**”Walking the Tightrope” - Runs Till Mar. 30th - 24th Street Theatre - Downtown
My Night Musing

“Complete” - Runs Till Mar. 30th - The Matrix Theatre - Hollywood
My Night Musing

“Songs of Bilitis” - Runs Till Mar. 30th - Bootleg Theater – Los Angeles
Night Musing Coming Soon

“Chapter Two” – Runs Till Apr. 6th – Little Fish Theatre – San Pedro
Night Musing Coming Soon

“The Agony and the Ecstasy of Steve Jobs” - Runs Wednesdays Till Apr. 10th - Theatre Asylum - Hollywood
My Night Musing

“Trainspotting” – Runs Till Apr. 13th – Elephant Theatre – Hollywood
Night Musing Coming Soon

“Dreamgirls” – Runs Till Apr. 14th- MET Theatre – Hollywood

** = YOU MUST SEE THIS

(c)MiikaS/ Miika Silfverberg

Welcome fantasy lovers! My name is Susan Elliott. You have stumbled upon the rough draft of my first novel The Ice Clan: Collision of Fire and Ice. If you’ve missed the first chapter just click on the title of my book and you will be transported there through the “magic” of links. I hope you enjoy what you read, and please feel free to leave me comments and a link to your blog. I write back!

-Susan

Fire spread, licking up the snow, melting it as if it were trying to abate an unquenchable thirst. Karn shielded his eyes peering through the thick haze of smoke. His lungs burned as he inhaled the noxious cinnamon fumes rising from the flames that shot across the field like bloody fingers. The heat on his face was unbearable even from his perch atop Albin. He made his way slowly through the field. The foul magic was thick and made his head spin.
Unwilling that Albin should suffer, Karn sprung off of Albin’s back striking his right flank with the palm of his hand as he landed hard onto the ground. “Go home Albin, hurry.” Albin turned from the fields racing out of the smoke, his white mane and tail whipping with the wind.
Karn held his cloak over his mouth and nose, as he blinked away tears. His ears grew sharp listening for any sign of survival over the sizzle-pop sound of the grass and snow. He carefully made his way to the back of the eastern fields and the great story tree.
Through the haze of smoke and near the edge of the eastern fields Karn spotted something moving, something alive. He ran forward no longer picking his way across the fire sparks that kept igniting. He rushed on hoping against the fear boiling inside him that his Elenora was alive and well. Nothing made sense.
From a distance he saw that Fergus rested against the stump of an old tree, bleeding, and no longer seeing the fire before his eyes, nor feeling the heat of the fire on what was left of his burned feet.
“Fergus!” Karn ran feverishly to his side carefully scooping the old man up into his arms and setting him softly away from the fire’s edge. He cradled the old man’s head between his hands as he searched his face for answers.
“Fergus, what’s happened? Who’s done this to you…to us?” Karn choked back his anger and tears.
Fergus opened his sunken eyes, and took a ragged breath, “Karn son of Rhymus, second to Orin, you… who is now the first. There is on… alone born unto tragedy. Arise, my son, and become greatness.” Fergus gasped, and blue flame shot out of Fergus’ blackened right hand. The flame hit Karn hard in the chest, knocking him backwards against the sooty ground.
Karn writhed on the ground, energy filling every fiber of his being and rushing into his head, blinding him to his surroundings and taking his breath away. As soon as he could move, he returned to his knees leaning over Fergus’ charred body.
“Elenora. Where’s Elenora…” Karn stared into the old man’s opaque eyes. He could see the life fading from him, with each ragged breath he took. Crystal tears feathered the edges of Karn’s eyes as the water droplets hit the icy air.
“They took us from our tables…took all…none left…only you and Eon.” Fergus coughed as the blood trickled from the side of his mouth. “Some kind of magic. Old. Powerful.”
“Where did they take them, Fergus? Where are they? Where’s Elenora?” Karn’s head exploded with white light, but he tried to remain calm. Rage consumed his body as he realized what Fergus was saying.
Fergus coughed harder, and his breath shortened. As his life slipped away, Karn knew the goddess was singing him, drawing him from the fiery eastern fields into her winter castle through her song.
Karn gently stroked Fergus’ face. “Stay with me, dear one, where is Elenora?” Karn sobbed as though his life had ended.
Fergus blinked pushing the goddess song from his eyes, struggling to stay in the moment.. Briefly the haze left his eyes, and he could clearly see Karn kneeling above him, and what was left of the eastern fields. He could see the sadness and the anger radiating from Karn’s face. Fergus cleared his throat.
“She’s behind the trees. I tried to shield them with my spells. Our enemies were too strong, Karn, she’s dead. They’re all dead.” Fergus’ eyes welled with tears and he gasped. “I failed them. I failed you all.” His voice cracked, and gurgled as his remaining breath became shallow and uneven.
Karn rested his left hand on Fergus’ shoulder. “No, my friend, no…you’ve been strong and true to the clan…You are worthy, Fergus. You could never fail us. Now, go to the goddess with peace.” Karn gently squeezed Fergus’ shoulder in gratitude.
Fergus’ blood crusted lips turned upward to a smile. “Find my staff, son of Rhymus. I’ve given you the blue fire. You must recite the oath!” Fergus gasped.
Karn stared questioningly into Fergus’ eyes. Finally, understanding crossed Karn’s face as he thought about the energy that had knocked him backwards. He didn’t hesitate.
He ran to the clearing where he’d found Fergus. His staff laid on the ground, fully extended and undamaged by the flames that surrounded it. Karn retrieved it and ran back kneeling before Fergus. He knew time was slipping away.
A wave of nausea hit Karn, as he thought about what was taking place, every Elohite child knew the oath. They learned it from childhood as they sat around the story tree, but only a chosen few would ever say it aloud in commitment. Fergus motioned towards Karn, “You can do this. You must.”
Karn steadied himself fighting to keep the contents of his stomach in place and to keep his anger at bay. He lifted the staff in his left hand high above his head, shut his eyes, and recited the oath.“By all that’s in me, my word, bonded by blood. I beseech you, Lorna, life spark of the blue flame, to give me command of your wisdom and power, in your name, goddess mother of us all. Bless the Elohite with your wisdom and magic. Give me your flame to wield in your honor and in the defense of your people.” Karn burned as the energy inside him roared to life, consuming him, quickening him until he was reborn as the Elohite mage.
Lost in the magic, Karn barely noticed Fergus choke on his last breath. Everything around him seemed so distant, a memory, but even newly filled with the magic and far removed from the present he thought he heard Fergus whisper the word “Bryahn.” Karn collapsed onto the ground beside Fergus.

Anyway this is an update on my story “Eagle Run” and information about my Documentary and how to participate!

Chapter Two of ER is off to a bumpy start. I can’t figure out where to go from there, honestly, even though this is the fourth draft. I’ve changed so much about it already that it just seems fit to go in a completely different direction. I’ll have it up on FictionPress by Friday.

Now, as for the documentary. I need some incredibly amazing people (You know… everyone) to let me know if they’re interested in sending in clips of their life. That means any old home videos you have uploaded to the computer, or a new one you have taken just to show people a day in your life. I want to hear your stories as well, lovebugs. If you’re not comfortable with doing that, that’s okay!

We can just get on skype and you can talk to me personally about your story and your life, no video needed. But it will still be recorded and added into the documentary.

Please let me know if you want your story heard. Thanks!

“This empirical finding questions assuming the meaning of “dominion beliefs” is fixed among religious people. It suggests, theoretically at least, this is not the case. Christians holding dominion beliefs may express agreement with stewardship measures if they personally see it as “dominion like stewardship” rather than how White originally characterized it. Respondents and researchers, in fact, do sometimes envision “stewardship” differently. …every conservative Christian who did not believe climate change science because of their view on how humans relate to the environment, also said “stewardship of the environment was an important human responsibility based on their faith”. In this case the reverse occurs with these evangelical Christians meaning “stewardship like dominion” of the kind White critiques. This brings a two-fold significance to examining the association of religion with environmental concern. The theoretical implication reflects a disjuncture between how religious people define the perceived biblical “dominion” mandate for humans “to rule over Creation” and express that meaning to others compared with what analysts assume “biblical stewardship” means and how they measure it. Several methodological consequences follow. Discerning this important interpretive nuance depends on specific question wording for dominion belief, if analysts rely on a single measure of it, and whether they use qualitative research designs informed by a constructionist perspective. Researchers either must include questions specifically probing stewardship’s meaning, also assess respondents’ more general orientation (paradigm, worldview) toward the natural environment, or they need to adopt research strategies amenable to more comprehensive and deeper explorations of dominion beliefs and their underlying cultural meanings held by highly religious people.”

Stewardship Graphic (Photo credit: jnshaumeyer)

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• Blog # 40: Our Senses – How We Perceive Our World – Part 2 of Top 5 Series (floatingfreedom.wordpress.com)

years and years and years together
feels,

a last day
to start.

and the rays of your smile
i feel in my bones.

show the way

I want to dance forever

It was like a sea of blue had been set loose through the mouth of the double doors. Pale blue pinafores over navy blouses, pale blue skirts of varying lengths paired with navy blue blouses, lots and lots of blue socks and brown sandals. The mass of blue headed towards us as the girls dispersed to the ten rooms arranged along two sides of the quadrangle we stood in. Some girls were even running, mostly heading towards the lines of drying clothes behind us like the hideous blue items would disappear if they didn’t reach them that instant. The rest of the school had been back for two weeks already so that explained why there was so much laundry hanging on the lines. What troubled me the most was the fact that the girls seemed to take no notice of us at all, or at least they were doing an excellent job of pretending we didn’t exist. Very few people were mirroring our gawking stance, two or three at the most. Some occasionally glanced at us and then looked away, casually carrying on conversations or laughing at some joke we hadn’t heard, probably at our expense. It was almost like we were invisible. No, invisible wasn’t so bad; invisible would have been better. Insignificance stung a lot more.

