Thursday, 27 February 2014

Can You See Me? 8

Short stories, Hot Topics and relevant information on Music and the Arts! The official Blog page for Bodederek.com seeking to educate, entertain and inform. We invite aspiring writers to showcase their talent here. Read short stories for free here!

Stories are all works of fiction. Names, characters, place and events are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and places is totally coincidental




"Hey stinky!" the voice came from somewhere on his left. Fafo looked up. It was Glynn Taft, six feet two inches, bald, with a beard embedded with bits of food. The dour odour that still clung to Fafo like a cloud seem to be attracting the wrong kind of people. He ignored Glynn and his two convict friends, notorious troublemakers everyone avoided. He found sitting in the open like now helped to dissipate the smell coming from the cruel pouch around his neck.

Not responding to Glynn's taunt seemed a mistake, they were coming closer to where he sat when Fafo noticed someone drop next to him on his right. The skinny old black man with a long neck, Fafo sensed no danger from, he found his presence kind of reassuring. It boosted his confidence and made him glare back at Glynn and his cronies. They backed off, there were too many witnesses around. The old black man telling Fafo not to pay them any attention didn't look like someone they could mess with either. It made the three troublemakers mark Fafo's card and move on.

Fafo looked the old boy over, reminding himself that he was in a prison and he really couldn't trust anyone. He hadn't noticed him before, with his wizened old face and slight build, he had a west indian tilt to his accent. The old boy looked at him too, a knowing smile on his lips. "You got troubles boy," he said, Fafo rolled his eyes, "tell me about it!". 

"Want to talk about it?"

"You wouldn't believe it, anyway!"

"Tell me,"

"Never mind."

"Does it have anything with that thing around your neck?"

"You can see it?" Fafo exclaimed!

"It's there, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's there but nobody seems to notice it but me."


"Most people will not see or notice, you see some people see further than most. Just as some will see less, others will see more. That is just the way the world is." The man who Fafo will later call Pops explained. "Get up, let us take a walk around the football field, it's the only exercise I'll get today before lock up."

They stood up and began to walk.

Continued later.......

Wednesday, 19 February 2014

Can You See Me 7

Short stories, Hot Topics and relevant information on Music and the Arts! The official Blog page for Bodederek.com seeking to educate, entertain and inform. We invite aspiring writers to showcase their talent here. Read short stories for free here!

Stories are all works of fiction. Names, characters, place and events are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and places is totally coincidental




Fafo sat alone and isolated on the edge of the prison football field. His fellow convicts walked by him in twos and threes. A match was in progress between two wings within the medium category prison. Only a small number of spectators watched the match in progress. Some of the prisoners gave him a wide berth as they passed by him. A few sniggered, sneaked a peek at him and covered their noses as they walked by.

The leather pouch was back around his neck. He seemed resigned to that fact now, deciding to accept  that life would be much easier for him, at least while he served his sentence, to stop trying to ditch the bloody thing. Two years and eight months served, twenty months of which had been as a remand prisoner. With good behaviour, his lawyer had explained, he would be released and deported back to Nigeria in another four years.

The charm seemed to appear and vanish at will. The last time he tried to bring the thing to the attention of his custodians in a court cell, they had seriously considered sectioning him under the mental health act. After that incident, he had resolved to get rid of the thing on his own and bided his time. Alone in his cell at night, he noticed that he could easily remove it. He would usually place it under the rock hard pillow just before he went to sleep. 

Four days previously, Fafo had made his move. In the tiny cell, he had his own personal wash basin and toilet. He kept his cell scrupulously clean and the aluminium bowls gleamed. That night, he held the pouch in his left hand as he urinated. As soon as he finished, he threw pouch and leather string into his toilet and quickly flushed it down. To his delight, the pouch sank without a trace. He went to bed and slept soundly.

He woke the next morning and stepped into a flooded cell. The toilet bowl was brimming with sewage and faeces. The stink was overpowering. He waded through the terrible mess to the emergency button that will summon his jailers. The officers came but they were not in a hurry to open up and let him out. They had the whole prison wing to consider. The horrible smell that met them as they approached, also made them reluctant to rush to open the iron doors. Part of the mess had seeped through the bottom of the doors and was spreading through the corridor. The yelling and the banging on the door of several cells, added to their confusion. The officers had to go get rain-boots and protective clothing before returning to deal with the situation. By the time they returned to let him out, Fafo was in tears.

