"I’ll start this story from 1970,” continued Kish, “I was about Hakeem’s age when I lost both my parents in a motor accident. I was initiated into the underworld after my parents’ untimely demise. My uncle, whom I lived with thereafter, was the one who introduced me into the criminal world––he was a hardened criminal. I did not know until I started living with him, and I don’t think my parents knew before their deaths either for he was the most gentle and kindest person I had ever known. Nobody would have thought he was capable of killing a bedbug. He taught me how to wield knives, fire guns, how to beat my enemies in physical combats, how to smoke grass. Can you believe it? I started smoking grass at the age of fifteen, it’s not my fault; I was too young to know that I shouldn’t have joined their corrupt milieu. I don’t even think Baba 70 smoked cannabis sativa more than I did; I became very tough at that age, maybe it was the effect of the cannabis I smoke, I can’t say. But like my uncle, nobody suspected I was a criminal because I was the most gentle boy in class, not even Cain knew that I was a criminal. I never disobeyed my teachers and never beat up my principal like other students did. I read my books and passed out of the grammar school with good grades. I never liked tattoos but I was made to have one after only the first year of living with my uncle, they call it the sign of brotherhood, my uncle had much older men who helped him in his dirty works; I was like a baby in the midst of adults. We robbed many people of their belongings and we were never scared of the law because we thought we were smarter than the law itself; the police didn’t for once catch any one of us. I became as dangerous as my uncle after three years of my initiation.
“My uncle got sick and died when I was nineteen and I became the new leader of the gang. As young as I was, everybody in the gang feared me, I don’t know why––maybe because of the brutal rate at which I smoked grass or because I was fearless, I had no regard for my death. I robbed people of their belongings and threatened them though; I have never taken another person’s life. That was my weakness which I cunningly refused to show to anybody in the gang. We continued terrorizing everybody we come across in the streets of Lagos. We robbed banks and went free, and in no time, I was in money. I spent quite a large sum of the money on grass––smoking cannabis had become an addiction. I didn’t take to cocaine or heroin but I smoked about fifteen sticks of the hemp everyday. We were eight in number at that time but two died; one from chronic bronchitis and the other was run down by a Man Diesel truck during one of our operations when we were trying to escape from the police.
“We became the state’s some of the most wanted; five thousand naira for anybody who can give the police the information of how to capture us. Our name appeared in almost every daily newspaper.
“Your names were known?” asked Lot.
“Not exactly, you see, we had a name for our gang then. It was called Èyò––a name after the Lagos deities. Nobody knew our faces because they were always covered. We dressed in white clothing most of the time and our heads were white hats; the clothes covered our entire bodies, draping from our heads down to our feet, and sometimes we covered our faces with black stocking masks and hoods pulled over our heads. Or maybe just disguises, like fake beards and moustaches. Also included were wigs and crazy clothes to confuse the witnesses. I didn’t have any interest in women, they seemed like pieces of shits to me. My only interests were in money and grass.
“As funny as it may seem, after my high school education I got myself enrolled into the University of Benin where I studied Law, I didn’t know what prompted my studying that course. I became a lawyer at the age of twenty-four and still a virgin. Yet, I was the most wanted.
“Our doom caught up with us in 1981; a year after my graduation from the university. We got a message from one of our informants that there was a man who went to withdraw some thousands of money from the bank, we got interested and found out where the man lived. The situation did not go as planned that night when we went to attack the man; I got the shock of my life when we entered the man’s house. I saw a young beautiful girl, I’m not a man who really appreciate women’s beauty but this particular girl probed my emotion which I didn’t think I possessed; I was immediately captivated by the beauty of the girl and an animal desire ran through my devilish body. There was something mesmerizing about the girl’s appearance and for the first time in my entire life, I felt love. She was exceptionally different from every woman I’ve known, she seemed to possess an aura around her beautiful fragile body which is very hard for me to explain; that beauty was so appealing that it almost swept me off my feet. Then that wicked animal spirit that have always been in me took hold of my senses; after collecting the money which I was not really interested again, I commanded her to go into a room, I wanted to stop myself but I couldn’t, I was shaking uncontrollably and sweat was dripping from me furiously. I followed her into the room and made her UnCloth herself, then I did something my gang member must not know, maybe I was really out of my mind at that moment, I showed her my real face. I didn’t know why I did that, probably the love I experienced or the guilt I felt. But the fact remained that I showed her my face, then I climbed over her, and with my body shaking violently, I gently entered her. It was like I was dead and in heaven, like I was in paradise, I continued thrusting in and out of her, not wanting the feeling to end. Then suddenly, my brain seemed to explode and I felt like a part of me had been merged with her. I slowly got off her and to my astonishment and regret, the girl was a virgin; just like me. That was when I knew that we shared a bond which not even any of us could understand, I was ashamed of myself and a pain which I had never experienced took hold of my body. It was the pain that was more than the rape, it was the pain of taking away the pride of an innocent and helpless girl; I had selfishly popped her cherry.
