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  2. Dannnyworld forum created an app for Android user for ease of access to our forum. Click Here to download the app. Enjoy
  3. A stolen key Written by Joseph Daniel Depressed, I sat in my room. Tears dripping from my eyes An broken heart I have got A sad gift from my first love. Will I ever get over this.. A Stony heart I grew. The door to my heart I locked. I can never fall in love again. Coz I threw them away. What! The key to my heart. Tired, I walked in the shinning sun. My wobbled feet staggering with me. My eyes roaming about in its socket. Then you I saw with your pals. I could feel butterflies in my stomach. A bright light you are to me. Oh no! Could this be love. No! I wouldn't want it to be. I couldn't stop thinking about you. Every silent on my bed. When the voice of the Nightingale is heard. Your image keep reappearing in my head. But that was against my wish. My Stony heart turned fleshy. Imprisoned, I felt by love. shackled, I am by his tact. Now I know who you are A great thief I termed you to be Coz you've stolen the key The key to my heart [[adm]dannyworld[/adm]
  4. Eyes of the prophecy (Forbidden twins) Written by Joseph Daniel King James sat in his chamber oblivious of the things going on around him as he was lost in his reveries. His mind wander back to the beginning of his terror. The day the prophecy was made! He had been an evil king from the day of his coronation, colonizing and destroying towns as many as he could, even his own people hated and feared him and he loved it. He loved the fear. He loved the shivering people felt on seeing him but then the prophecy came by the priest. He was caught in his own game. He didn't believe it at first as he thought no one not a twins is capable of stopping him. He locked up the priest for blaspheming against him but then the people's fear for him reduces. He could hear gossips from them. They believe in the priest. Thinking a twins will come to stop his tyranny. He ignore themselve at first but couldn't stop when it became too much. He travelled in search for the old wizard who was banished due to his practice dark magic. To his disappointment, the wizard confirmed it. Angered by the confirmation, he tried to kill the wizard who disappeared leaving him in despair. He travelled back to his town killing every twins born. He released the locked priest who assisted him in confirming if the one who fulfill the prophecy has been born. Years passed, but he hadn't killed the chosen one. The steps of three men moved in rhythm as they walked towards the palace. Their clothes depicted they weren't from Caramel. Their clothes was made of linen and their shoe shone in response to the sunlight. "Good day" they greeted the palace guards who face weren't smiling. "Who are you and what brought you here?" A palace guard questioned in a rugged voice. "Easy boy, we came all the way to see your king" The guards communed a little with themselves. "Follow me" a guard said as he lead the way to king James' chamber. . King James was jolted from his reverie by the guard who barged in. He could have punished him but couldn't due to the presence of the three men. "Who are they" he thunderedin his most terrifying voice makinf the guard who brought them scampered away but the men seems not to be moved by him. "My Lord we are astrologers. We brought a special information for you my king" King James glared at them. He don't need any foolish gossip anymore. He had enough already. He was almost sending them out when one of them said something that caught his interest. "You saw a star" "Yes my Lord, we saw two great stars signifying two powerful children from the same womb" From the same womb? That's a twin. Yes, a twin. "Astrologers" King James Boomed as his face beamed in delight. "You brought a great information. Take me to where the stars lead you." "As you wish O King" King James laughed evily, he never thought this day will come... T.b.c Enjoy [adm] This story is compete fictional. Any role related to someone dead or alive is merely coincidence. Alright reserved (C) Joseph Daniel Do not try to plagiarized[ this story[/adm]
  5. Eyes of the prophecy (forbidden twins) A birthday story Synopsis A long time ago, there was a land A land? Yes the land of Caramel. You might think what's so special about a land but wait! In the land lives a king who is hunted by a prophecy. Raged by the prophecy, he killed and killed in bid to stop the one who is chosen to fulfill the prophecy, a hundred years passed but still he hasn't killed the right person, he had lost hope on stopping the prophecy untill one night. He had some strange visitors. What could they be there for
  6. [mod]Pls take permission before copying[/mod]
  7. [adm]This story is copyrighted[/adm]
  8. Itzprince


