“Where have you been?” “You haven’t posted on your blog in a while.” “Writer’s block?” I would love to answer your questions and I might. Who knows; I would probably fall off the face of the Earth after this post. You know better than to trust me anyway.

Right now, we have serious business. “I thought the title said fine face or baritone voice?” That was click bait, you’re here now. Get along with the train.

I remember reading a quote in a book few years ago. It always seemed funny but the meaning soon dawned on me. To know a man, walk a mile in his shoes. After that, who cares? He’s a mile away and you’ve got his shoes. The metaphorical shoes in this case refer to the votes of the electorate which unfortunately can be won by 2 packs of noodles and 500 naira.

A character in KOB 2 said and I quote “this game is not won with a fine face or baritone voice?” The political aspirants in our country know this and to be honest, they really understand the assignment (if you know what I mean). Once in every four years, they come off their high horses and thrones, descending into the abode of the commoners with ridiculous campaign strategies that actually work. Eating corn, wiping snot off little kids, boarding public transport; you go low, they go even lower.

Adams oshiomole during his gubernatorial campaign in 2016

Rauf Aregbesola and his deputy in school uniforms.

Studies have shown that a higher percentage of voters are not the guys and ladies in the checkered suits and Jimmy Choo. They’re the market women, the men at the newspaper stands, the underage children in the north.

The future doesn’t belong to those who have the knowledge anymore, the future belongs to those who have permanent voter’s card and are ready to make a change.

NB: All images used for reference are gotten from Google.

Youtube series have been the craze for quite a while now but it took coronavirus and quarantine to bring to my notice some amazing series. You want romance, wannabe lagos girls, money moves, basically entertainment at your finger tips, you’ve got it. Here is a list of five series you should start your youtube journey with.

PHASES

If there was a checklist for the perfect boyfriend, Sunkanmi would check all the boxes. Instead he is a single guy with bestfriends who are intent on finding him a match. Humour and drama make this series the best choice for relaxing and laughing your ass off. This series eplores the intricacies in friendships and relationships. I mean, does an ever so slightly kiss count as cheating?

The men’s club

Chiselled abs, check; broad chest, check; most importantly moneyyyyy, check. Follow the story of Lagos’ finest men and their tupsy turvy lifestyles. This series is one that always keeps you on the edge of your seats. Just when you think you have everything figured out, boom, the producers bring out another wild card. I have seen enough drama to last me a lifetime.

Assistant madams

They are smart, beautiful and masterminds at what they do: ripping men off their money. They belong to the popular wannabe class and they would do anything to keep up with Joneses. What happens when someone tries to pull a smart one over the rest of the group?

Skinny girl on transit

Tiwa is a plus sized lady trying to find herself in a world where standardized beauty is a thing. She evolves from trying to change herself to loving herself and finding love in the process. This series really helped me at a time when i would look in the mirror and hate myself. And then there’s her very Nigerian mother, her sister with never ending drama and Wosi, their househelp. This series is a never ending rollercoaster of drama and addresses a lot of societal issues.

Best friends in the world

Edith just won’t shut up about this series on her status so i decided to check it out to see what the fuss was about. When i did, i really wished i had seen this in my secondary school days so I would have handled certain situations better. Olive is so mature in ways beyond me, she makes mistakes but she still owns up to the regardless of the consequenses. This is an attribute many of us need to emulate.

If there is any youtube series you would like to recommend, kindly drop it in the comment section. If you have seen any one of the above, let me know your thoughts on them.

All images gotten from google.com. For brand promotions and reviews, kindly email me at oluseyifadugbagbe@gmail.com

I spotted her at the bar in a red dress that fit tailor made and clung to every curve on her body. Running her fingers across the rim of her highball glass, I could tell that she had been stood up. I made my way over, ready to use one of my infamous pick up lines. “Oh for heaven’s sake, one more compliment about the red dress and I’m going to drown myself in vodka.” I was amused, instead I decided to go the old fashioned way. “He must be an idiot for standing you up, I’m Julien by the way.” She threw her head backwards and gave a throaty laugh. “So Julien, what makes you think I’m on a date? Can’t a lady come out for drinks alone on a Friday night?” I could hear the British accent in her voice and a slight slur that suggested she had had more than one shot of vodka. “Well, I’ve seen you glance at the door five times in thirty minutes and you’re wearing a Galliano dress that still has the tag on which means you bought the dress specially for this occasion.”