“Some other things happened which I don’t need to say now, but I definitely told her that I loved her before I covered my face and went out of the room leaving her on the bed crying. I can still remember that first kiss, it was the sweetest experience; the feel of those softest lips still make the greenest memory in me. Still, what could an animal like me have to do with that innocent girl? I don’t even know her name.” he smiled and tears began to flow from his eyes down his cheeks. “Just almost immediately after that, something terrible happened and it happened very fast. I don’t know how the police got to know that we were there. They attacked us with a series of gunfire as we stepped out of the house.”
Kish turned to Richard’s mother, “That was what got you confused, we were six in number that night; one of us, Emeka, stood outside the house watching over. He also wore an armless shirt that night and he was the first to be hit by the police’s bullets. I was dazed and could not do anything as my gang mates continued returning fire to the police. I became numb and something kept ringing out loud in my ears that ‘it’s over!’ then just beside me, one of us was hit in the stomach, the bullets sending the large parts of his intestines flying. I quickly calculated my escape––just some yards behind me was a fence. I immediately climbed over the fence and jumped into the compound of the building behind where I was, I jumped over another fence into a nearby bush. I was almost home when I realized that I was the one holding the money we collected; I ran home like escaping from hell, through the bushes amid different bruises and scratches. It was about four in the morning by the time I got home and I packed all the money and others in the house into a bag in rush. I knew that none of my gang mates would leave the showdown alive. I changed into a more respectable clothing and fled. There was so much money in the bag that it was heavy and uncomfortable to carry. I travelled to Zaria that day and lodged in a hotel where I spent two weeks before flying to England. But before my travel I came around that location we robbed; I was trying to meet that innocent girl again, but they had vacated the place. Nobody knew where the family went.
“I lived a more respectable life in England, though at first it was very hard for me due to not finding any cannabis to consume, what was actually in handy was cocaine with which I was not attached. I could understand why some hemp smokers run insane because I nearly ran mad myself when I could not smoke it again. It took me quite some months, after visiting several rehabilitation centres, before I could get rid of my addiction. I got to England in 1981 and got married a girl whom I met there in 1984; she was also a Nigerian, her name was Lara. We lived together for five years before she divorced me and got married to one sordid mulatto.
“She gave birth to a girl after one year of getting married and I was very happy. I did not believe that I would ever become a father, but my world came crashing on me the moment Lara told me that I’m not the father of Belinda. I felt like dying, I was like a man who wanted to die but could not find the courage to kill himself. I did not blame Lara much for the actions she took, I accepted it, and it was my expiation. But that was the moment my nemesis came targeting on me dramatically.
“I decided to come back to Nigeria after spending twenty years of my life in Europe. Four different marriages did not work for me in England, I thought getting married in my country would be different. I made a considerable large sum of money there in England and I was reluctant to come home but I must get married and have a child, I realized that England is not the right place for me to do that.
“I met another girl when I came back to this country in 2001, her name was Sara. We loved each other deeply and I was happy that I had finally found my soul mate; somebody who really loved me for who I am. I even told her about my past and she did not love me the less, I have never been so cared for in my life. She possessed that sweetness no other woman I’ve taken down the aisle had. I was about forty-seven years old and she was twenty-six with a beauty so astonishing, I provided her with everything she needed. I literally worshipped her like a goddess, I did not allow a single fly to pounce on her. She was my life. She got pregnant the same year I met her, nothing could contain the joy I felt. That moment, I knew that I was going to have a child of my own. My worst nightmare came when Sara put to bed, she gave birth to a boy alright––but the child was a stillborn, she herself died of exsanguinations shortly after the birth; she had lost too much of her blood. I almost became a maniac, I was no more myself; I could not bath, I could not barb or shave, I refused to eat any good food––I became a shadow of myself.
“Then it suddenly dawned on me that God had been punishing me, making me reap the fruit of my sins. I cried like a baby when I realized that, I cursed myself and God. ‘Why did you do this to me? Why?’ I asked God wrathfully, ‘You should have killed me instead. Why must Sara die? She was innocent, why did you kill her? You should have taken me.’ For many years, I stopped going to church to get even with God, I refused to get married again because I knew God would kill my wife. I was wondering why He is still keeping me alive, I decided He wanted me to see more evil days, and I was prepared. I knew that the final blow to knock me out was coming but I didn’t know it until now. This is how God want to destroy me finally, I’m not prepared for this, this one is too much for me.
“I’m a doomed soul, I thought I was not going to have a child, I didn’t know that I already have one. My son was close to me and I did not know. My son was the driver of my friend, he’s the murderer of my friend––my only son is going to be hanged––