    WE ARE ABLE "A Touching Story" Episode 1 I feel a cold touch at my back. It is harmattan period. I just want to be left on my bed. I turn around like a fat cake, but mother turns me around again. I can see her mouth moving. I wonder what she is saying. But certainly she can’t be saying anything more than the fact—I am lazy. My school is in Ejigbo, Lagos. They say we are special people, yet I haven’t perceived anything special about us. Some of us can’t talk. Some of us can’t walk; some of us can’t see, yet they say we are special. Well, I am not moved a bit by those flatteries. I look at mother’s hand movements. It is funny to me. I smile. I wonder when she will be able to master the sign language. “Rose, get out of bed,” she has managed to communicate with her hands. She has to repeat each word just to put them at their best. I could remember challenging my teacher some times back that… I rise up lazily and go straight for my bath. When I get to the bathroom, I see a basin filled with water there. Wow! It is warm. I splash the water on my body. I observe that the door is shaking but I didn’t really think about it. I continue pouring water on my body. Today in particular, I spend around thirty minutes in the bathroom. The water is just exactly as I want it to be— warm. When I step out of the bathroom, daddy gives me a scornful look. The grotesque on mother’s face also suggests to me that I have done something wrong again. Why me all the time? My father gets into the bathroom and begins to open his mouth. Since I am deaf, I didn’t hear what he is saying, but my mother is opening her mouth too in return. They understand each other—it’s only we, the special one so called, that can’t understand them. Mother helps father to carry a bucket of water into the bathroom. That man—always angry. I don’t know his problem. He is far away from me more than a stranger. I wonder why he is my father. Mother quickly taps me and I face her when that man has entered the bathroom. “Rose, you used your father’s water,” mother says to me in her amateur sign language, yet she claims that she has learnt the language while I was five years of age. I wonder what is still keeping her in the amateur level till now, after six years. “I used his water? How?” I ask. Sometimes my hands just get tired of speaking. I wonder how I will be able to speak if I become paralyzed in my hands or a bad accident claims them. “I put his water in the bathroom first because he must be in Ikeja as early as possible.” “Why don’t you tell me that before I entered the bathroom?” I ask. “Em…Rose…erm…” my mother’s face is clugged up with tears. I know she is a very tender person —not wanting to raise anything that will remind me of my status— deaf and dumb. “Em what? What has letter ‘M’ got to do with this?” I am confused. “When you were leaving, I was calling you, but you were too fast. You have already entered the bathroom. I only woke you up so that you could go and brush your teeth and not to take your bath. Your daddy will be angry with us. He has been kicking at the bathroom door for a long time to break it if he could.” I know what mother is talking about: she wakes me up; I rush to the bathroom without looking at her to hear from her (you have to look at someone to see his/her communication). But if that is the only thing that has happened, does it warrant my dad frowning at me in that manner as if I am nothing but a fart? “Is he my daddy? I doubt it,” I say. Mother doesn’t want my eyes to get those tears in them again. She comes on time to wipe them off for me. I don’t believe I have a daddy yet. The only pictures I took with that man mother calls my dad are the ones during my one year and two years birthdays. No recent pictures, yet I am already eleven. Maybe if he knew that I would never speak in life, he would not have snapped those pictures with me then. Who creates me? I am sure it is not the same God who creates the other people on earth. I have approached my mother once and said, “Don’t you think it is satan who creates me?” “Don’t say that again Rose!” mother replies me. The vigour with which she moves her hands shows to me that she is shouting. “But why can’t I hear and speak?” I challenge her. “I thought that they say that all the things he creates were good.” “You are good either,” she says to me. “Good?” I laugh mockingly. Those lips of mine, what can they do other than eating, laughing and crying? I have been advised by my teachers to laugh always, since it will prevent my mouth from smelling. But I don’t seem to see the reason for laughing at all. I only laugh to make jest of people sometimes. Nothing again can make me laugh, even if you tickle me I won’t. I didn’t feel like going to school that day again. That man in the bathroom has killed my joy. How I wish I am not born into this family. If I am born into another family, it’s only my mother I will miss. Who cares about John, that wicked man? I think. Reluctantly, I sit at the table. If only mummy can allow me have my own meal inside my room and not at the dinning table. Or what is the essence of eating at the dinning table when my daddy is having his own food in a separate dish? It’s only my mother and I who eat together in the same plate. I see the way John is leering at me as if he should just lock me up somewhere. He is guzzling the food as if he hasn’t eaten since the day before yesterday. He