“Okay, you girls better go to your rooms and get ready for siesta. You can change into your daywear now if you want. Just make sure that when it is time for prep you are all dressed and heading down to your classrooms,” Senior Chinwe informed us with a tone of dismissal and the prefects dispersed to their various rooms, probably to instil more fear into their junior roommates.

“I’m scared,” Funke whispered. I wasn’t sure why she was still whispering, we were practically on our own now. A part of me wanted to tell her to stop being such a scared baby and face reality but thankfully the more compassionate side won and I smiled weakly at her, remembering how far away from home she was. I guessed I would be scared too if I was left alone thousands of miles away from home.

“Don’t worry; you’re not the only one. I don’t think these people care too much about what we think or feel so we just have to tough it out.” All this ‘we’ talk was to make her feel like I shared her feelings. She must have bought my sympathy act because somehow she managed to crack a smile out of her nervous frown.

“Thanks Buchi, you’ve been so nice to me. I don’t know what I would have done if you were not in Dragon House with me.”

Cry a lot more, I thought. “Senior Chinwe will take care of you,” I carried on encouragingly. At least she knew who her neighbour was. I had no clue who mine was except for the fact that her name was Senior Jane, an SS2 girl. She was probably already in our room waiting for me to show up but I had to help Funke move her luggage from Senior Uche’s bunk space to Senior Chinwe’s. Luck was really on our side, it seemed, when we realised that Senior Uche and Senior Chinwe were both in Room 1. Instead of hauling her luggage from one room to another, we managed to do it all in less than ten minutes by noisily dragging and shoving the heavier pieces of luggage on the floor and slinging the rest across our shoulders. Unsurprisingly nobody lifted a finger to help us, not even the other two JS1 girls in that room.

Sometime between the pushing and the shoving, we heard a loud noise that sounded like a bell going off in the distance.

Clang, clang. Clang, clang. Clang, clang.

“It’s time for siesta,” Senior Chinwe appeared at the doorway and announced to the room. “Everyone get on your beds. You two, hurry up with moving those things. How long does it take to move a few boxes, eh? You, what’s your name? Onyebuchi? Better hurry to your room when you are done. If the prefect on duty catches you out of your room, your name will be taken down.”

What? Didn’t I get some kind of pass for having spent the last few minutes helping her neighbour move? Wasn’t I covered by some prefect’s errand blanket? I tried not to stare at her incredulously. Instead we picked up our pace and I was out of there a lot quicker than I would have thought.

Seven minutes past three, my digital watch flashed the time at me. I ran to Room 4 as fast as I could and made straight for my earlier assigned bunk bed. Everyone else was already lying in bed staring into space, reading a book or, shock of all shocks, actually sleeping. My neighbour wasn’t doing any of that. She was lying in bed earnestly peering at the door and praying that I hadn’t run off and left her with no help for the rest of the year. Of course I didn’t read all that from her face but I was pretty sure that was what she was thinking. What other explanation could there be for my luggage being present and me being absent for so long after siesta had begun?

“Where have you been?” she whispered. Why was she whispering? I wondered. Wasn’t she allowed to talk during siesta? Were none of us allowed to speak freely?

“I had to help Senior Chinwe’s neighbour move her luggage,” I whispered back, feeling incredibly silly.

“Oh ok. Well hurry up and get changed out of those clothes. No wait, you don’t have time. You have to climb on to your bed and undress there before the prefect on duty comes. It is Ekanem this week and she wouldn’t care if you were helping Chinwe’s neighbour or not. Hurry up, she is probably already in Room 2.”

I stood there staring blankly at her and then back at the top bunk. Surely she didn’t expect me to mount the bed on my own. It was almost double my height. There was no ladder or mid rail except for the base board of Senior Jane’s lower bed. Was I allowed to step on that?  And even if I was, I doubted I would be able to lift myself off the lower shelf and on to mine.

After a few seconds of me standing and staring, Senior Jane figured out the dilemma I was facing. She actually smiled. “You’ve never climbed this kind of bunk before, have you? Okay, I’ll help you today. You have to learn quickly because I won’t be here at night when it is your lights out.” She got off her bed and showed me where to place my foot and what to hold on to. Then she put her hands round my tiny waist and gave me the extra support I needed to pull myself up on to the top shelf.

“Ekanem is coming, lie down,” she hissed as she dived back on to her bed and picked up a novel I had not noticed lying on her pillow.

She was barely settled when a short slim girl with really pink pouting lips and long chunky plaits walked into the room. She had an air of authority about her, like she could freeze you with just one gaze and make you do whatever she fancied. Everyone lay still as she walked to the middle of the room and did a quick sweep of its occupants.

“Who sleeps here?” she asked pointing to one of two vacant lower beds.

“Mary Okoh,” someone answered.

“And here?”

“Adaobi Eze.”

Senior Ekanem nodded then scanned the room again to make sure she had not missed any other empty bed. Satisfied with the completeness of her duty, she turned and left the room with the same brisk walk she had entered it with.

The room remained silent after she left and I spent the next ten minutes lying there wondering who Mary and Adaobi were. I had not noticed the empty beds either because my mind had been set solely on climbing on to mine. I had not even had enough time to make a proper assessment of Senior Jane. I peeked at her lying on her back with the paperback, some fictional romance, raised up to hide her face. She struck me as incredibly plain with huge saucer eyes that made her nose and mouth look too small for her face. I noticed her hair was not done up in plaits like the rest of the other senior students, instead it was shaven like a junior student’s and I wondered why. I pondered quite a few things in those ten minutes, my first true minutes of solace since I got to that place. When I heard we had to observe a compulsory siesta, I had thought it was a ridiculous idea. Surely they couldn’t expect us all to suddenly fall asleep and then wake up at the same time. But if we just had to lie in bed, reading or sleeping or even just musing, I couldn’t have asked for a better welcome present.

“Can you believe the stupid girl thought I would let her go free? How stupid are these junior girls, eh?” The loud words cut through the beautiful silence, followed by a polite laugh from someone else. “She is coming to take her punishment after prep, the silly girl.”

Had I really expected to have a full forty five minutes of rest? Quite naively, yes. But I should really not have been surprised that it wouldn’t last because the ten minutes I had enjoyed so far had felt too good to be true. The owners of the voices strolled in casually through one of the two doors that led into our room; not the door Senior Ekanem had used but the one that led straight into one of the spaces with the empty lower bunks. I didn’t need anyone to tell me who these were. They both wore skirts and not pinafores so I knew they were senior students. They were strolling and laughing casually despite the siesta rule so I guessed they were in SS3 and were not as terrified as the rest of us of being punished. They both had really tiny cornrows and wore earrings which were clearly not studs. Their skirts were about an inch above the knee which I learnt later was well above the school’s regulation length. Even from that distance I could tell they wore some light makeup, for who exactly I was not sure, seeing as there were no boys around. I don’t think I realised it until later but I decided then that I did not like the pair of them. Compared to the other senior girls I had encountered so far they seemed to be making an unreasonable attempt to ignore the clearly stated rules. If their intention was to stand out from the massive crowd of blue that was our school, they were doing a good job of it.

“So, where are all the JS1 girls in this room? Come down from your bunks now. Don’t you know you have to greet your seniors?” From her voice I could tell she had been the one speaking earlier. Of the two she was the taller prettier one with slightly larger earrings and a shorter skirt.

I peered down at my neighbour and she nodded. I had to climb down. At least it was a lot easier coming down than climbing up. I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and hopped down like I had been doing it for years. Two other girls had done the same; I recognised them from our meeting earlier on the lawn.

“These junior girls get smaller ever year. Eh? See this one, how old are you?”

Thankfully she wasn’t addressing me. I turned to look at the incredibly small figure standing beside me.

“Twelve,” the girl answered in a barely audible voice.

Twelve? She had to be joking. My surprise was obviously shared by everyone. Heads that had remained unturned by our little spectacle now spun round to view this wonder. I tried not to gape too much as the other JS1 girl was doing a great job of not looking at the girl in question. Then the two senior students proved to us that age did not necessarily equate to discretion.

“Twelve? Chineke nna! Were you a premature baby? What is wrong with you? Are you ill?” The obviously more vocal one in the duo practically attacked the girl with her questions. Sensitivity obviously didn’t play a major part in their books.

I had to admire the girl’s reaction to all this. She just shrugged calmly like she got asked nonsensical questions all the time. “No senior, there is nothing wrong with me,” she answered without a hint of fury in her voice. I couldn’t understand how she managed to remain so calm.

“Hmmm, wonders shall never cease. Adaobi see what we have to live with, eh?” she turned to address her friend. I quickly deduced that she was Senior Mary. “What are your names? You, what is your name?” She pointed at me.

“Onyebuchi,” I offered my full name. Only my friends and nice people got to call me Buchi. There was no way I was going to let her call me that.

“Nneka.”

“Amara.”

