The feeling of guilt always begins like the pain from a pin prick. Then it turns into a red bump and begins to swell till you can't take it anymore because at this point, you know you need to pop it and let out the pus. I have gotten to that point. I can no longer live with guilt. My silence has not helped me, rather its has encouraged the rumours. It's time to share my story publicly. I don’t care what or who comes for me.
So I guess congratulations are in order since you're the first to hear the true story.

Of course, I didn't expect a smooth pass but having completed my cycle, I felt there was little need for this interview. However, the gatekeepers are the only ones between me and revenge and I need their approval to cross over and get it started.
'This is your first.' It wasn't a question. It was a statement but I responded nevertheless.
'Yes, it is.'
'May I see your palm?'
I knelt down and placed both palms on her frail knees. She turned them to face her and traced the lines on both palms gently with her index finger.

She laid still. She made no noise. She silently prayed to the heavens to save her, to blind them all. Tears streamed down her eyes into her ears as she stared at the rock above her. The whole village were after her. Her father was after her. She knew this day would come, after all it was her destiny, so she never prepared for it ; but the moment it came, she ran. She ran and prayed to the gods to guide her. So they listened and guided her little feet.

Tonight I shall share a folklore from Southern Nigeria.
Please note that this story is not an original piece by me.

Title:
Why Dead People Are Buried In the beginning of the world when the Creator had made men and women and the animals, they all lived together in the creation land. The Creator was a big chief, past all men, and being very kindhearted, was very sorry whenever any one died.

Something was wrong. He knew it. Something was off. He could feel it. The air smelt different...No, it didn't smell. It hung. It hung there thick and heavy like it didn't exactly exist. Why is it so dark? He wondered as he craned his neck to look at his girlfriend whom he was so sure was lying beside him. Dark. Everywhere was dark. He tried to move his hand but met a barrier.
Panic set in. His mind quickly made a calculation; Heavy air or lack of it, darkness and a barrier.
HE WAS LOCKED IN A BOX.
At this realization, he muttered 'no, no, no!'

She let the phone ring a couple of times.
Trying to mask her irritation, she breathed out before picking up her phone.
'Good afternoon?'
'Elo bem.'
'Dad?'
'Elo bem.'
'Yes dad,' she breathed out. 'Come home.'
'What?'
'Come home...please. '
An image of his eyes crinkling at the corners, came to her mind. When she was little,his eyes were full of mirth...always amused. But on that day when he had disowned her, those eyes had been red with anger and disgust.

This moment!
This beautiful fulfilling moment!
As if in slow motion, I slowly rub my chest with my right hand as I watch the men dig. I'm about to start the foundation for my house here in my village. My own house! The feeling in my chest intensifies as I look back to take in the layout of my plot for the hundredth time.The swelling feeling in my chest is nothing but unbridled pride.We couldn't find water on my own land, so the men are digging on the other side of papa's farm to find water

On the day I wanted to die, I woke up early and ran a mile. I came back home, made pancakes and watched my favorite TV show -Time of Death, while I ate my slightly burnt pancakes. My phone rang repeatedly but I didn't bother to check my caller ID. I had a meeting slated for 11am -two hours before my death- so I knew it was definitely the office calling.
Some minutes after breakfast, I had a warm bath and waxed thoroughly, making sure no hair was left out.

Two weeks before my father died, he called us for a meeting. All six of us, excluding our mother. He told us his time was near and would love to pass on something to all of us.

'' Since you were kids, have you wanted for anything?'' he asked us.
'' No sir,'' we chorused. '' Good. But do you know why?''
Confused, I turned to my siblings and matched their bewildered shrugs.
Papa said nothing for a while. He stabbed the floor tile twice with his staff, before looking up.
'' I asked a question.''
''No idea sir,'' I answered on behalf of my siblings.

Secondary school wasn't a great period for me. It was hell. Being far away from home sucked and being bullied by everyone - including my classmates, sucked even more. Therefore, it was with trepidation that I accepted to be part of the alumni that would be inspecting the school facilities. Our old girls association - one which I joined for the networking- had the intention of renovating the female hostels. It was important we know what's on