He was taken out, given the usual unscented soap and sent to the bathrooms to take a wash. It would have been worse if the plumbers knew what caused the flooding. Even they were baffled, they could not explain why this particular toilet, in this particular cell, overflowed the way it did. So Fafo escaped being put on report.

Escorted to another wing, he got a new cell. The heavy doors banged behind him and he heard the key turn in the lock. He looked inside the little wooden cupboard in the corner and froze. On the top shelf was the leather pouch and string. He couldn't believe his eyes...

To be continued.....


'Bodederek

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Monday, 17 February 2014

It's Official. Better to Be Single!

Short stories, Hot Topics and relevant information on Music and the Arts! The official Blog page for Bodederek.com seeking to educate, entertain and inform. We invite aspiring writers to showcase their talent here. Read short stories for free here!

The Five Scientifically Proven Reasons!





Bella DePaulo, a psychologist and the author of "singled Out" gives five scientifically proven reasons why it's better to be single.

In a study that followed 9000 middle aged adults for eight years, rates of heart disease were lowest among those who had never been married and all the statuses that came from getting married, were significantly worse off.

Those who had never married were fitter and seemed to exercise more.

Singles were stronger socially because married people are less likely than single people to help, support, visit and maintain contact with friends, family and neighbours.

People who can embrace being single are less likely to end up settling for unhappy partnerships, feeling stuck and unfulfilled.

Solitude in contrast to loneliness is often a positive state. "One that may be sought rather than avoided."


All the reasons are valid and true although it can also be said that singles can miss the bliss of companionship and other benefits when those who tie the knot actually get it right. Like Aristotle once said, "Love Is Composed of A Single Soul Inhabiting Two Bodies."

Stay safe and Peace out!

'Bodederek









Tuesday, 11 February 2014

Can You See Me? 6

Short stories, Hot Topics and relevant information on Music and the Arts! The official Blog page for Bodederek.com seeking to educate, entertain and inform. We invite aspiring writers to showcase their talent here. Read short stories for free here!

Stories are all works of fiction. Names, characters, place and events are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and places is totally coincidental



The custody sergeant in charge of the dingy tomblike cells below the courtroom, was having an informal conversation with some colleagues in the main reception area; located next to the spiral staircase leading up to the courts above. He was a big pudgy fellow with a sallow complexion; probably due to the many years of working in an environment that saw little sunlight. Sergeant Emmanuel Gross considered himself lucky to have such a cushy job, supervising the herding of prisoners in and out of the cells, receiving, dispatching and making sure that they are ready to appear.




The blood curdling scream from Fafo's cell sent a shiver down his spine and sent him racing toward the cells. He moved at lightning speed that was surprising for a man his size, arriving at Fafo's cell in no time at all. He went inside and saw the prisoner writhing on the floor holding the back of his right hand. "Are you all right mate?"



"No, sir," replied Fafo truthfully. "I have to remove this thing from my neck," he said, pointing to his shoulder. "What thing?" asked Sergeant Gross. Fafo reached for the string around his neck and to his amazement, the pouch was no longer there. His jaw dropped, his face crumbled and he started to sob. The sergeant asked him to sit up on the cot while he went back to the reception to call for a doctor.



Walking briskly toward the reception area, he noticed that his staff were huddled together immersed in muffled conversation. "Someone, go upstairs and bring the doctor to see to the prisoner in cell nine!" he bellowed. "The prisoner will have to wait," came the retort, " the doctor is in Judge Simmons chambers, seems his honour has just had a heart attack."



The sergeant went into his office to record the incident in cell nine into the custodial diary. Just finishing, he looked up and saw the Clerk of the Courts in the doorway. The immaculately dressed Clerk informed him that court four would not be sitting because the presiding judge has just been pronounced dead by the doctor. Gross's shoulder slumped, he sat back in his chair. He will now have to arrange to transport the prisoners booked to appear in court four back to the various remand centres, one of which included Fafo.