Senior Adaobi got bored at that point. She left us standing with Senior Mary and went to change out of her school clothes. I looked down at myself; I was the only one of the three girls still wearing the outfit I had arrived in. The others had changed into their evening daywear, the hideous shapeless check blue dresses we had brought along with us. Mine was still neatly tucked away in my unopened suitcase.

“So do you girls have any elder brothers?”

What? Was she joking? Were we really being deprived of our much needed rest to satisfy her teenage curiosity about boys? I disliked Senior Mary even more by the second. Even worse, the other two girls shook their heads and I was left with the option of telling the truth and being mauled with more questions or lying and ending this charade. I decided to keep my pride and tell the truth. It was the kind of lie that could explode in my face if Emeka ever decided to join my parents on visiting day.

“What is his name?” Senior Mary struggled to hide her glee at my nod.

I almost wished I had lied. “Chukwuemeka.” I was using full names all the way.

“Eh, Emeka? All the Emekas I know are fine boys. Is he fine?”

Now how was I to know the answer to that? He was just plain old Emeka to me. I had never been faced with the dilemma of deciding if anybody in my family was good-looking to other people. Emeka looked exactly like my dad but a much younger version. Now did I think my father or brother were good-looking? Probably yes, but would others agree? I wasn’t sure. Besides if I told her I thought he was, she would follow this inquisition through and I wasn’t sure I wanted that to happen.

Clang, clang.

I was still in the process of deciding what to say to Senior Mary when the bell announcing the end of our siesta sounded clearly through the uncomfortable silence that had built up between us. I had never been so glad to hear a bell toll. Thank God for regimented order. Senior Mary clearly looked annoyed by the interruption but she would have to let us go and get ready for prep. Her powers obviously did not extend to denying us that privilege. She waved us off carelessly and returned to her bed space to do whatever it was she did after torturing her victims.

I don’t think I had ever changed clothes faster in my life. Somehow I managed to unlock my suitcase, find my daywear and rubber slippers (flip-flops according to Funke), fold my other clothes away and get dressed in under three minutes. Senior Jane watched me in amused silence. After my tardy arrival for siesta earlier she hadn’t expected me to get anything done in time, talk less of in record time. If only she knew how freakishly obsessed I was with keeping to time. I glanced at my watch again, eleven minutes to four. So far so good. I had to meet Funke outside in a minute to walk to our classrooms for prep. We had decided it was easier to stick together for now, at least until we adapted to the madness around us.

“When you get back from prep, I need to take you to the taps to fetch water. Then I will show you the laundry room and we can have a talk about what you will be doing for me for the rest of the year.” She said it so pleasantly that I was almost looking forward to all the manual labour I was going to encounter. I had a feeling Senior Jane and I would get along just fine. I was so grateful that I was not Senior Mary’s neighbour that anyone else would have appeared saintly at that moment.

“Senior Jane, I need to pee and I don’t know where the toilets are.” I felt like a pesky little child asking the embarrassing question. My bladder had been full for at least an hour and I didn’t think I could hold it till the end of prep. It got worse when Senior Jane had mentioned taps and fetching water. Funke would have to wait for a few minutes.

“Oh, didn’t they show you that already?” She glanced at her slightly more grown up silver wrist watch and frowned. “Okay come with me.” Grabbing her bunch of keys, she took me outside into the quadrangle. Funke was already standing outside my room. I motioned to her to wait as I followed Senior Jane to the toilet and bathroom block at the far end of the lawn.

The smell hit me before we got to the building. I wanted to stop walking but Senior Jane didn’t even seem to notice the strong stench of ammonia and decay that wafted our way from the block. I had to keep going or I would make everyone late. By the time we got to the main door and Senior Jane pushed it open, I felt like I was going to throw up the little breakfast I had eaten over six hours ago. I couldn’t even hold my breath because we were already surrounded by the stench and I would just take more of it into my system. Funny enough it was not that filthy on the inside, it was just a long empty corridor with six locked doors to one side and high louvered windows on the other side which somehow managed to trap the bad air in.

“This is the SS2 toilet so you won’t be able to use it again. The JS1 toilet is the last one but it is probably the one stinking up this place. I don’t think you should suffer that yet.”

Have I mentioned how much I liked Senior Jane? At that moment she was practically glowing in my eyes. Afterwards I caught up with Funke outside the dormitory. We were three minutes behind schedule so we had to walk extremely fast to our classrooms. We joined the swarm of students streaming towards their classrooms for the 4pm deadline and crossed the wide tarred road Daddy and I had driven over earlier on in the day. The bungalows on the other side of the road housed the classrooms. It was almost like we had crossed over into another world, the road was clearly a border between the residential and educational parts of the school. As we headed to the blocks that separated the different years, a sense of relief came flooding over all the JS1 girls walking along with us. It really did feel like the road formed a social boundary. For the first time that day we would finally be alone in our classrooms preparing for our first real day of secondary school tomorrow with no senior students to yell at us, glare at us or beckon. I couldn’t help smiling at Funke as we climbed up on to the external corridor of our block and located JS1A and 1C.

“Should I wait for you after prep so we can go back together?” Funke asked in her soft voice. I had never been the maternal kind but since I got there I truly felt like I was meant to take care of Funke. It didn’t even matter that she was older than I was; I knew that I was emotionally stronger than her and she would need some help adjusting in the next few days.

“Yes,” I answered, “we will go back together. Senior Jane is going to take me to the taps to fetch water. Is Senior Chinwe taking you?”

After we established that Senior Chinwe had more important duties to fulfil, I invited her to join us later. Hopefully Senior Jane would not mind too much.

At exactly 4pm I walked into my classroom for the second time that day and located my desk. It was right at the front of the rows of desks where my dad had placed it earlier on; he hadn’t given me any chance of becoming a backbencher. The first thing I noticed was that my chair was not empty. In fact empty was not a word you could closely relate to the mob of people surrounding my desk, or rather the desk beside mine. The entire class was gathered around someone telling a tale in a very loud accented voice. An American accent. Nnenna.

“And she was like ‘get out of my house, I want nothing to do with you ever again’, then she started to throw things out of the window, like his clothes and stuff. And I was like ‘Oh my goodness, Mrs Grant’s gone mad’. And mum was like…Oh hello Buchi.”

Okay, her mother obviously didn’t say hello to me at that moment. Nnenna just noticed that I was trying to inch my way into my chair. She grinned at me and waved frantically as if she wasn’t obvious enough. How could I have missed her when her father had plunked her desk right next to mine? He had been extremely excited when he realised we were in the same class. “Someone for Nnenna to talk to,” he had said. Unfortunately I hadn’t realised at that time that there were quite a few people Nnenna could talk to all at the same time. She clearly enjoyed being the centre of attention. Right then I hated the fact that everyone had turned to look at me.

“Do you want a cookie?” she asked extending a packet of digestives towards me. I noticed most of the girls were already munching away on the treats Nnenna had brought to class with her. I couldn’t quite tell if she was just being generous or trying to buy people’s affection. Most of the girls around us had probably never eaten digestives before because their parents could not afford such frivolous delights.

“No thank you, I don’t like digestives,” I refused politely.

“Oh, okay. Chocolate fingers then?” It was clear why Nnenna was so chubby. I didn’t feel comfortable refusing her second offer so I took one and munched on it. I wondered how many other things she would have offered if I had kept on refusing.

“Why are you guys all crowded there? Don’t you know its time for prep?” The voice came from the doorway, a lanky senior student with thick framed glasses walked into the classroom and we all turned to stare at her.

“First of all, are you girls rude? Don’t you know that when a senior student walks into your class you have to greet her?”

We glanced round at each other to see if anyone else was aware of this rule. We all looked equally confused, and then in what could barely be called unison we mumbled a “good evening senior” to her and carried on staring.

“Good. Now you have to wait for me to tell you to sit down before you do. I am Senior Obianuju, your prep prefect for the week. I know you have no assignments to prepare for tomorrow so you have to sit silently till five o’clock or read a novel if you have one. I don’t care what you do as long as you sit quietly. Nobody is allowed to leave this room or eat or drink anything.”

Had we really thought we would have an hour to ourselves without any senior student? How foolish of us. From all the crestfallen faces around me I could tell that the others had thought the same thing, especially Nnenna. She slid the remaining biscuits into her desk and locked it quietly.

“I need to get my books so I have to leave you girls for a few minutes. You there, write down the names of noisemakers while I’m gone.”

Was she really pointing at me?

“Yes you. Why are you looking behind you? What is your name sef?”

“Onyebuchi.”

“Okay Onyebuchi, I want at least five names on that list. If you can’t find five people, start by adding your own name to the list.”

“But I don’t know anybody’s name Senior,” I began to protest.

“Shut up. Just write my list and you better have it when I get back.” She stormed out of the classroom leaving us all still standing at our desks.

“Can we sit down?” someone asked from the back.

“I don’t know. Didn’t she say we had to stand till she told us to sit down,” another girl replied.

“Hmmm, Onyebuchi better write their names down oh, they are making noise.”

“Get out.”

“Shut up.”

“Idiot.”

I looked at the girls throwing insults at each other, others now carrying on individual conversation and then at Nnenna who was looking at me with pity in her eyes.

“Aw sorry Buchi, looks like you’re in big trouble,” she said sympathetically.

Was I supposed to add her name to my invisible list too? Argh! I wanted to scream. What was I supposed to do? I finally pulled out an exercise book from my bag and found a pen. I ripped out a page and wrote down my name on the first line. No use postponing the inevitable, I thought. Then I folded the sheet of paper and sat down silently as the racket all around me continued. Welcome to hell, I thought as I buried my head in my hands and shook it in dismay.