She seemed genuinely impressed and I made a mental note to thank my sister for dragging me along on her last shopping spree. “I see, a man that knows his designers and pays attention, psychology major, I presume.” “Can I be honest?” She raised her eyebrows and I took that as my cue to proceed. “I was actually going to make a red joke.” “I knew it, at least you had the common sense not to, I had to pretend I was on a call when the last guy compared me to a fruit. I really wanted to throw my drink on him.” “Well I couldn’t have you drowning in vodka, could I?”. “Thanks for coming over though, this is the most fun I’ve had in days”. “What can I say? I’m the life of the party. Weird how I don’t even know your name yet.” “I’m Auburn, before you ask ;yes, it’s because of my hair.” “It brings out the colour of your eyes.” “So Julien, do you always flirt with ladies you meet at the bar?”

“Only when I know they’ve been stood up.” She jabbed me in the ribs and chuckled. “You’re never going to let me hear the end of it, are you?” “Not if we’re going to be friends for a long time.” “Really, we’re friends now?” “We’ve had two shots of vodka together, if that isn’t friendship, what is?”. “Right, I think I’ve had too much to drink anyway, let’s get out of here.” We waited for a cab and coincidentally she happended to be staying few blocks away from my apartment. As she stepped out of the cab, she planted a kiss on my lips and gave me her card. “Call me, Julien.”

Image gotten from http:/Google.com

The day I cooked salty rice, something weird happened. Maami burst into tears and started going on about how no man would marry me and I’d end up a Dálémosú like Aunty Abike. I wanted to point out that Aunty Abike had two clothing stores in Oshodi and was wealthy by all standards. Instead I kept quiet and let my mother take the blame for the ruined dinner.
     The day Saliu the Cocoa farmer asked for my hand in marriage and I refused because he wasn’t educated and had poor taste in his choice of clothing, Maami rebuked the spirit of Èsù in me. A woman is no man Òsúnkóredé, we don’t get to be choosy.
     On our way home from iya ológì’s third naming ceremony in three years, I told Maami I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a mother. Maami laughed and said Baami didn’t name me after the goddess of fertility for me to be spewing rubbish from my mouth. What did I know about life and childbearing? She said.
        The day I packed my things and begged Maami to let me go to Lagos with Aunty Abike, even the clouds seemed to be against my decision in their dark shades, the sun slowly turning her back against me. Maami said “A woman is no man Òsúnkóredé . We don’t get to just up and leave our families in search of a better life”. As she spoke, I almost felt compelled to stay behind.
   Maami was right though, truly I am no man. I am Òsúnkóredé, a female who squats to pee, yes. But I am so much more, smart talented and I’m ready to make this new world feel my impact.


Image gotten from Pinterest.