Twenty two years as a custody sergeant, Gross had never experienced a morning such as this. His sallow complexion was beginning to turn into a dark shade of red. The prisoners due to appear before the dead judge will definitely play up and give him a hard time. Some will complain about the delay, demanding their day in court while a few disgruntled ones may cheer. The one thing he was convinced about was, it was going to be an awful long day.



To be continued….





'Bodederek

Thursday, 6 February 2014

Can You See Me? 4 & 5

Short stories, Hot Topics and relevant information on Music and the Arts! The official Blog page for Bodederek.com seeking to educate, entertain and inform. We invite aspiring writers to showcase their talent here. Read short stories for free here!

Stories are all works of fiction. Names, characters, place and events are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events and places is totally coincidental

4
Fafo stared hard at the charm that seems to have taken on a mischievous life of it's own. The many events that now seemed to have had a bearing on this thing that he now holds in his hands, had become too numerous to dismiss as coincidence.

The open and shut case that both the Customs people and the police thought they had, almost disintegrated before their very eyes. The lead detective charged with prosecuting Fafo suffered a nervous breakdown. Detective Sergeant Eric Fisher's problems began, when an urgent report came in stating that the contraband stored as evidence in a supposedly secure police bonded warehouse was gradually diminishing in size.

Almost half of the exhibit had somehow vanished; no one could explain why, so Sgt. Fisher's credibility came under scrutiny. When his superiors started to suspect and accuse him of tampering with the evidence, Sgt. Fisher promptly quit and had to be replaced. Further delays came at the committal stage when the new officer in charge failed to show up to court on the actual date that this case was to be referred to the Crown Court. His only child had been killed in a hit and run incident that very morning.

Meanwhile, Fafo stayed on remand longer than was usual. Of course various interviews were carried out with him by investigators who suspected that maybe Fafo had people on the outside who were proactively engineering the various calamities happening. All they got out of Fafo were the usual mumbles which made no sense to any of them.

The evidence kept shrinking, suspicion reigned as an air of distrust developed  amongst the investigators, technicians, customs and even the judiciary. The prosecution, customs and the police quickly regrouped, consolidated the remaining evidence and the depositions to preserve what was left of their open and shut case. At the same time they were doing this, the charm had mysteriously disappeared from around Fafo's neck.


5
Fafo got ready for court with mixed feelings, relief on the one hand that the process had begun, he would at least know what his fate would be. Hopefully he might even get a result. His barrister seemed a smart fellow who looked capable of literally pulling the proverbial rabbit out of a hat. He was also apprehensive that he might, on the other hand, get the proverbial book thrown at him; which was what happened in the end.

At least with the start of the trial, the feeling that he was in limbo would cease. So smartly dressed, watered and fed by the prison guards, he hopped into the van with a spring in his step. He was happy as the van sped through the quiet english countryside. Looking out of his little cubicle he drank in the view, envied those that he saw quietly going about their daily business. The view from his mobile cell was enchanting, especially the shop signs and the brightly coloured clothes on those he saw, seemed even more colourful, at least compared to the drab prison environment that had been his home for quite a while now.

He felt an itch around his neck and scratched under his collar. The shock when he felt the leather string hanging there, almost made him faint. The charm had returned, and this time it seemed to be radiating some kind of mild energy; pulsating and throbbing. He swallowed his panic, replaced it with a kind of hope, if he could only remember the incantations he was taught verbatim, he might still be able to control this thing that was fast becoming a millstone around his neck.

In court, while locked in the basement cells of the courthouse, he tried to remove the string from around his neck, unfortunately the harder he tried, the more the string dug into his neck and began to hurt. Fed up, he grabbed the pouch itself in an attempt to yank the thing from around his neck. The searing pain went from his palm and shot up his arm. It felt like he had grabbed a red hot piece of burning coal. Fafo screamed!

Continued soon!




'Bodederek


Monday, 3 February 2014

Can You See Me? (Part 3)

Short stories, Hot Topics and relevant information on Music and the Arts! The official Blog page for Bodederek.com seeking to educate, entertain and inform. We invite aspiring writers to showcase their talent here. Read short stories for free here!