Otherwise, Chapter Three will be up next

You can read Chapter One here.

Chapter Two

‘All aboard!!’ yelled the guard as the last of the passengers alighted the train. The automatic doors closed with a hiss and Emmeline settled back into the blue and black speckled seat, clutching her holdall on the seat next to her as the carriage shuttled her off to the coast. Hills rolled by as the train gathered speed and she felt the tension seep from her shoulders, until she noticed the shaggy-haired young man opposite her. He was staring with a strange expression on his face. Emmeline eyeballed him back but he smirked, so she turned her attention to the passing scenery and ignored him.

The last two weeks had been an eye opener. Geoff Sweetman was actually on the wagon, and Joan seemed to have had a personality transplant, bossing both of them about and taking no nonsense. Emmeline wasn’t sure which was worse – the tension from before, or being at the mercy of the imposter who had possessed her former mouse of a mother. Her eyes flickered over the fields as they sped by, and Emmeline’s thoughts drifted to her sanctuary by the sea. It was a dilapidated mess, with seventies wallpaper and grubby carpets; but it was hers and she loved it. She didn’t have much interaction with anyone there, apart from her dear elderly neighbours. But that suited her.

Less than an hour later, the train announced its arrival at Parnham Sea Station. She stood and gathered her things.

The train came to a halt and after waiting for the throng of passengers to disembark first, Emmeline stepped onto the platform inhaling the fresh, coastal air, feeling clean and carefree. Home at last.

As she meandered along the platform, a man dressed in a grey suit rushed past her, shoving her aside. ‘Hey!’ yelled Emmeline, as he ran for his train. She rubbed her shoulder and grimaced as the bruising in her ribs throbbed. Ignorant sod! Then, to her surprise, he turned to look at her, shock frozen on his face.

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!’ he said as he continued to back away briskly, then turned on his heel and hopped on the train, pulling the door shut behind him. Emmeline blinked, sure that the doors had been automatic. The shrill blast of a whistle rang nearby to indicate their imminent departure, and she shook her head in confusion.

As she entered the station a guard tapped her on the shoulder. ‘Can I see your ticket, madam?’

She spun round in bewilderment, searching for the automatic gate, which would hungrily swallow her fare in return for letting her off the platform.

‘Yes,’ she frowned, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a thick, cardboard coupon. ‘Where are the gates?’ she asked him.

‘Gates? The station gates are where they’ve always been, at the front of the building.’

Emmeline whipped her head round, taking in her surroundings. A young platinum-blonde woman with rouge lips stood casually near the door, patting her wavy set hair with a white-gloved hand. A round suitcase stood at her feet and her other hand displayed a cigarette holder, its smoke trailing upwards as the ash burned idly.  To Emmeline’s right, perched on a wooden bench, was another young lady with black, bobbed hair tucked under a red berry cloche hat, checking her watch and fiddling with a string of pearls. On closer inspection the station was filled with commuters looking like they were dressed for a 1920s film production.

‘Is someone filming here today?’ she asked.

‘Filming? Not that I know of. I think we’d be inundated with people wanting to get in on the action.’ He chuckled and then bent his head forward to peer at her face. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked. For a brief moment, Emmeline found herself rendered immobile by the intense blue eyes which were studying her own. She tore away from his penetrating gaze and looked up at his cap, PSS – Parnham Sea Station – imprinted above the peak, and took a step back to survey his dated uniform. Sure, she’d not visited for a couple of weeks, but what on earth was going on?

‘I – um –’ she squeaked as she backed away from him. He handed back her ticket with furrowed brows and Emmeline studied his gentle mouth, perfectly set on his clean shaven face, the lines of his jaw clenching as he watched her, bewildered.

After one last glance at the ticket detective, she shot through the station, clutching her coupon, suddenly aware of its thick cardboard presence. Wasn’t the ticket she’d purchased a credit-card sized, flimsy piece of cardboard? Or had they changed them? She would have noticed when she’d bought it, surely. She thrust the little tag into her pocket and burst through the front door to the outside world, inhaling a lungful of fresh air. Either she had fallen asleep on the train and was dreaming, or something was very, very awry. A woman dressed in a pencil skirt and tailored jacket approached the door into the lobby.

‘Excuse me,’ Emmeline stood with her hands on her hips and steadied her breathing, taking in the woman’s more modern attire. ‘What is the date today?’ she asked. The other woman stopped and looked at her watch. ‘It’s 27^th September,’ she smiled.

‘Thanks,’ replied Emmeline, watching the woman’s retreating back. Obviously. She bit her lip and looked around, then spotted a paper sitting on a green iron bench outside the entrance to the station and wandered over, picking it up and peering at the top. September 27^th, 2012. Of course it was. She cupped her hands gently around her face and looked through the window into the station. The automatic ticket gates stood evidently at the entrance to the platform, indifferent to the little game they had just played with her mind. There was no sign of the ticket officer. She shook her head in confusion and walked over to the bus stop, and boarded the waiting bus which would take her home.

Striding up the garden path towards the front door, Emmeline made a mental note to pull some weeds up from the concrete path edge and was suddenly accosted by a silver tabby cat, snaking its way around her legs in a greeting. She dumped her bag on the doorstep and fished her keys out of her purse.

‘Hey, Herbie!’ She stooped down to collect the bundle of fur into a cuddle, being careful not to prod him with the keys. ‘I missed you too, fella!’ Herbie purred and dribbled on her wrist as she stroked his excited head. She opened the door and the cat shot through, meowing frantically and darting back and forth from the kitchen. ‘OK, OK!’ she laughed, then pulled out a tin of cat meat and filled his bowl.

Emmeline had a cat-share arrangement with her next-door neighbours. She’d fallen in love with the tabby a few months ago when the cat belonging to the Bennett’s other neighbour had had kittens. Mr and Mrs Bennett had agreed to care for Herbie during the week while Emmeline was working and Emmeline supplied the food and the cost of the veterinary care.

She climbed the worn, dull green carpeted stairs to her bedroom, hauled her bag onto the bed and proceeded to unpack her neatly folded clothes, placing them carefully into a vintage chest of drawers.  The only sound in the house was the bedside clock as it ticked away noisily. She shoved her bag across the wooden floor and took a deep breath, and then opened a window to let some fresh air in to dispel the mustiness. She sat down on the bed, fondly stroking the green gingham bedspread. The muslin curtains billowed in the breeze as she took off her shoes and socks and spread her toes through the sheep-skin rug she’d found at a flea market in Parnham a few weeks ago. Her eyes swept the room as she admired the wooden floor. Bit by bit, she was getting there. On her last visit Emmeline had been busy refurbishing the bedroom and had pulled up the carpets, hired a sanding machine and stripped the floor boards before protecting them with a light wood varnish. The curtains were her handiwork, crafted on the second-hand sewing machine Mrs Bennett had donated to her.

There was a knock at the front door. ‘Emmeline? Yoo hoo!’ Elsie Bennett’s voice called up the stairs. ‘I brought you a casserole, love! Ernie said it’s top notch!’ Emmeline left the vintage beauty of her bedroom and descended the stairs slowly, still feeling bruised and battered from the accident.

‘Elsie!’ She enveloped her in a warm embrace. ‘How lovely to see you,’ Elsie gave a little squeeze in return and Emmeline gave a small cry as she pulled away, wincing.

‘What’s wrong, dear?’ asked Elsie.

Emmeline smiled meekly at her and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I had a bit of an accident a couple of weeks ago; my car was hit on the motorway on my way here,’ She confessed as warming, pungent aromas of thyme and chicken filled her senses. ‘Mmm, that smells delicious!’ she said, changing the subject.

‘What?’ Elsie’s eyebrows shot up in a state of distress. ‘Oh my goodness, you poor thing!’ she gasped.

Emmeline waved Elsie’s concern away. ‘I’m fine, honestly! Just a couple of broken ribs which are healing slowly and a black eye – which is now yellow, underneath some cleverly applied make-up.’  She lifted the lid off the casserole. ‘That looks amazing,’

Elsie looked at the casserole. ‘Just pop it in the oven, dear, on a low heat, until you’re ready for it.’ She looked back up at Emmeline and frowned. ‘So – that’s why you haven’t been here for the last couple of weeks then?’ she probed. ‘Only we didn’t get your message until last weekend and we’ve been worried! Herbie’s missed you terribly.’ She smiled kindly.

At that moment, Emmeline wondered why she didn’t just move here permanently. She was missed. Even if only by my cat and my neighbours.  She sighed, and thought of Geoff and Joan, wondering how long this strange pretence could last before her father buckled and started drinking again and her mother crumpled under the disappointment. They needed her. How could she even be so selfish as to think that she could put herself first like that? Besides, she earned good money at work; when I’m hitting target, she thought. A picture of her boss’s face appeared and she shuddered in irritation at Louisa’s existence infiltrating her refuge. ‘Go away,’ she muttered under her breath as she mentally watched Louisa pace the meeting room, flinging buzz words and wasted enthusiasm around.

‘What was that dear?’ Elsie brought Emmeline back to the present.

‘Nothing, sorry, I’ve been in an odd frame of mind today,’ her thoughts wandered back to the confusion at the train station.

‘Well, if you need anything, you know where we are,’ Elsie studied Emmeline, concern creasing her papery face.