can’t even communicate with me since he has refused to learn the sign language like my mother. He will only tell my mother to tell me anything he wanted to tell me, yet if he has written them down I would have understood him. I have perceived that mother doesn’t use to tell me what my father was asking her to tell me. Perhaps my father’s words will be too harsh on me. She has to come out clear one day when the preacher in our church condemns the act of lying in all its ramifications. That day, mother said to me that she has been telling me the opposites of what father has been asking her to tell me. I didn’t need to ask her what exactly he has been saying since commonsense is there in me to know that they were unpleasant things. I am looking away while eating. Mother taps me. A mould of amala is still in her grip, but she has something to tell me. With the food in her hand, mother gestures to me, “Rose, your daddy says you should stop looking away from your food.” I frown. I know that what he said is more than that. His face can tell it all—many wrinkles on his forehead. If only he can speak in a mild manner to me, it had been better. I quickly readjust and eat my food, silently as usual, since there isn’t any noise I want to make. I see daddy speaking to her again. This time, mummy speaks back with an angry face. It seems as if they are on my matter again. At last, mummy speaks to me: “Rose, don’t get angry, but your dad says that I should tell you that if his boss gets angry at him for coming late to office today, then you are in trouble. But don’t mind him, Rose, he can’t do anything for you.” That is how my mummy will always say, yet that man will beat both of us together whenever it is time for him to do so. My father looks at us as if he is suspecting that my mother is saying more than he said to her. I look at his mouth and I am able to figure out the first word he says: “Hannah…” That is the name of my mother. I fold my hands and didn’t eat again. Father didn’t even care. He has finished eating the amala. He has begun to rush out of the house. That Volkswagen he has, he hasn’t used it to take me to school once. Sometimes my mummy will use it to take me there if he is on afternoon duty, since he will be sleeping in the morning by then. Father points to me as if he is threatening me when he gets to the door. Mother is just looking at him. When he leaves, she rushes to me and hugs me tight. She was shedding tears as she presses her lips firmly against my cheek. I am off to school. Mother takes me there herself before going to her own work too. Throughout the school period, I didn’t speak a word. Mrs Oyin, our class teacher is surprised. How come Rose’s name didn’t enter the name of noise maker today? she must have thought (we write names of noise makers in our school too; making unnecessary sign language is a noise). Mrs. Oyin is a second mother to us. She likes everyone of us in Primary Six B. When she comes into the class to punish the noise makers, she calls me out and takes me out of the class. If only I can hear, then she would not have taken me out of the class. She would just have whispered into my ears. In the office, she says, “Why are you not speaking today?” I tell her there is nothing. When I get back home, daddy was already inside. I am surprised. He is supposed to be in the office by then. I go on my knees to greet him, but then, he slaps me on the face. I scream with all the power inside me. He will be the only one to suffer the sound from my throat. He didn’t leave me alone. He has come on me, punching me like a punching bag. Mother rushes in at once and begin to prevent him. But it is too late. My eyes are swollen already, yet I didn’t know my offence. It is the next day I know what has happened. My father has been suspended from office for two weeks for getting late to work that day. But does that call for dealing with me brutally that way? God should kill me once and for all, I think. To be continued
  9. Itzprince


    Ass-ignment . . With gratitude to God for giving me the uncommon wisdom of blocking my parents, nosy aunties and religious siblings on whatsapp. As far as they are concerned, I’ll always be their last born or baby brother that is pure and untainted and God forbid I know anything like a-s, condoms and the unholiest of them all “sex”. God will continue to bless their naivety (Ameen). So if you’re reading this, I don’t consider you holy and we will burn in hell together ( just kidding). Brethren, I, like any other curious, God-fearing, law-abiding, attention- seeking and well meaning Nigerian have always wondered why a-s or crudely known as nyash is underrated. (Idle Mind na Devil workshop true true). “The understanding of a-s(ets) and it’s movements and proper gyrations which translates to it’s power is the beginning of wisdom for any girl” – Herbert Macaulay, 2017. We will all agree that this is true because he left his grave to inform everyone that cares to listen about this before going back. God bless his blessed soul. It is safe to say, ladies and gentlemen that these remarkable attachments