The charm in Fafo's possession was acquired from back home to help in the aiding and abetting of a smuggling exercise. A premeditated plan to successfully smuggle a large suitcase of class A drugs into the country. The talisman was sold as an escape mechanism, if the contraband was ever discovered, Fafo believed it. The sorcerer who manufactured up the talismanic looking charm had a track record and a solid reputation.

Total confidence in the talisman made him throw caution to the wind, total greed made him overload the large suitcase. His confident air almost got him through the inspection, but his struggle with the heavy looking suitcase eventually brought him under closer scrutiny. Discovery and arrest followed. What happened next from the point of view of the customs people was quite comic. From Fafo's point of view, it was quite a tragedy.

He replayed the scene at the airport in his head and quickly dismissed it from his mind. The memory was just too painful, the good natured snickering from the officials present and the hollow deflated feeling of panic when he realised the charm had failed to do it's job was too much for him to handle, even now.

Scepticism in the charm's powers came to him quite naturally at first. The most natural and logical conclusion was to rationalise that the charm was a dud. He'd been furious at his own gullibility and naivety. Now, he knew different. A lot had happened since then to dispel any doubt. It took close to two years to finally resolve his case because there was a lot of adjournments and delays. Nearly everyone involved in prosecuting him suffered some calamity. When the second judge appointed to hear his case dropped dead suddenly on the first day of trial, nobody was eager to take the case.

The inconvenience was too much, even for Fafo, he panicked and deliberately tried to lose the talis on one occasion, but the thing mysteriously appeared around his neck when he woke up the very next day. The judge that finally resolved the case was reputed to be a high ranking freemason not intimidated easily by the occult. He gave Fafo a tongue lashing, commented on the sheer audacity of the accused before he calmly sentenced him to ten years in prison.

Sitting quietly on his single bed in a prison cell, he took the object from around his neck. A black leather pouch about the same size as his thumb with a leathery rope acting as the chain. He examined it and wondered what to do next. This charm he now holds in his hands, seem to mock him.


(To be continued...)


'Bodederek


Saturday, 1 February 2014

Can You See Me 2 (Continued)

Short stories, Hot Topics and relevant information on Music and the Arts! The official Blog page for Bodederek.com seeking to educate, entertain and inform. We invite aspiring writers to showcase their talent here. Read short stories for free here!

The Story Continues:


By mid-morning he was with detectives in an office within the station. Two plainclothes officers sat opposite Fafo, while one spoke, the other seemed to be sizing him up. Their questions were numerous but they were not getting any answers out of this prisoner; if only they knew what was going on inside Fafo's head, they would have left the questioning until later.

Apart from confirming his name, date of birth and that he had been a passenger on the flight from Lagos, the prisoner kept his silence. From time to time, he would mumble sounds that seem to be words in a foreign language. At one point, he stood up and raised his left leg. Alarmed, thinking he would get violent, the detectives also jumped to their feet and firmly asked him to sit down.

"Do you realise how much trouble you are in?" one of the officers asked, he got no reply. They asked about his contacts in London, where he intended to stay in the city and how long he planned to stay and got no answer but mumbles. The officers were totally at a loss by the time they returned him to his cell at lunchtime. 

Fafo sat on the wooden bench in the cell and for the first time, the gravity of his situation hit him. He buried his head in his hands and began to weep. He wondered what would happen to him thousands of miles from home. What would his friends and family say? He was also beginning to doubt the effectiveness of the charm that he had so confidently depended on. He had been guaranteed that the charm would get him out of a sticky situation if one were to arise. Now he wasn't so sure anymore.

He had been offered the services of a lawyer which he had ignored. Now he was thinking seriously about asking for a lawyer. What would he say to the lawyer or anyone, how could he rationally explain his bold decision to carry a suitcase full of class A drugs and travel to Heathrow airport without any attempt at concealment. People would think he was a stupid fool (which he knew he wasn't) or he was a  crazy lunatic who belongs in an asylum (which he now thought could be the answer). He made a decision to ask for a lawyer next time the cops come to question him.

(To be continued...)

'Bodederek


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The Dogon Tribe

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