‘Thanks, Elsie. I think I’m just going to open a bottle of wine and enjoy your lovely cooking with some old black and white movies on the TV!’ She stretched pleasantly at the thought, feeling exhausted already and looking forward to curling up with Herbie and shutting the world out. Tomorrow was a brand new day; perhaps she might go for a browse among the second hand shops and take a stroll along the beach before tea time.

‘You enjoy, Emmeline,’ she paused, her hand hovering on the door knob. ‘Do you know, there’s something different about you today?’

‘Huh?’ She had been watching Herbie curling himself round and round, trying to find a comfy spot on the sofa.

‘I can’t quite put my finger on it,’ she tapped her lip with her forefinger. ‘You seem, I don’t know… stronger somehow,’ she said, then shrugged. ‘Well, enjoy your evening dear; holler if you need anything at all. I must get back to Ernie.’ She kissed Emmeline on the cheek before closing the door behind her, leaving them both in peace.

Stronger? Who was she kidding? Emmeline was clearly losing the plot.  She put the casserole in the oven on a low heat and lit the fire, then popped open a bottle of Shiraz and joined the cat on the sofa to see what the television had to offer.

play happiness on repeat.

(c) Andrew Hill; Snow Covered Hills. Sometimes photos seem to echo the scenes in my head.

Thanks for stopping by again. I hope you’re enjoying The Ice Clan: Collsion of Fire and Ice. For new readers, this is a rough draft, so if you see a typo, or have a question feel free to let me know. I would really appreciate it! I hope you’ve read the other posts, but if you missed Post One, just follow the link: The Ice Clan: Collision of Fire and Ice, and you will get there. There are links at the end of each post to guide you on your way. Thanks again, and don’t forget to leave me a comment and a link to your blog!

-Susan

The village was lifeless except for the graphite smoke rising from the rooftops. The snow had stopped falling, and the streets were freshly covered with dusty white powder. Karn’s eyes searched the vast emptiness for footprints, but no tracks human or animal could be found.

The usual bustling village had the demeanor of a tomb, and the lack of noise was deafening. Karn noticed that the birds he’d heard on the ridge no longer cawed loudly; in fact, the birds had altogether disappeared. His mind raced with questions as his body assumed ranger mode. His senses were heightened; his ears and eyes absorbed every detail as he passed through the streets. He shivered, absently caressing Albin’s mane trying to calm his horse, as well as his own nerves. A strange tingling sensation had settled on the back of his neck, and tiny fine hairs stood exposing his skin to the icy wind.

Karn could clearly see the houses from astride Albin’s back. Every house they passed looked the same. The shutters were drawn tight to keep the arctic air from seeping inside; however, the front doors were open like giant gaping mouths sucking in the cold air. Aside from the open doors, everything was pristine, untouched, and overwhelmingly unsettling.

His eyes searched the empty village desperately and methodically looking for Elenora. Typically, at this time of day Elenora could be found in the house already boiling water for tea, or tending a stew. The role of wife suited her. She took great pride in their cottage and in her cooking skills. Karn lacked for nothing. He had often told her that she was a fae spirit sent straight from Lorna to his side.

He quickly directed Albin toward his rounded stone cottage. Doubt and emptiness began to sink deep inside him. “I have to find Elenora.” Karn’s voice was flat on the wind.

As his cottage came into view, fear pierced his neck, taunting him. He leaped off Albin’s back, and with one long stride he stood in front of his open door.

The door to his home swung back and forth with each new burst of wind. He could see the orange hearth fire burning as he neared the entrance. Shadows danced on the far side wall, silhouetting what seemed to be people inside. A large cooking pot hung above the blazing fire, and the aroma of burned rabbit and lentils attacked his senses before he even entered the house.

He hurriedly crossed the threshold. Elenora was gone, the house stood empty. Nothing was out of place –no visible sign of struggle. It was as if she had left to go to a celebration or to a neighbor’s home and had simply forgotten to shut the door, but Karn knew he was hoping for something that his instincts denied.

His home was no longer inviting. The open door had allowed the winter to encroach inside, leaving the room bitter cold despite the raging fire along the back wall. Karn scanned the room again, hoping to find some kind of clue. Elenora’s silver stew bowl sat on the far side of their hand carved table. Her rocking chair was neatly tucked under the table’s edge, and a mug of honey mead stood to the left of her bowl.

The small wood framed bed against the far right wall was made, neatly covered with their wedding quilt. It was stitched with a blue and green wedding ring pattern, the colors of the Elohite tartan.
It had been Karn’s wedding present-hand made, by Elenora, and like her singing voice, every stitch bared her soul.

The wind rushed through the open door. He could once again smell the strange cinnamony odor he had noticed in the forest, it was puzzling. He opened his mouth and took a deep breath, examining the air. He could taste the magic. It was bitter, but intoxicating. The magic felt alive, and he had an overwhelming need to follow the scent from the room. Karn allowed himself one final glance at his cottage, then ran back out of his house jumping astride Albin’s back.

“Albin, y’ah! To the eastern fields.” Karn pressed his heel to Albin’s flank. Responding with a jolt, horse and rider rushed forward through the empty streets towards an ever growing plume of smoke.

*Keep reading The Ice Clan Collision of Fire and Ice by clicking the title. Please leave me a comment and I will get back to you as soon as possible!

I drank in a Kronenberg 1888. I was known at the two pint wonder on Campus. There was no such thing as a quiet drink with me. I attributed by lightweightness to being slightly anaemic, when I flew in elation over the bar only to plummet the next morning, with a utter hangover, listening morosely to Hallelujay by Jeff Buckley.

She was drunk by the time we wandered into each other. The music was atmospheric, and in the background. She was from Wales with a complexion whiter than a snowflake.  Without further ado, we began to French kiss. I put my Kronenberg to one side.

It was getting late and Amans looked at me moodily to enquire as to whether or not I was staying on. I muttered softly that I would be, with an apologetic gaze, penetrating his eyes with sincerity. He quickly left.

She took me downstairs to the living room, where there was a piano. I languished over my phone in the morning, taking her number. And this was how I started the New Year.

I later visited Eveleyn in Bristol, where Amans and her shared a house in a civilised fashion.  Amanas had been my bosom friend for many years.  He mocked up a fake relationship with a girl called Shelley, in the course of my seeing Eveleyn, inviting her to the house.  We dragged the mattress to the floor to not make too much noise.

Amans stood in front to wave goodbye as if catching sight of a minor celebrity, when Eveleyn saw me off at the coach station, packed with sandwiches.  Amit had come out the closet.

…

they went to he seaside hand in hand and gazed up at the evening sky where the stars awaited their hopes. She wrote her dreams on a piece of paper using glitter pen ataching it to the green and purple helium balloons they had bought from a party goods store.

Zaheed followed suit and he released he balloons together with heir secret dreams into the mysterious starlit night.

It seemed everything was for that moment, before they knew one another, Eveleyn had been dating a footballer, it was one of her goals, a dream come true. Hurrah!

We were standing in a queue in another group at a different location, on the front lawn of my new dormitory to be precise. There were about thirty of us all shaven and clad in now creased uniforms, all looking in the same direction at a smaller group of people standing at the top of a raised platform. Prefects, they had been called by Mrs Emeka our house mistress. They would govern our lives under her supervision. We were to do exactly as they told us; no complaints, no excuses, no errors. The dictatorial tone of her words had no impact on me; I was still trying to get over how huge the prefects were compared to us tiny JS1 girls. The thought of not complying with any of their demands, however irrational, did not occur to me at that point. Look at the size of them, I thought. If they barked I would run a mile.

“This is so, so boring,” Funke whispered, fully aware of the no talking policy that had been imposed on us.

Thankfully I could understand every single word she had said so far. She had a slightly thicker accent than her mother but it was not laced with the rolling ‘r’s that Nnenna’s accent oozed. I grinned at her, intent on not breaking the rules until I definitely had to. At least she had stopped crying now and could return my grin with her own toothy smile.

The crying had been a nightmare, my worst nightmare. Surrounded by a hoard of girls wailing their hearts out and clinging to their parents, I had been slightly tempted to join them so I would not feel left out. Daddy had held in his laughter at the bemused expression on my face but he had told me it was okay to cry if I wanted.

“Aren’t you going to miss me?” he asked with a suppressed chuckle.

“Daddy, I will. Mummy na Obioma na Emeka. Mana agaghi m ebe akwa.’ I switched to my native Igbo to emphasise my no crying policy. “Kedu uru ya? What’s the point?”

“Agu, that’s what you are, a stubborn lioness. Don’t cry when I leave oh. No one will console you here.”

I shrugged and looked at the red eyed, runny nosed JS1 girls around me. There was no way I intended to join them now even if it made me look like a stone cold hearted child. I had stood strong and waved my father goodbye with only a sad smile on my face. I was going to miss him dearly but for a ten year old, I was quite resilient.  Midterm break would be here before we even blinked, right?

“It’s so hot,’ Funke dared to whisper again, tugging at her collar uncomfortably. We were amongst the fortunate few who had positioned themselves under the great shade of the mango tree that stood on the front lawn of the dormitory so I had no clue what she was on about. Oh yes, she had only just arrived from England where thirty degrees was probably considered a boiling summer. She would have to get used to the heat fast because it certainly wasn’t going to change for her.