The joy of motherhood is exaggerated to a large extent. No one ever tells you about the sleepless nights associated with a colicky firstborn or days when you forget to get important work done because you have the ‘mommy brain’ syndrome. I had barely closed my eyes to sleep when I heard someone whispering. No doubt, it was my husband. Our friends gave him the nickname ‘baby whisperer’ because he was the only one who could whisper Zara to sleep. A skill I found very handy ever since she got sick with colic. I heard him mumble under his breath and this time around, he shook me awake. I was ready to rain fire and brimstone on him when he held his hand over my mouth and told me to be quiet. “they’re here Zainab, get Zara and go to the basement now”. I knew exactly who he was referring and on many nights I had prayed to Allah on bended knees that we would never have to come across them. They were the same infidels who raided Inak, Nurban and other cities across the country and took women and children captives. No one knew who they were or the reason for their actions. The only thing we knew was that they never attacked the same place twice. The infidels were like the mythical creatures our parents warned us about, they were always characters in stories just to make us understand how dangerous it was to go outside to play.
I took out the duffel bag under the bed and headed to the nursery. I was panicking but I knew better than to make any noise. I looked behind me and noticed that Aminu was not following me. “Aminu, hurry we have to go, I have the duffel bag with me”. I whisper-yelled. “go ahead, I’m going outside. I won’t stay inside and hide like a coward when my city is under siege”. I should have known Aminu would choose this time to be a hero. It was one of the reasons I fell in love with him when we first met. However, today was not going to be one of those I give in to his stubborness. “in case you have forgotten, Zara needs her father more than this city needs you. This city has soldiers, let them defend the country”. He seemed to be comtemplating this and I was glad when he followed me to the nursery.
The wooden floorboards held a well concealed secret. A basement where we could hide out for a while in times like this. I carried Zara from her crib, she looked so peaceful and I didn’t have the heart to wake her up. Aminu opened the floorboards and I went down the basement first, I placed Zara on the mini-bed and turned around to give Aminu a hand. Alas, my husband had triggered the lock and shut me in with Zara despite my warning not to. Stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea, the reality of the situation dawned on me. My husband was out there and I had no idea if I was ever going to see him again. A wave of anger hit me, he could have stayed. He could have choosen Zara but like always his country came first. Zara started to stir in her sleep and I knew her loud wailing would fill the room so I decided to prepare the bottle. I had tried breastfeeding her when I gave birth but my milk never came in and I refused to hire a wet nurse. It was bad enough that my body decided to betray me, I was not going to be humiliated by another woman. I finished making the bottle and I decided to empty the contents of the duffle bag and take account. If we were going to be here for a long time, I needed to know the amount of resources available.
Two tins of Cerelac, one tin of milk, a new pack of diapers and two pairs of clothing for Zara and I. I looked around the basement and my heart sank because I knew the food was not going to last longer than a week. I pinched my nose feeling a throbbing headache in my temple. Imagine hiding from the infidels and dying of starvation instead, how ironic would that be? Just like I thought, Zara started crying and I stuffed the bottle in her mouth. We couldn’t afford to be heard and we were at a disadvantage already, not knowing if some of them were in the house already. “Allah, please protect my husband. I promise never to berate him for leaving clothes everywhere, I won’t even complain when he doesn’t put down the toilet seat”. I looked at my daughter and saw that she had fallen asleep again. I put her down and began to pace round the room. It felt like my heart rate was skyrocketing and the stress wasn’t helping matters. I waited for what seemed like hours and I must have fallen asleep because when I came to, I could see a ray of sunlight through a tiny hole.
Determined not to sit around anymore, I strapped Zara to my chest and began to hit the floorboards above us with the hammer I found beneath the bed. After a few tries, the floorboards broke and we made our way out. The stench that greeted us was enough to tell us the horrors that had befallen our town. There were blood trails everywhere but no sign of Aminu. I went outside the house and the world stopped around me for a minute. There were dead bodies everywhere. The smell of dead carcasses corrupting the air. I stumbled on a mutilated body and I was ashamed to be relieved that it wasn’t him. Wailings, mourning songs, crying babies, dazed mothers, another moment in history that would never be forgotten. I felt a hand grab me from behind and fear rippled through me. Alas,it was Aminu in torn bloodied clothes and a missing arm gasping for breath as he struggled to stand upright.

