sleep again. By beautiful I don’t mean the “wonderfully independent but yet surprisingly innocent” girl had her happy ending with the love of her life, not that I have something against romance novels, a lot of them don’t inspire you. This book had a sociopathic protagonist who still managed to get me to like her and the ending was beautiful. She died, along with the backstabbing love of her life, now don’t see that as a commentary on the things I like, I just like more than the “boy meets girl, falls in love, overcomes obstacles to their obviously beautifully fated love” scenario from time to time.

Anyway, some might be wondering what the reason for the title of my post is, so I won’t be stingy with my foodstuffs, I’m going to spill the beans. Some days ago, I woke up to the sight of my sister laughing. At me. Apparently, she tried to wake me up in the middle of the night to try on some clothes (because that’s a normal thing to do) and out of the blue I asked her;

“Are they male or female?”
And when she asked me what I meant I replied:
“The smileys na, because some look male and some look female”
Then she replied with:
“The ones that are frowning are male and the ones that are smiling are female because females are always joyful”

And that must have satisfied sleepy me because she said that after that I nodded and fell asleep. Firstly, I believe its just cruel and unusual punishment to wake someone who is obviously dancing with Jason Derulo in her dreams up. And secondly (I highly doubt that the use of “secondly” is correct but like pregnant women and girls with PMS, I believe sleep deprived girls have their own free reign over language) lets think about that question for a minute:

Are the smileys male or female? 

Good night,  morning. Dear God I hope I won’t wake up later today and regret uploading this since I’m too lazy to edit.

Funbee

 

Faith

Remember my short story “Magic”, well this is the second in the Magic series of short stories. You don’t have to read the first one to understand this one though but if you could, it would be awesome.

I’d love to blab about my day but the story is a long piece in itself so without further ado;

” But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison” James 3:8 The Bible.

Faith

Her eyes blazed with hatred as she glared at the men in front of her,  powerless because of the dirty clothes wadded in her mouth effectively gagging her. Her eyes followed them around,  watching them go through her belongings, scattering her papers and eating her food, all the while mocking her. Faith watched them in anger but didn’t make any visible or audible complaint, all she needed was her mouth free and this trouble would be over, so she stayed calm and continued working her gag loose with her mouth.

Faith was born to a single mother, a bitter teenager named Esther who never failed to remind her how her conception cost her everything.  Esther was shunned by her Christian parents who saw her pregnancy as the ultimate betrayal,  her boyfriend denied any connection to her and the baby she carried. As a result, Esther became a seller of fried bean cakes with unrealised dreams and only one person to blame it on; her daughter Faith.

Faith never went to school and she never felt she had to, for the people who went there weren’t smarter than her. From the age of ten, Faith moved from begging from the rich on the expressway to stealing from the rich on the expressway and she was comfortable with this until she realised her potential at the age of fifteen.

It was late at night and she was returning home with her day’s earnings when she was accosted by four men who collected her money and beat her viciously when she protested. They left her battered and bruised in more ways than one for after they took her money, they raped her. After the first time Faith refused to scream anymore, she just lay there silent and broken as each one of them sweated and grunted above her and as they turned to leave,  Faith uttered one word before passing out. She looked at their retreating figures and said;

“Die”

When Faith woke up, it wasn’t morning yet but there was enough light for her to see the bodies of the men around her. There was no trace of blood on them but they were obviously dead and flies were already beginning to gather. Faith didn’t bat an eyelid, she simply limped over to them, took her money and theirs and headed home, thinking no more about it until she got home.

When she got home, she met her mother in a sour mood. Esther, her mother paid no attention to the wounds on her body but kept complaining about her lack of money, about the fact that Faith had been bringing in less money in the past few weeks, Why couldn’t she steal more? Go out more? And on and on . The noise in Faith’s head kept building, added with her mother’s shouts, she couldn’t bear it again and with her hand gripping the wooden post of her mother’s house/shop, she faced her mother and told her:

“Just shut up”

That day Faith’s mother lost her voice and since then never uttered a word, that day was also the day Faith began to come into her own and accept the power she had. She climbed the ladder of power the only way she knew how, which to her was the only way that mattered.

Now  Faith stood before the men who dared try to rob her and decided their fate. After she worked the gag loose from her mouth, it took only a few well placed words to get them to loosen her bonds. If she wasn’t so angry, she could have laughed at the sight of five hefty men cowering from a petite girl, at twenty two she still looked sixteen and the sight of her wide eyes and pixie like face was only marred by the hard glint in her eyes and her permanent frown.

Faith looked at the men who dared underestimate her, the leader of the gang that controlled all major crimes in the city of Lagos for over two years and gave them a chilling smile as she opened her mouth to tell them their fate.

“Die”

Funbee