“Who is talking there?” one of the prefects barked from the front. It was Senior Rebecca, our house sports prefect. We had to address anyone in a class two years ahead of us as ‘senior so-and-so’ so everyone from JS3 to SS3 fell into that bracket. We also had to do everything they told us to, the only exception being when year or rank outranked the other. So if an SS1 girl asked me to hop on the spot and at the same time an SS3 girl demanded I stand still, I would have to stand still. If a prefect joined the equation and asked me to sit down, I would have to ignore all the others and do as she said. It all sounded pretty straightforward but nothing is ever simple when so many egos are involved. Most of us were to learn that the hard way during the course of the year. Oh the joys of oblivion.

It looked like Senior Rebecca had forgotten that she asked a question after she got no reply from us. Or maybe she was just waiting to attack someone else later on. Thankfully Funke stopped talking and we tried to concentrate on what the prefects were saying.

“…if you break the rules you will be punished. I cannot stress this enough. Your name will be put on the school’s punishment list which comes out every Friday and you will get mass punishment with others or you will be punished on the spot. Everyone knows you are new ‘ju’ girls so you may get away with some things for the first few weeks but within that time you are expected to learn all the rules and make sure you do not break them afterwards…” Senior Chinwe, our house captain, would have rattled on and on about the inevitable doom we were to face if one of the girls standing in front had not put her hand up and interrupted her flow.  Senior Chinwe gave her an evil look but she stopped talking.

“Yes? Can you not see I am still speaking?”

The bold girl, an ebony skinned tall girl wearing a very stylish pair of glasses, asked her question without as much as a stutter. I wondered where her courage came from. ‘Sorry Senior, I was just wondering what kind of punishment you mean. A slap? Manual labour? Will we get flogged?”

Flogged? Were we going to get flogged? I had only been flogged once in my life and even then it had only been five soft strokes on my open palm with a wooden ruler Mummy had found in my room. That time I probably deserved it but the current prospect of being flogged by someone who would show far less compassion for me than my mother put the fear of God in my heart.

“Surely she is kidding,” Funke whispered incredulously. This time I shushed her myself. I wanted to hear the answer to this.

It came after the prefects had a laugh at our expense, like the girl had asked an incredibly daft question. The hollow feeling of fear in my chest grew.

“What kind of stupid question is that sef? Shey you all think you are at home? All of you should wake up oh. In this school you will cut grass, scrub floors, sweep rooms, in short anything you get told to do, you will do. No questions asked,” Senior Chinwe calmly explained to us, clearly oblivious to the fact that we were a group of eight to twelve year olds who were experiencing their first real day away from home. Some of us had never even swept a room before. Cutting grass was another world meant for labourers and farmers. I had expected that much though when I discovered items seven and eight in the compulsory list of things to buy; cutlass and hoe. Maybe some people had assumed they would be used in agricultural science lessons. A hilarious notion indeed.

I glanced over at Funke now with a worried frown and a little pity in my eyes. She had obviously not been prepared for this. I wondered what stories her mother had spun for her about boarding school in Nigeria. I also wondered what Nnenna was thinking at the moment this information was revealed to her. She had struck me as being more vocal than Funke. Perhaps she was the one asking all the questions in her dormitory.

Well surprise, surprise, Funke was crying. Not a loud wailing kind of cry like before but more like choked sobs were getting stuck somewhere in her throat. She looked like she was gasping for air but from my brief experience earlier, I knew this was how she cried. Now what was I supposed to do?

“Don’t cry Funke, you’re going to make me start too,” I tried to comfort her like my mother would, putting my scrawny arm around her shoulder and hugging her to myself. When Mummy said those words to me on the rare occasions when I cried, I pictured my buxom mother with her trademark brown wrapper thrown over a faded T-shirt crying her eyes out in pretty much the same fashion I was doing and that just dried up my tears. Talk about nightmare scenarios. Unfortunately my words had the reverse effect on Funke. Instead of staring at me in shock and shutting up, her sobs seemed to intensify and then she let out a loud watery sniff. What were the chances of us going unnoticed?

“Who is that? Who are those girls crying over there? Come here,” Senior Chinwe barked.

Crying? Me? What an abominable suggestion. But holding onto the sobbing Funke may have given them that impression so I was ready to forgive the error this time. Not like I could have done anything about it anyway. We pushed our way to the front of the group and stood about a meter away from the six prefects. I couldn’t get over how tall they were up close.

“Why are you crying?” Surprisingly her voice had lost some of its harshness. We must really have looked small and pathetic to them. Not worth wasting your breath on two girls who looked like they would pee on themselves if you asked them to.

It occurred to me then that the silence all around us meant that Senior Chinwe expected an answer. Funke looked in no state to offer any intelligent speech so I had to make my first public address to the prefects. A lot of air gulping ensued.

“Eh,” I stammered, “I think she’s scared and homesick.” I used the words I had heard a lot of parents using as they tried to explain away their daughters’ tears. I had always been good at making other people’s words mine, and obviously fighting their battles as well.

“Can’t she speak for herself, eh? Are you dumb?” Senior Rebecca’s tone had lost none of its edge.

“No, I’m not.” Somehow Funke managed to speak between sobs.

“Hmm, is that phoneè she is speaking with?” Another prefect joined in the spectacle. Stop crying you silly girl, I willed Funke with my mind and my eyes. If she stopped maybe they would leave us alone.

“Ajebota,” another chipped in. Living in the south, I had only heard that word used once or twice but I knew it implied that Funke was a pampered child. It was easy to see how they had come to that conclusion just from hearing her accented voice.

“Where are you from?” Senior Chinwe tried to take control of the questioning again.

“Manchester.”

Laughter exploded all around us. Even some of the JS1 girls sniggered behind us. Okay, I had to admit I wanted to laugh too but how could I when I was playing the role of protective sister?

“I didn’t ask where you live. I asked you where you are from. Enugu? Imo? Lagos? Where do your grandparents come from? Eh? Where do you go for Christmas holiday? Eh?”

Funke frowned like none of the questions made sense. Goodness, it was a simple question. Everyone I knew had grandparents who lived in their hometown and they went there for Christmas holidays. How could she not have a simple answer for that?

“Well, my grandparents live in Lagos but my mum says we are originally from Ogun State. I usually spend Christmas in Manchester but twice now we’ve been to London to spend it with my aunt.”

Okay, not such a simple answer. I think that shut up the prefects for about ten seconds (surely that was some sort of record) before they started babbling again.

“What nonsense, did we ask you to tell us about your Manchester and London connections?” one prefect asked rather enviously. I couldn’t remember her name. Another began to mimic Funke’s accent, making a few others laugh. Only Senior Chinwe didn’t join in. I could see why she was the house captain. She knew when to speak and exactly what to say to look authoritative.

“Who is your neighbour?” she asked quietly. We had learnt earlier that a ‘neighbour’ was a senior student we got assigned to. When I say assigned to, I mean practically enslaved to. We had to fetch their bathing water, wash their plates after collecting them from the dining hall (no prizes for guessing who takes them there in the first place), make their beds, wash their clothes, iron their clothes, polish their shoes, carry their books, in short run every single errand possible for them. How did we know all this? Mrs Emeka informed us of our duties as we were shown our sleeping places, the top shelf on a bunk bed. The senior neighbour slept below, enjoying the luxury of not scrambling up to bed every night with no ladder to assist the ascent. The only private space we had in an eight by eight metres room filled with twelve bunk beds was actually on that top shelf. The space we had to move around and dress up in was about a metre wide and the length of the bunk bed. Our lockers had to be placed right outside our metre space as only our senior neighbour’s locker could occupy this space. Confusing? We hadn’t even spent a day here and I’m pretty sure some of us were considering creeping back home at night.

“Senior Uche Ofor,” Funke repeated the name she had been told. We still had not met any of our other housemates as they were not back from class or wherever it was they were at two thirty in the afternoon.

“SS1 girl? After this meeting your friend here will help you pack your luggage and you will move to my corner. Uche will get someone else.” Senior Chinwe kept a straight face when all the hmms and ehs came from the other prefects. I wasn’t sure if I should be happy for my new friend or not. On the surface it may have been a good idea for the fragile Funke to be paired up with a strong and in control prefect but I barely knew either of them so there was no way I could predict whether it would be a perfect union or not.

“Go back to where you were standing,” Senior Chinwe ordered and we knew that was the end of the ordeal. We received a few mixed glances from our fellow JS1 girls as we walked past them but I tried not to focus on their opinion of us, or maybe I should say Funke. Who cared about me and my thick Owerri accent when Funke was the exotic bird of the day?

The rest of the briefing went on without much interruption. At the end of it we had been told the daily protocol we were supposed to stick to. It sounded quite manic and sometimes impossible to believe that they expected us to comply with it but nobody seemed to be complaining so I kept quiet and nodded all the way.

4.30 – wake up

4.30 to 5.30 – junior girls shower and get dressed

5.30 to 6.30 – senior girls shower and get dressed

6.30 – breakfast

7.15 – assembly (on Tuesdays and Thursdays)

8.00 – first lesson

10.00 – first break

12.00 – second break

2.15 – lunch

3.00 – compulsory siesta

3.45 – prep (afternoon)

5.00 – sports on Tuesday/free period otherwise

6.30 – dinner

7.15 – prep (night)

9.00 – return to dorm

9.30 – lights out.

Every single day! Except Sundays when we had to go to church and laze around most of the day (surely they weren’t going to let us do absolutely nothing) and Saturdays when we had a weekly cleanup and inspection. That didn’t sound too bad. In fact the weekends sounded quite breezy.