Outside the window, there is an icy serenade of snow,falling like the pure tears of the residents of the pearly gates.Days like this are transient and rare where the cloud is thick with heavy fog and the weather still looks beautiful. Forget-me-nots in decadent red, something blue, something borrowed and something old. Everything has been handpicked for this ceremony, the wedding of the year. As Zara’s designer zips up her dress, she feels chills run down her spine. Guilt burns through like gasoline in her guts, suffocating her slowly. Over the years it had come back to haunt her but in slower durations as the time passed. The last time she was on this island was the summer of ’10 before mom’s cancer diagnosis and Emma’s death. In one hour, she would walking down the aisle to Vicente avella’s modern version of here comes the bride. You can still tell them, set things straight, she thinks. Zara looks into the mirror and for once she does not recognize herself. Her skin looks almost as pale as the silky white dress she is wearing and her cheek bones have been highlighted so much that she feels like maleficent. Someone knocks the door, perhaps to tell them it is time.
“Delivery for the bride.” Zara’s designer, Tyra collects the bouquet from the courier. Typical of Jake to send her flowers even on their wedding day, he was just so big on romantic gestures. At six feet, Jake’s broad shoulders, baby blue eyes and chiselled abs were literally to die for.His only flaw was the scar running down from his forehead to his cheek, a result of a drunken bar fight. Tyra hands the bouquet over to her and leaves the room to get a vase for the flowers. There is snowplace like home, the card says. Only Emma told wacky snow jokes like that. Mom says that bad things come in threes and this is the second one to arrive in the space of four days. Someone knows, after all these years of thinking she got away with it. But then why not just rat me out, why the torture for something I did as a child? Zara thinks while pacing up and down the room. “At this rate, you are going to wear out that carpet, wedding jitters I presume.” “Mom, you came, I didn’t think you were going to make it on short notice.” “And miss my baby girl’s wedding, of course not.” “I know, it’s just that the doctors said it is not safe for you to travel across the country so soon afte another round of Chemo.” “Well, I’m here now, aren’t i? flowers!!! I see Jake has not changed a bit.”
At this point, Zara is plagued with two choices. To either tell mom the truth or go along with what she thinks. Just then Tyra walks in. “we have to go, its time.” “Mom, will you do me the honour of walking me down the aisle?” “Oh honey, I thought you wouldn’t ask, of course I will.” Instead of the song that she and Jake chose, she hears the first chord for Morning has broken, father’s favorite song playing on the night she lost Emma forever.This is it, after all the running, my past catches up with me on my wedding day. Whatever will be, will be, I’m tired of hiding anyway, she thinks. They say their vows and through the whole process, Zara is dazed. Series of thoughts in her head, some distorted and making no sense. They head over to the reception venue, an ancient hall in the middle of the island. Zara wonders why she agreed to this place when Jake suggested it. Back then she thought it was because his family had business ties with the owner and in a way coming back seemed to honour Emma’s memory. She recalls Jake’s conversations with an unknown caller, the late nights and him showing up in her life at exactly when he did. Now she thinks could it be Jake sending those letters? How well do I know my new husband?
The reception is decorated with daisies, the one thing that Zara cannot stand. Trying not to make a scene, she beckons to Tyra. “Care to explain why my reception venue is filled with daisies, the one thing I specifically told you I didn’t want?” Tyra looks confused almost as if she does not understand what Zara is talking about. “you sent me a text two weeks ago saying you wanted to change everything, the procession hymn down to the menu.” “no I didn’t , I’m sure I would know if I had told you to do something like ruin my wedding.” “which was why I tried to make sure you were not having a bridzilla moment but you insisted that I follow your instructions without question.” Tyra scrolls through the messages which appear to have come from Zara’s phone. If I didn’t send those messages, then who did?, she wonders. In a bid to salvage the situation, Zara feigns recognition of the messages and apologizes. Someone on this island has it out for her and she is determined to find out who is behind this.
During their first dance as a married couple, she stares into Jake’s eyes hoping she would see something to help her understand this mess she was in. After all, eyes are the key to the soul, aren’t they? Instead all she sees is a sappy dude in love. Flanked by their friends, loved ones and a few members of the press, they seem like an ordinary couple deeply enamored with each other. But something sinister lurks around the corner waiting to pounce. One is left to wonder, could Jake really be so good at pretending to be clueless? The emcee of the occasion announces that it is time for the toast and Jake’s best friend, Tom steps forwards to say a few words. “I remember years ago at a bar when Jake told me he was going to marry Zara. The first thing I said was ‘you are a douchebag. What makes you think she’ll say yes?’ Yet here we are, a few millions richer and all I can say is you made the right choice bro. If he ever messes up Zara, call me. I’m only one punch away.” Trust Tom to constantly remind the world about his financial status. He raises his glass and everyone does the same as well.Zara’s mom, Andrea, goes next and sways so slightly, it’s hard to tell if she is actually drunk or just cold. “I have waited years for this day. When Zara was younger, she used to tell me everything. Her first crush, the first time time she stole booze from her father’s cabinet, anything you could think of”. Zara tears up remembering the good old days. “then suddenly, she stopped. At first I thought it was grief, we had both lost someone close to us. And then the autopsy result came in and I realized it was guilt, fear even.” Everyone present at the party sits up paying rapt attention, wondering where how the story ends. Zara on the other hand is startled, she has kept this secret for 10 years and now she finds out that the letters, the box of chocolates,even the wedding was Mom’s doing. “Zara dear, do you mind coming down to tell these people what I found out?’ “Mom, I think you’re tipsy, let me take you inside”. “don’t you dare call me that, I’m not your mother, Emma told you, didn’t she? That was why you killed her.” Pullling out a gun from her clutch, Andrea aims at Zara.
A murmur arises from the guests but no one seems to be brave enough to try to calm her down. “mom please put the gun down, we can talk about this, it was a mistake.’ ‘it is too late for that, you had ten years but you chose not to say anything. You let me think my baby was suicidal and she jumped off the clip. I even sent you those letters thinking you would be remorse and speak up but you little wench, you smiled in my face and asked me to walk you down the aisle.” ” you want to know the truth about what happened that night at the cliff, fine I’ll tell you. I had just found out that I was adopted and I ran off to be alone. But Emma followed me and tried to calm me down. I told her I was going to find my real parents but she didn’t want me to. We had a happy family and she didn’t understand why I would jeopardize that for people who never wanted me. An argument ensued and I pushed her off me. She slipped and fell off.” Disbelief shows on Andrea’s face. “if it was a mistake like you claim, why didn’t you tell me the truth?” “I thought you would blame me and then decide you didn’t want me anymore.” “You should have given me the chance to make that choice and not make one for me, now I have to make one of my one.” Unwavering in the decision she seems to have taken years to think about, Andrea pulls the trigger.
Zara’s body hits the floor just as the shot is fired. This is it, ten years and the punishment suits the crime. The whole crowd is in a frenzy. People running helter sketer. She struggles to keep her eyes open but she’s slipping out of consciousness very fast. Jake leaning over her is the last thing she sees before the darkness totally engulfs her.