have gone a long way in defining or redefining our growth and achievements as people of this great nation. To understand a-s is to understand spirituality. How else would you explain why one part of the body will cause an innocent man to defy the laws of physics and biology and turn his neck 180 degrees?. If you think I’m joking, just go to the market place or live in a neighborhood with yoruba people (pepper is not their only trademark) and you will see miracles (TB Joshua is an apprentice). That was how one young man, caught under the anointing of a-s attempted this and his neck remained there permanently. He didn’t even realize this until his forward movements seemed backwards and vice versa. Basically he was moon-walking forwards. How we solved that problem is a story for another day. To understand a-s is to understand divine wisdom. You think all these young boys and married men (oops) especially the ones not doing well in school have poor memories?? Think again. If you’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing greatness in the form of men describing a woman’s behind that he saw 7 years ago to other men, you will understand that Scofield is a learner and that the devil is a liar. If you’re a girl and you’re reading this, calm down before you accept the devil in your life and say hurtful things like “men are pigs” or “men are scum”. While they are hurtful, they are as useless as condoms to an impotent man. My point is, it won’t change anything. Men will look, analyze, carry out lab tests even. Sue them!!. God will bless you with enough money and female lawyers to facilitate your cause (Ameen).. To understand a-s is to understand pure suffering. I know what you’re thinking, how can something be so beautiful and yet so dangerous?. You’ve obviously never heard of money before. That was how this single astounding booty (pun intended) succeeded in wiping out half the men in my street and leaving the other half to tell the tale. How?, Let me explain. My street used to be like any mechanical engineering department in the world, it lacked a-s. And as expected, we were living happily but we’ve always known something was missing, mi(a-s)ing if you will. Keep in mind that this incident happened before I was born, so praise the Lord. Maybe I won’t be here telling this tale today. Angels don’t drive neither do they enter public transport. They do what they do best. They appear and that was how this lady showed up. News of this booty spread like butter on bread ( somebody that knows my parents might read this and truncate my hustle, so yes, it’s bread and butter I’ve always wanted to say, not anything else. I love you mummy!!) and before you could say “assignment”, half the men were already on their way to the scene. The other half heard but they were not able to outsmart their wives as they promptly locked all the doors and they dutifully swallowed the keys (God bless those women). Boys will be boys, but in this case, men will be zombies because nobody had the courage to interrupt the a-s by asking questions like “who are you?” And “what are you doing here?”.The sensible ones were at home with their wives, loathing her asslessness. When you hear cases of women “locking” their husbands down or up as the case may be. This is what they meant. Anyway, they just followed her until…. well, I don’t know what later happened, as I have pointed out earlier, I wasn’t born yet. The narrator (the only man with balls) told his wife that this was his house and she was going to abide by his rules and God dammit he was going to leave his house and do what real men were doing. Long story short, he later peeped through the window with his first son on the lookout for the real owner of the house. Sometimes men have to relinquish control for the society to prosper (life is mysterious like that). Nobody saw or heard from them after that assident, sorry accident. The remaining people left the street for fear that the a-s might return. I know a lot of people will not believe this story. They will let the devil use them and say fallacious things like “this story didn’t happen” but let me ask you, have you ever heard of a street called hskvdgu before? ( the “v” is silent). I didn’t think so. Enough said. If I tell you everything now, what will I tell my coworkers when I’m trying to sound wise and insightful. Imagine how I’ll feel when they come to me for wisdom and I happily narrate this story and they go “we’ve already heard this somewhere, tell us something else”. Then I’ll hesitate and one of them with eyes that words cannot describe will say something like “he doesn’t even know anything sef”. Blood will spill that day. Most likely mine but blood is still blood. I believe with all these points, I’ve been able to convince you that the importance of booty is key to the development of any society and its power, if properly harnessed, will create world peace, solve world hunger and eradicate our energy problems once and for all. In order words, any part of the body is important, but a-s is importanter.
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