It was now two fifty-three on my old red digital wristwatch. The doors to the dorm had been shut for our little briefing and so far we had not heard a single word from outside the two meter high block walls of the dormitory fence. Now we could hear a trickle of sound, more a buzz than real decipherable words growing louder as the students drew closer. By the sound of it everyone else who shared the dormitory with us was returning. I didn’t expect that feeling of fear to come crawling back into my chest but there it was again, numbing my feet and twisting my intestines tightly at the same time. I looked over at Funke and I think she must have felt the same way I did because her now tearless eyes had enlarged to double their size. Without thinking I reached over and held her hand. She squeezed back tightly just as the double doors opened and the mob poured in.

Read the Chapter HERE

I thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter, mostly because it came so easily. I was on a five hour flight at the time, and I was writing with a fury. I think the bald guy next to me thought I was kind of weird. The thing I liked so much about this one was the fact that I got to write the Mystery Man, who I feel has such a distinct character. He’s kind of what made me want to this fanfic in the first place, having developed in my mind so early that the entire story just kind of fell around it.

I also enjoyed the work relationship between the Bishops, something I didn’t think we totally got in the first chapter. I’m just a little bit totally in love with Joshua Jackson, so whenever I get to write Peter I’m happy, but I felt this chapter especially I could picture Josh’s voice in my head. I’m not sure if that translated to you readers, but hopefully it did.

The chapter art for this one I really wanted to focus on Etta and Peter. Since we got to see more of the tension between mother and daughter in the first chapter, I thought bringing in some good Peter time was a good choice. And like I said in my last AN, the colouring will probably become more and more dark from here on in.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Fringe Universe, that belongs to J.J Abrams and crew. Also check the credits page for image credits on the chapter images.

We didn’t go back for it. I don’t think Daddy could have faced another scene of the weeping duo we had left behind. And then the obligatory lecture ensued.

‘I said it. I told your mother you were too irresponsible to remember simple things. Is this not the same toothbrush she kept mentioning all morning? Eh? If you can’t remember a simple thing like that how do you think you will cope with all the rules and regulations in school, eh?”

I really had no answer to that. To tell you the truth, I was equally disappointed and ashamed of myself. How had I forgotten the number one thing on my list even after all the written and verbal reminders? I had even done a final list check with Mummy but instead of throwing the toothbrush into my bag then I had just moved it closer to the luggage because I hadn’t felt it was dry enough. Yes, yes, yes, it was all my fault. I couldn’t really blame anyone else. But I did think it was a little unfair that I was branded irresponsible for forgetting only one item on my very long list.

Daddy carried on ranting about it for a few more minutes. I didn’t really mind because before I had braved mentioning it I had braced myself for the inevitable lecture. Humble silence was going to be my only response except for the odd “sorry Daddy,” I managed to throw in.

“Anyway I can’t blame you too much. This is the first time you are moving away from home alone so I expected some mistakes. In fact I expected more things to have been forgotten. Wait oh, are you sure that was the only thing you forgot?”

A mental list scanning commenced.

“Yes Daddy. Sorry Daddy.”

He sighed deeply and shook his head. “We have to buy you another one when we get to Enugu. I don’t want to stop in Owerri at all. I’m sure there will be a supermarket on the way to the school.” After that we carried on most of the journey in silence.

We had already left the congested parts of Owerri town behind. No more traders hawking their wares to us from the pavement, no more traffic control officers trying to make sense of the stream of cars heading towards each other, no more frustrated looking pedestrians trying to dash across the increasing gridlock of cars on the road. Not much of a lot of things, just an increasing amount of mango and palm trees and dirt roads with solitary zinc roofed block work houses dotted along the landscape. We were heading speedily out of the town I had spent all of my short life in. I had travelled this road numerous times before when we returned to our village Arondizuogu for the Christmas holidays. During those trips I had known that in six, maybe seven days, I would return to the more familiar treasures of home, but not this time.

Three months! Three long months, that was the duration of the first term. I knew I had to acknowledge the midterm break but surely you could see how the panic was beginning to set in. No television, no hot water (confirmed by Emeka’s experiences in boarding school), no lovely home cooked food and probably a lot of other no-no scenarios I hadn’t allowed myself to consider yet. Just a lot of rules and penalties for breaking the rules (yet another confirmation by Emeka). Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad, I tried to console myself based on Emeka’s tendency to sometimes grossly exaggerate things to get attention. Or perhaps my school had slightly more lax policies. Or really nice teachers. Ah, the joys of denial. I let my doubts sink deeper into the cushion of my fabricated comfort zone.

Meanwhile the trees grew denser, the houses sparser, the deteriorating road bumpier. I bounced along with the car as we hit pothole after pothole. I felt a little sleepy but there was no way I could fall asleep as I was thrown around every single time I shut my eyes. Daddy was an excellent driver, sometimes a little too cautious, but his precautions were no match for the notorious Owerri-Okigwe route. We carried on in painful silence till we got to the Okigwe junction and joined the Enugu-Port Harcourt Expressway. Finally a straight smooth wide road emerged before us. Hurray, I could get some sleep.

“Better stay awake,” Daddy’s voice cut through the blanket of sleep that was engulfing me. “Look around at all the things you haven’t seen before. What is the point of God giving you eyes if you don’t use them?”

Argh! I really wanted my quick nap but he did have a point. A point that I could easily have dispelled with two arguments; one, there were only trees stretching ahead of us on either side of the road and the occasional herd of cattle led by an exhausted looking Fulani herdsman, certainly not much to feast my eyes on. Two, I was going to travel this road six times every year for the next six years, twelve if you counted midterm breaks. I had plenty of other opportunities ahead to take in the nonexistent sights to my fill. Plus it wasn’t exactly like I was getting a colourful commentary from him. The station wagon had lost its radio a long time ago and Daddy had never replaced it. No music, no chitchat and no sights equalled perfect napping opportunity. I hated that I didn’t have the guts to argue my point, instead I sat obediently looking out of my window and occasionally stifling a yawn.

The journey took about two hours in a whole, mainly due to the fact that we were trying not to permanently damage vital car parts in the muddy potholes. We finally got to the toll gate that officially marked our entrance into Enugu city, the Coal City according to the billboards we passed on our approach. Daddy had pointed out the first fading “Welcome to Enugu State” billboard that marked the transition between Imo State and Enugu State a little while back but I wasn’t really excited. There had still been too many trees and cattle around for me to take any interest. Now as we paid the tollbooth attendant and sped on towards the emerging city, I sat up straight. From this distance Enugu looked very much like Owerri except for the fact that it was surrounded by a lot of hills. Okay that wasn’t the only difference, it also seemed a lot bigger than Owerri but I put that down to my brain trying to take in all the new and exciting information that was whizzing past me as we joined a major road leading into the centre of the city.

Multicoloured rendered block work houses with aluminium and zinc roofs shot past us, some behind gated high fences that almost completely obstructed their view, others practically on the pavement edge. Hoards of hawkers swarmed cars that stood still for the slightest second, mostly street children whose parents could not afford to send them to school. They probably had to help their parents support their families from near infancy. Most of the cars on the road were second hand imports that had seen better years, if not decades, and would have been banned in any other country but were deemed roadworthy by the many drivers who could barely afford to maintain them but needed them to survive in a town like this. We went past stalls patriotically painted in the green and white strip colours of the Nigerian flag, policemen glaring suspiciously at everyone they walked past and even the odd herdsman moving cattle around in the middle of the grassless city for some strange reason. Yes, Enugu was pretty much the same as Owerri, except for the fact that it seemed to be a bit more congested and had a lot of deep red earth where the road was not tarred. Most of the houses close to the road were covered in red dust from it.

I had forgotten all about my toothbrush predicament until we pulled up beside a mini-market off a side road in an area Daddy called Trans-Ekulu. He gave me some money and sent me off into the shop to buy it so he wouldn’t have to leave the car unattended on the street. We were on our way in about three minutes and this time I knew we were headed straight for the school. It turned out to be just around the corner from the mini-market.

The second I saw the high block work wall with a thick barbed wire loop running all the way along the top, my heart skipped a beat. I don’t think I had ever been so afraid in my life. Did they really expect me to live behind those walls? It looked like the only institution that was fit to be behind those walls was a prison. Why would a nice friendly boarding school need such high fences and barbed wire? It didn’t occur to me then that perhaps it was more a case of keeping people out than people in. I looked at my dad with panic in my eyes but he was concentrating on finding the entrance. The gates turned out to be equally as grand as the high wall. It was huge and black and possibly made of some metal that a tank couldn’t ram its way through. Imprinted in bold white letters on it were the words ‘Federal Government Girls’ College Enugu’. Could Daddy not see where we were heading? This had to be a mistake. It didn’t look like there was any other entrance into this place, just the solitary daunting black mouth with the white letters sticking out like teeth. I felt like throwing up right then.

Daddy calmly honked the horn, still oblivious to my growing panic. I couldn’t possibly be hiding it that well. A short khaki clad gateman opened the side gate and came over to talk to us. He only glanced at me once and turned his attention to Daddy.

“My daughter is starting school here today,” Daddy said proudly to the man and showed him a letter that I had seen once at home detailing my acceptance. The gateman didn’t really look at the letter, he had already seen too many of them today. As we were parked there another car pulled up behind us, another parent and anxious daughter perhaps.

The gateman nodded at Daddy then went to find out who was in the other car before disappearing back through the side gate. As the huge gates swung open without a sound, the gateman dashed from side to side to secure the two leaves and then stepped aside for us to drive in. I took one last look behind me knowing that I would not be seeing the rest of Enugu for at least six weeks. The pain in my gut was no longer a figment of my imagination; it was real and hurt like crazy.

