NotSoWickedIgboWoman

I watched his facial expression as I divulged the chilling truth: I was a murderer. There, amidst the flickering fluorescent lamp, I watched his face contort with a mixture of disbelief and horror. The plan had been simple: reveal the darkest fragment of my past to him, a calculated move intended to repulse and repel any budding friendship or love before it could even take root. His mouth hung agape, genuine shock etched across his features. For a fleeting moment, I believed my strategy had succeeded and I suppressed a hidden snicker. Just as I attempted to avert my gaze and retreat into the solace of my sick bed, his reaction shattered my expectations. A sudden eruption of laughter echoed through the very well-lit room, catching me off guard. "You got me," he managed between fits of amusement, his eyes alight with glee. "I'm genuinely scared now, Brenda. You might just murder me next." Confusion seized me as I tried to decipher his response. What was amusing ab

He left the bowl of pancake mix and approached me, his strides deliberate and confident. I remained rooted in place, leaning against the door frame wearing his big black hoodie, basking in the warmth of his aura. His arms enveloped my waist as he got to me, drawing me into his embrace with a tenderness that spoke volumes. "Did you sleep well?" he inquired, his voice a soothing melody that washed over me. With a soft chuckle, I responded, "When did I ever not sleep well when I'm here?" His smile, a beacon of comfort and familiarity, lit up the room as he asked if I was ready for breakfast. Peering into his face, I couldn't help but notice the subtle shadows beneath his eyes and the faint stress lines etched into his skin, a testament to some stress and sleepless nights. My hand instinctively rose to caress his left cheek, tracing the contours of his features softly. "Did you sleep at all? You were already up when I woke," I inquired, my words filled

"Wow, you looked very bruised up, battered, and given the fact that I haven't seen you here, you must be new or you don't usually get into fights like this," said an unknown voice. As I roused, my body ached. Each bruise and bandage told a silent story of my recent dance with Sonia's fist. In the movies, they would usually say, "you should see the other guy". Well, it is very apparent that I am the very other guy they referred to. Disoriented and still groggy, I slowly shifted my bandaged neck, attempting to locate the source of the calm voice that had addressed me. With some effort, I adjusted my position to face the figure in the white coat who seemed absorbed in his work. Sunlight flooded the room through opened windows, creating a warm and serene atmosphere. Blinking against the brightness, I squinted until my eyes adjusted to the scene. There he was—the rumored cute doctor who supposedly graced the infirmary twice a week. The tales, it seemed, were

My chat with Michael made me see things in a completely new light. It struck me that he must have been part of something fishy, as there was no reason for me to get arrested at his place without an explanation from him. Initially, I believed he was the victim, and by extension, I was too. But learning that he actively contributed to my predicament was a real shocker. Now, I couldn't help but wonder why he was suddenly appearing in my life again. Was it another scheme to pull me into a mess I had no hand in, or was it a belated sense of guilt after 15 years? Either way, if it was guilt, it felt like it had arrived way too late – 15 years too late. I moved through the rest of the day absentmindedly, and as I did this, I was unaware that lurking around the corner was an impending catastrophe. A couple of hours after my encounter with Michael, we were all piling into dinning hall for lunch. I walked absentmindedly in the lines of fellow inmates adorned in our orange apparel. My tray h

I ignored his greetings as I sat down on the chair and leaned back, trying to look as tough as possible. He stared at me, a little bit frightened, as he took his seat. We locked eyes, and I refused to back down from the staring contest. He cowered and said, "You look good, Brenda." I threw my head back and laughed like a maniac, attracting stares from fellow prisoners and their visiting families. "I look good? Michael? Me? Good? Well, I guess orange is my color and it makes the brown in my eyes pop," I said with sarcasm. Coming from someone who let me rot in jail, your compliments mean jack shit to me. I hope you have a good reason for being here today, Michael," I said, leaning very close to him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding eye contact. "Brenda, I... I heard there is a way we could shorten your sentence," he stammered, glancing around nervously. "We? We? Michael, who the hell is 'we'?" He winced, sitting as far aw

We sprinted through the rain, the cool droplets cascading around us. Oddly, the wetness didn't register. It was as if the sheer exhilaration of the moment shielded us from the discomfort of the downpour until we found a building popularly known as the Hub. Its official name, "the Center for Something," eludes my memory, but it was a space where tech enthusiasts lived and worked. It had a section fitted with work tables, ergonomic chairs, and the latest laptops. It also had a relaxation area as well, with colorful cushions in various shades. I remember seeing orange and green bean bags, board games, and some well-watered plants. When we entered the hub, a group of young men paused mid-argument and looked at us like humans stumbling upon a group of aliens. One of the older-looking guys stood and walked toward a group of closets, pulling out two huge blankets. By the time he approached us with the blankets, the group seemed to have moved on, getting back into their interrupt