Nice one, Larry. How can I get to read the whole story? I also still wish for the privilege to edit/proofread your writings. Wish you more grace... krosdotpublishers@gmail.com

Though this is just an excerpt from a work,one shouldnt be in hurry to give a pass mark.But from the tone and the mood of the narrator it is well clear that d authour didnt artistically interfere wt d sober mood of the narrator's expression...that suggests a note like left behind by d narrator whose ordeal finally led him to commit suice or perhaps an old man who was sharing his life experince on d verge of death with a little kid.In this regard one would not question d creative power and strenght needed by d author to entrance us with d deploy of beautiful narrative elements.However I would advice u switch between moods to add some colour to d narrative through d eye of d narrator or u let your beautiful voice overshadow his.Anything monotonus declines taste.Good attempt

[color=#006600][/color]it is not easy writing using this narating technique,it has it limitations,but this is v.good. [font=Lucida Sans Unicode][/font]

and i guess from the look of things, since he is a lawyer..he is the judge or the lawyer to his death friend

omotee4u: Nice one, Larry. How can I get to read the whole story? I also still wish for the privilege to edit/proofread your writings. Wish you more grace... krosdotpublishers@gmail.com

Thank you, 'Tayo. It's been quite a while, dearie. Forgive my execrable conduct for not contacting you. I've been off the literary grid for quite some time. However, the post is extracted from that work we discussed. It has been lying dormant in the cabinet for almost two years now. Maybe it's high time I took this draft more serious.

thiscounts: Though this is just an excerpt from a work,one shouldnt be in hurry to give a pass mark.But from the tone and the mood of the narrator it is well clear that d authour didnt artistically interfere wt d sober mood of the narrator's expression...that suggests a note like left behind by d narrator whose ordeal finally led him to commit suice or perhaps an old man who was sharing his life experince on d verge of death with a little kid.In this regard one would not question d creative power and strenght needed by d author to entrance us with d deploy of beautiful narrative elements.However I would advice u switch between moods to add some colour to d narrative through d eye of d narrator or u let your beautiful voice overshadow his.Anything monotonus declines taste.Good attempt

@this counts,
You're absolutely right, buddy. I wholly agree with you that the narrative style is extremely jejune. This was written during one of my moments of creative impasse; thus the glaring lack of creativity therein ensued. I posted it with it's virginity intact (lol). Although the style is somehow wanting in beauty, I'd still prefer retaining it's narrative technique, that, however, I do not see in the least puerile. Truly, I wrote the book in the omniscient form, the confession of the narrator is 'quoted' alright; therefore, evidently, the comments of his listeners had been artistically held at bay. The post is taken from a chapter; a slice out of the slice of pie.
Thank you for pointing out my errors, it really means a lot. **HUGS**

st.okolie:
[color=#006600][/color]it is not easy writing using this narating technique,it has it limitations,but this is v.good. [font=Lucida Sans Unicode][/font]

@Okolie,
Thanks a bunch [ I back to you, buddy]. Writing itself isn't easy at all. Actually, the narrative technique employed here is quite common. But, I'm looking forward to writing another whole novel in the first-person-singular narrative technique. FYI, I'm currently working on another novel (omniscient writing technique, too) that I don't think I'd finish until I become 324years old...

Xtranoble: and i guess from the look of things, since he is a lawyer..he is the judge or the lawyer to his death friend

@Xtranoble,
Yes, you're right, he's a lawyer, his dead friend's lawyer precisely...but he isn't the judge.
He's not attempting suicide
He's not narrating his story to a little boy
He's only confessing because he has no other choice.
The girl he raped is the mother of the driver who is accused of murdering his friend. It's quite complicated.
[There's another thread where I posted how the 'friend' was killed. Find]

Larry-Sun:


@Okolie,
Thanks a bunch [ I back to you, buddy]. Writing itself isn't easy at all. Actually, the narrative technique employed here is quite common. But, I'm looking forward to writing another whole novel in the first-person-singular narrative technique. FYI, I'm currently working on another novel (omniscient writing technique, too) that I don't think I'd finish until I become 324years old...

lol,dont worry i will be there when u turn 324,just to see it through.