“Are you okay?” Daddy asked as he finally looked my way and saw the expression on my face.

I nodded my lie and tried to focus on the scene unfolding ahead of us. If I had expected to see a swarm of students bustling around in front of us, I was grossly disappointed. All that lay ahead was a long driveway that disappeared around the corner with its endpoint hidden behind thick mango, cashew and orange trees. This was turning out to be the longest journey ever. I turned around and counted three cars behind us now. I still couldn’t make out if they carried student passengers like me but they all followed us down the driveway and towards our destination.

The second we turned the corner, the elusive school emerged. Rows and rows of identical zinc roofed bungalows all painted in individual bright rainbow colours were stacked to the left side of the road. On the right side, another set of buildings similarly laid out were lined up all the way to the end of the road which I could barely see from that distance. There were no students in sight, no teachers, nobody. Daddy must have been as confused as I was but he carried on driving till he got to the end. The gateman had not given us any directions so I had assumed it would all be straight forward when we got in; obviously not.

Thankfully things began to make a little more sense at the end. Whoever designed the school must have enjoyed the concept of surprise because suddenly things began to pop out around corners. Right after the last block on the left we turned into a concealed side road. Hidden behind that last block was a large sports field that had been turned into a parking lot for the day. With the hundreds of cars littering the field were confused parents trying to work out what was going on and nervous students trying really hard not to look lost. Some people seemed to be doing better than others. It was clear even from that distance that some tears had been shed, some were still being shed and some were brewing quite nicely beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to let loose. Goodness, what had I signed myself up for?

The tears didn’t really bother me, it was the number of people that startled me to silence. Daddy had said the school usually took in about one hundred and twenty students every year. Well it certainly looked like there was more than that already present and I was pretty sure there would be more on the way, it was only noon. We drove past the sea of cars and found a clear spot beside an old blue Peugeot saloon. There was an incredibly small girl standing with her mother by the car. She was dressed in the same uniform I was wearing, shaved head and little silver stud earrings. Her eyes were hidden behind huge round glasses that looked like they would fall off the end of her nose any second now. She couldn’t have been any older than eight, I thought with horror. At that moment she turned and caught me staring at her with the shock evident on my face. I was about to look away, embarrassed at being caught, but she smiled shyly at me. I returned her smile before looking away, still a little annoyed with myself for staring in the first place.

“Okay I have to go to the main office and find out what is happening. Do you want to come with me or stay here?” Daddy asked. I would have loved to sit in the safety of the station wagon making my observations from a distance but I had been sitting for over two hours and a walk would probably help prevent cramps from seizing my legs.

“I’ll come with you,” I declared confidently. Daddy nodded and we got out of the car. The walk to the office took about two minutes but it felt like we walked for miles as we had to weave our way past parked cars and roaming people. The office wasn’t in the sports field, obviously. It was located just outside in yet another bungalow block. This one did not have a ridiculously bright painted exterior; it was painted grey with a zinc roof and looked rather dull compared to the other buildings we had gone past. Daddy held my hand all the way to the queue that had formed outside what we guessed was the registration office. It was only about twenty people long which was not bad considering the mob we had just waded through but it still felt like this process was going to be longer than it ought to be. It took only seconds for about three people to join the queue behind us.

We were now sandwiched between a dark slender and very pretty woman with her equally slender pretty daughter in front of us and a rather obese couple with their cute chubby almost albino looking daughter. The contrast was nearly comical and I wondered how we looked to the other people around, me with my tiny frame and light brown complexion and Daddy standing tall and dark beside me. I took after my mother completely so we must have looked as mismatched as the two groups on either side of us.

The queue moved a little and we shuffled forward silently except for one mother about three places ahead who was speaking really loudly to her daughter about personal hygiene.

“I have told you now, if you don’t put Dettol in your water and you catch an infection, I will not pay for you to get any treatment. Do you understand me?” she bellowed, oblivious to everyone around them.

The girl looked like she had heard this all before. You could tell that if she had enough courage she would have rolled her eyes and shrugged. Instead she nodded dejectedly, surrendering herself to more loud advice. I felt a little sorry for her but I was glad it wasn’t me getting all the sympathetic glances.

Ten minutes later, we were still number sixteen on the crawling queue. The pretty lady in front of us had started glaring at her watch more frequently and sighing deeply. She obviously had to be somewhere else. Between time checks she would either stroke her daughter’s shaved head or hug her shoulders. She was clearly torn between dashing off to wherever it was she was meant to be and staying here with her daughter. Finally she turned to Daddy and said. “I completely forgot how long these things take.”

She spoke with what I guessed was a British accent laced with some Yoruba in it. I recognised this because Mummy’s friend Aunty Omojeme, who lived in Manchester, spoke with exactly the same accent whenever she rang.

“Don’t worry,” Daddy tried to be supportive, “at least the queue is moving.”

She looked ahead at the fourteen little groups ahead of her and sighed. “I have a flight to catch in about two hours. I’m worried we won’t be done by then. And I can’t afford to miss that flight; I leave from Lagos back to London tonight.”

Daddy could only smile sympathetically. I was intrigued. I had only been on a plane once and it had been so long ago that the only thing I could recollect properly was that the airhostess had been wearing a hideous lime green blouse. Here was a lady who seemed to catch flights like people hopped on buses. I was not usually awestruck but I couldn’t help myself for some reason. I tried to catch her daughter’s eye but she seemed incredibly shy and kept looking down at her sandals.

“I know how you feel,” a voice came from behind us. It was dripping heavily with an American accent and just like with the Yoruba lady’s accent I could detect traces of a fading Igbo accent. What was this? Invasion of the returned foreigners? Even Daddy became visibly aware of the mix of people we were standing with. His eyes darted from group to group even though he refrained from joining the conversation till he was directly addressed.

The chubby woman behind us carried on. “We have to be back in Abuja today for a function and then to Lagos tomorrow to catch a flight as well. I can’t remember the registration process being so chaotic when I studied here. It certainly didn’t feel like we stood around this long.”

“Oh you’re an alumni too?” British accent lady squealed with delight. “I left about fifteen years ago. Isn’t it strange how much everything has changed around here yet it is still all so familiar?”

As if to support her observation, another voice joined the conversation. This one came from about fifteen meters away. “Bukola Adeyemi? Is that you?”

Oh great, I thought rolling my eyes, another happy alumni to entertain us with reminiscing thoughts.

“Mrs Uche?”

Mrs Uche looked too old to have been a student when Bukola Adeyemi had been one. Dark, stocky and with a head of short grey hair, she was obviously some form of staff in the school. Her pristinely ironed grey skirt and white collared blouse screamed ‘teacher’ to me.

“Bukola Adeyemi,” she repeated in disbelief still staring at the object of her attention, and then she turned to address the rest of us. “This girl was the best head girl this school ever saw; an outstanding role model for all the junior girls, even her mates.” She shook her head as she remembered old times then her gaze settled on the girl who had been standing quietly beside her mother. “Is this your daughter?”

“Yes, her name is Funke. Funke Ajayi. Funke say hello to Mrs Uche.”

“Hi,” Funke greeted in a soft girly voice.

Hi? Hi? If I greeted any of my elders with a timid “Hi”, I would be yelled at by every single adult in the vicinity. But no one seemed to mind that Funke had just done that.

“Of course, you are married,” Mrs Uche said matter-of-factly. “Funke, hmmm. Don’t worry Bukola; I will take care of her. Come and see me in my office later.”

“I wish I could but I have to run off as soon as I get her registered and settled in. I’m already running late as it is.” I don’t think Mrs Ajayi meant to complain to gain favour but Mrs Uche, strangely eager to please her former pupil, jumped at the opportunity to do just that. She scanned the line of eight people still ahead of her pet student knowing that she would get told off if she even suggested a queue jump. Instead another bright idea came to her and she disappeared into the main office.

She returned shortly with a wad of A4 paper, glanced at Mrs Ajayi and flashed a half smile. Then she went to the person at the beginning of the queue and started to read information off the sheet. We couldn’t quite make out what she was saying till she got closer to us. I heard the lady behind us mutter, “I should have been head girl in my time; maybe someone would have recognised me and given us express service.”

A few people overheard her and laughed. Even Mrs Ajayi smiled. She hadn’t exactly asked Mrs Uche to do anything special for her so she really had nothing to be embarrassed about. Mrs Uche drew closer.

“Obiageli Onye, Tiger House, JS1C. Nneka Ede, Dragon House, JS1E. Funke Ajayi, Dragon House, JS1A. Onyebuchi Okoroafor, Dragon House, JS1C. Nnenna Okeke, Firefly House, JS1C…”

Okay she wasn’t exactly psychic; she didn’t know our names by magic. Our parents picked up on what was happening and shot off our names when she approached. That wasn’t the important thing at the moment though. I was more excited about the fact that right in front of me stood my new housemate and right behind me stood my new classmate. Funke and Nnenna. I smiled at both of them. I might as well make an effort now, I thought to myself. And possibly find a translator; I couldn’t understand half of what Nnenna had said to her parents in her thick American accent. I prayed that at least Funke’s accent would be as diluted as her mother’s. There was no way I could try to juggle understanding the both of them well enough to become good friends in little time. Funke returned my smile and then Nnenna. Okay, step one successful. Step two, commence.