#wordfeastchallenge Day 3 Hello good people. These are the results of yesterdays challenge: Team Jerrida, Story 1 Ethical issues - 3 votes. Team KennIfe, Story 2 Date with Death - 52 votes. Wed appreciate more critiquing too. Thank you. Todays theme is MISCHIEF. STORY1: Chambaherey! Our daddy is a funny man. He never tries to be, and he isn’t a fan of amusement either. He frowns most of the time, and expects others to be as serious. But he is a very funny man. Every time he’s angry, he utters a certain language that sounds Chinese, contorting his face to match. And that is always so downright hilarious! When Daddy shared at devotion, lastweek, on ‘Dangers of unbridled anger’, we thought it was a joke. ‘Is it not daddy?’ Ahiamba said, ‘He will still get angry today-today!’,she enthused, pointing to the floor and shaking her hands in gesticulation. When Daddy refused to get angry on the first day, we were thrown into confusion. Daddy must be a changed man, we thought. Two days. Three. Nothing. We started to get angry ourselves. ‘Let’s get him angry now.’ Yawa suggested in his gingery voice, after four days of unusual calmness. ‘Maybe we should pour water in his soup.’ I said excitedly.And so we did. Yet Daddy didn’t get angry. He simply asked mother why her soup was so watery today. He even had a smile-like twitch on his face. What!! Subsequently, we left the car unwashed, poured away his shaving cream,‘colonized’ the TV remote, preventing him from watching Channels news; yet he was not angry. We were frustrated. On Monday morning, I decided to ‘steal’ his shoe. He was already dressed for work when he noticed it missing. He searched the whole house frantically to no avail. He was already seething. As he returned to his room to get an alternative, there was the shoe, sitting pretty on his reading table. Silently, we crouched in corners waiting,listening. He grunted. It was followed by a loud growl, and then… ‘Chambahereyh bui,..oin..!!!’ His voice thundered! ‘Aha!!!’we said in unison. STORY 2: Prickly heat. “Roommates, I hail o!” Yea, just what we needed. Osarodion was back, and his return meant the end of our discussion about girls and their skills at “Reverse Cowgirl”. Osarodion, renowned prude of the entire sixth block of this male students’ hostel, would begin to preach about our vulgarity, and we were in no mood for that. With Osarodion around, we could not play music, neither could we argue football. Our activities apparently “distracted” him from his quest to top the class in his freshman year as a Biochemistry student, but his most remarkable trait was his tight-fisted nature. He cooked when we had all slept, he only ate when he guessed no one was around, and this afternoon he had come with a miserable loaf of bread to eat with his burnt beans, which we knew better than to ask for. We responded well to his greeting though, and he stared at us at intervals as he opened his cupboard. “Hope you people have not touched this place again. Anyway, Room 002 is not far”. He was referring to the day my bunk-mate Nwosu opened his cupboard and ate his one-day old Macaroni, and by Room 002 he meant the Porter’s Lodge. Contrary to suspicion, the pot was intact, and he ate without so much as pretending to say “join me”. Twenty minutes later however, he began to feel funny, complaining of internal heat, and his next reaction was to strip down to his underwear. He began to dance wildly, running from block to block, until a slap knocked him out cold. Nwosu and I exchanged knowing glances at each other as we brought an unconscious Osarodion into the room. I had opened his cupboard with a master-key, and mixed some Indian hemp with the beans.
Posted on: Thu, 04 Dec 2014 17:01:07 +0000
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