It is a beautiful summer morning. Jean-Marie shuffles around the kitchen filling the kettle and sets it to boil. Nothing to start the day like perfectly brewed coffee. She leans over the counter, adding the coffee grounds to filter. From a vantage point, she looks at the sultry ever present sky. The trees are swaying to the warm breeze, the newly radiant March sun peeking behind the Silk tree. Out of instinct, she rubs her stomach once again reminded of the vacant space in her womb.

Michael should be on his way to work, she thinks. In his favorite blue shirt and the striped socks she gave him for Christmas looking dashing as always. The whistling of the kettle jolts her back to reality and she lets out a deep sigh. Who would have thought one decision was all it took to ruin their happy lives?

“Hi Jean, the results of the ultrasound are out, you can pick them up tomorrow”. The doctor said in her usual monotonous voice.

“Thanks Doctor Helen, please send them to my assistant, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tomorrow”. Jean-Marie replied.

“I’m afraid, I won’t be able to do that. It’s important that you and Michael pick it up yourselves”.

Jean knew right away that something was wrong. She tried to drown her worries with a glass of warm milk but who was she kidding?? When Michael got home from work, she relayed the message and he allayed her fears. It was why she fell in love with him in the first place. He had a certain air around him that put people at ease. The next day, they made their way to the hospital, a day that would forever change their lives.

“Thanks for coming in on short notice.” Doctor Helen said adjusting her glasses for the umpteenth time. A bulky file was in front of her and Jean could see her name on it.

“You said the results are out, should we be worried?” Michael said immediately taking charge of the conversation.

“Well, after the genetic testing and ultrasound, we discovered that your baby has Osteogenesis imperfecta also know as the brittle bone disease.”

“But it is treatable right, when do I start?” Jean cut in

“Your baby has type 4 of this disease. It is advanced and has no cure. From the ultrasound, we believe that the foetus has some broken bones already”.

“What do you mean broken bones?, Jean, did you have an accident while I was away?” Michael said sounding agitated

“It has nothing to do with Jean, the disease is a genetic one. However this is a rare case seeing that neither of you has the mutation. I’m obliged to let you know what your options are. You could proceed with the birth as planned but you’ll be under intensive care. The delivery of a foetus with OI is complicated but not impossible.”

“You could proceed??? We’re Catholic, of course we’ll proceed. We Just need to be cautious”. Michael replied surprised by what she was suggesting.

“Actually, I think we need to weigh out our options Michael, let Doctor Helen tell us our options”. Jean voiced with her eyes averted.

From there, it was just a downward spiral that eventually led to the end of their marriage. Michael couldn’t believe that she was considering termination but after the research she made, she couldn’t bear the thought of bringing her angel into so much suffering. He pleaded at first, then tried to emotionally blackmail her but one day when he was at work, she had gone ahead with the termination. The look in his eyes when he got back was all she needed to know it was over.

Image gotten from Google shutter stock.

Cigarette burns on my skin, purple bruises on my face, broken ribs but that is not how the story begins. On my 10th birthday, Maami and I went to my favourite resturant. Mr biggs was known for its legendary meatpie and back then, that was all I ever wanted. Ten minutes in and these armed men walked in with masks on.

‘On the ground now, if you try to mess with me, I’ll blow your head off’. The man who seemed to be the leader shouted at us. He seemed to be talking to only Maami and I so I knew this was no armed robbery. My imaginative mind had started wandering, could they be ritualists or kidnappers or did Otunba send them to us for defaulting on our last payment?

One of the men pulled me to my feet and Maami started crying. ‘please take me instead, leave my daughter, I beg you. She cried so loudly that even after these men took me away, it was all I could hear. They blindfolded me, tied my hands and put me in the boot. The car travelled for miles and I was starting to feel suffocated. I prayed to God, if this was my punishment for stealing meat from the pot yesterday then I was sorry.

7 years later in a bunker and I began to understand that this punishment was too grave for stealing a piece of meat. It was just humans deciding to be vile. When I first got there, I kicked, cried,I even refused to eat just like I used to do back at home. But three days without food felt like a week and very soon I realized this wasn’t Maami’s house. These men would not hesitate to leave me here to die so I decided to cooperate.

One night, I heard the door to the bunker open. This was strange, they never came at night. The next couple of minutes went by so slowly and all I could feel was foul breath on my face. This man was going to rape me. I heard footsteps running towards us and suddenly the man was off me. It was their leader Nasir.

‘What do you think you are doing TJ?, you know the rules, we don’t touch infidels’. Even in his quiet tone, I could tell that Nasir was furious. He ordered TJ to kneel and shot him at the back of his head. Blood spattered on my face, the wall, the ceiling and even though I was grateful, I was still scared. I decided to gain his trust and very soon, it paid off.

He began to let me come upstairs for a while, occasionally I would be allowed to cook dinner. I was so tempted to poison them most times but if I did, how would I get out? We were in the middle of nowhere . And then one day, the police burst in. it was so surreal.

Apparently, they had gotten a tip from an anonymous source that a dangerous gang was residing in the area and they raided the place.
Despite everything I went through, I survived. I never got a reason on why Nasir kidnapped me because he was shot on sight. Some days I wonder, on other days I’m just thankful that I made it out alive. Now I’m on a journey to start over and find Maami.

The above story is fictional but let’s not forget the hundreds of citizens who are displaced from their homes daily. Each time, we ask the question why?? A timeless question that even the cosmos cannot answer

You’ll be here in 8 minutes. I know because you always get home an hour early when you have had a bad day. And today you lost the contract you have been bidding for for months now, it’s a really bad day. The rice is not as soft as you like it and there’s nothing I can do to fix it, the table has to be set before you come in. In my haste to get the groceries and prepare dinner, I forgot to get the power reconnected and now we’ll have dinner with candle light.

Candle lights are only for celebrations. You told me the second time you shoved me into the kitchen cabinet breaking two of my ribs. I know very well how this night will end. With a black eye, bruises here and there, perhaps a few broken ribs and if you’re feeling generous, you just might choke me till I lose consciousness. I know all these because you’ve done it before.

The first time you hit me, it was just reflex. You couldn’t have meant it, you loved me. The next day, you took me shopping and I was convinced that the previous night didn’t happen. I must have pushed you to your limits. But it happened over and over again, each time worse than the last. Till you stopped begging, stopped apologizing.

Why don’t I just leave then?? That’s the question people always ask when I tell them what you do to me. But they don’t know, i tried. I ran miles and miles for hours surviving on water and crackers I stole from a grocery store, yet you found me. With a gun to my head, you told me to get into the car. Knowing you, you would have pulled the trigger if I struggled so I got in.

When we got home, there were broken plates everywhere. This is a very bad sign, you like the house clean and spotless. You dragged me to the top of the stairs and pushed me down. Do you remember what you said, because I do. “Oops, sorry my hand slipped”. I ended up with four broken ribs and I lost my baby. But I was glad, at least I didn’t have to bring another life into this hell I was in.

The hair on my neck stands just as it does when you’re home. My body tenses with tiny tremors running down as I’m about to open the door. I turn around to make sure everything is okay and then I realize I used the wrong dinner set. Fuck my life

I was asking for it. That was the single thought that evaded my mind when it happened. It must have been something I said or wore, or in the way I smiled and walked. That was why he picked me, chose me out of everyone. I’m sure I said no or was i only imagining it? I was screaming, begging, crying for help or was that just a dream too? Even after hours of scrubbing my skin, that minty breath is all I can remember. How I tried to push his hands off my thighs when he came on to me, his hands pinning me down, pulling my panties, the sound of the condom ripping are all memories that seem so distant yet familiar. I stare at the ceiling and all I can see is a dark figure standing over me, squeezing my neck just so my screams are muffled. I try to reach for something, anything but my hand grabs emptiness. There was still a lot of time, he could stop if he wanted. He wasn’t a monster or was he? When he was done, he threw my clothes at me. Called me a little whore for trying to tease him and then acting like I didn’t want it. What I was wearing: a black tee shirt and jeans.

So I started cutting. It was a mistake, the knife slipped. After that it because easier, that way I could focus on the physical pain instead. Long sleeves and hoodies concealed my secret. To anyone who knew me, I was just same old Seno. Always trying out something different. It’s just a phase, she’ll get over it. Till it wasn’t, till the day I cut too deep.

Rape is a decision,a choice. It has nothing to do with victim’s outfit, behavior or occupation. Rapists rape people, not outfits. Speak up, the only one who deserve to be ashamed is the rapist. It’s not your fault. #speak up #save lives. Speak to a professional about who understands the way you’re hurting and can plan a strategy to help with the healing process.

It’s been weeks since the mysterious disappearance of Hannah stone. Who knew it would take this long to discover that she was missing? Guess that’s why you should have friends. I would have taken my time with her but now her body is rotting in my basement. I know what you’re thinking, you want to know how I killed her. Your excuse is that you’re curious but deep down you know you’re just as much of a psychopath as i am. You just haven’t heard your calling yet. 
         I had a lot of big plans for Hannah but I guess I got carried away with all the fun. The plan was to drain her blood and hang her upside down on a cross making it look like someone with a religion complex did it, but that was too easy and cliche. Even the voices agreed with me. So I made a decision, if I was going to have my first kill, I might as well make it enjoyable for both of us. First, I drilled a hole in her head not deep enough to kill her though. You’ll be surprised that the survival rate of trepanning. I made sure I didn’t give her any anaesthesia, i didn’t want her out of it. She deserved to enjoy this too.
     That same night, I gave her prostaglandins. I didn’t want her bleeding all over my basement when I was cutting off her fingers. I needed them as souvenirs. She was starting to scream and I was losing my patience. Her fingers were so white and small, I could literally see why this was such a great idea. I kept them in a bag filled with ice.  “Sweetheart, i need you to keep still, this is going to hurt”. Might as well give her a heads up. I continued drilling from where I stopped, i was getting closer to her skull and the adrenaline rush hit me like a wave. I couldn’t stop, it was so riveting and exciting. Listening to her screams, her body trashing against the chair, who knew watching a life get drained could be so beautiful. The moment she stopped fighting, I knew it was done. I stood for a while admiring the beautiful work of art before me. Those blue eyes that once had light, the silky brunette hair cascading down her shoulders and truth is I didn’t regret it one bit.