kazuna:


The funniest thang is that i ve not seen this film....YET 50% of people that i show this thread kept referring the film.

Okay, Me start to download the damm film

Thankie really....

I am working on a full edit already. with all the input from Greeneyes, thepasserby.......Hectic job. But I
promised myself to get my very own first horror collabo on kobobooks. Its a new year resolve.

Ok, I will be checking out ur story and I may add bits of input if I see any where I can.
Hey check out my book, I just opened a thread for it. A science fiction MARVEL CHRONICLES. tell me what u think about it later.

I like that trancelike vibe to greeneyes input.....drugged imagery...vacant mind twists....suggestions of the schizo.... I had subverted itinto a separate chapter/plot that is coming up after this.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv


The Woman rattled on forever. Talked about her decaying tooth and how she refused to wear dentures that could be insecurely hooked. Talked about the kidneys failing and mosquitoes desperately trying to suck away her life source. Whispered of a genteel presence that sneaks into her cell space at night and her willingness to let the presence slide its hideous phallus with a mushroom head into her.

Ignoring her, in such close quarters, was herculean. It was torture. Eliza wished for a full extended 15 cc shot of Morpine. Something to numb her frayed mind, a liliac coffin to shut herself in and dim the world for a while, anything to cancel out her new cell mate's incoherent jabs.

In a space of 40 mins, Eliza felt weak and irritated on her very first evening in cell. Suicide urges mounted waves of despair and confusion and anger. Where went the delicious thoughts of planning a jail break? How can you retain your wits when you share the same periphery with a truly sick woman?

The woman snapped shut only when Eliza uncurled from the bed and flushed the WC (the bowl was surprisingly sparkling). Eliza breathed a sigh of relief, that cessation in gibberish was a huge weight lifted off her mind . The slush of water seemed to fascinate the semi-catatonic. She listened intently as the WC groaned,bony knuckles clasped tightly around her cell's iron rib cage.

The WC's groan stilted to a wheezy croak and died. Quietness, however momentuous, should be a virtue. A pure distillation only comparable to the sort of resolute calmness felt when you place a pillow gently over the face of a sedated bastard. Eliza prayed the woman would return back to her bed and doze off into a coma. Her prayers weren't answered.

Apollux:

Ok, I will be checking out ur story and I may add bits of input if I see any where I can.
Hey check out my book, I just opened a thread for it. A science fiction MARVEL CHRONICLES. tell me what u think about it later.

I luv sci-fi. I once had one here (Earth is a Baby)....It died a horrible death. Less views , less critique........ok, let just say that my brain fried out of ideas for that. Heading over to ur thread.

kazuna:

I luv sci-fi. I once had one here (Earth is a Baby)....It died a horrible death. Less views , less critique........ok, let just say that my brain fried out of ideas for that. Heading over to ur thread.

Good. U should because I have already updated up to chapter two. So far I have up to chapter 4 down, I already have all d plots of the story in my head, all I need is to put it in writing

She bolted with a shout.


Elizabeth had tossed on her spongy mattress for several minutes before she forced her self to sleep. That was after the ever talking schizo across finally dozed off. Three hours later, she awoken with a shout, panting and drenched in sweat. She slipped from the bed and staggered to the alluring, incandescent light of the corridor cutting across the cell grids. She place her forehead against her cell bars. She welcomed its rustic coolness against her skin and then forced herself to recollect the details of her nightmare. Her ears barely registering the phlegmatic snores of her co-mates and the ventilation pipe humming in rhythm , filtering the air for the schizoids. Someone along that desolate stretch of institutional aisle was murmuring about getting Eric to swallow Sniper. Lots of farts , overbloated, got echoed too.

She slipped gradually to the floor, curled in a foetus position and clasped her hands on her knees and shivering a bit as the sweat tricked down her back. The corridor's bulb flickered, dimmed and then fizzled out.

Darkness was as tonic as a bath shower.

Eliza never could say she had suffered seriously from insomnia but she was afraid now that it is gradually rearing its ugly head more often. In the past week she had rarely slept more than four hours and it had showed. Rarely in the past three weeks, the third month after Ozioma’s death had she not awoken with a start-reeling from a mind bending dream. She stared into the blank darkness of the corridor-willing her self not to cry. She must stop. A tremor quietly seized her body. Every other night she’d awoken with a start but this night she bolted with a shout.

No! No! Was all she kept moaning till she could convince herself that it was only a dream; a lurid one, that is almost becoming part of her sleeping routine.

There were kaleidoscopes of the events leading to his drenching with the mixture of inflammables. In another dream in a dream, She had watched from a distance, a spectator watching some grossing horror flip alone in a forebodingly dark cinema room.
She saw herself standing by the master room door. Hands fidgeting with her ankle length beige skirt and glancing repeatedly over her shoulders to see if their daughter was coming up the stairs. Ozioma curled like some oversized baby on the king-size bed they bought in an auction in Onitsha. His back to her. Once or thrice he had shook in a fit of coughing and drawn breaths. Ozioma had developed pnuemonia and cirrhosis.

And he had whimpered then.

And she had advanced forward into the room.

She made straight for the Obeche wood closet, a meter from the foot of the bed and retrieved a stainless steel first aid box containing his drugs, below the rung of clothes, mostly Ozioma’s expensive agbada. Ozioma then did turn and looked at her and wanted to mutter something when another fit of coughing seized him. And at the same time She was inserting the needle point of a syringe into the soft rubber cap of a tiny vial.

Suxamethonium Chloride; colloquially referred in emergency circles as Sux, induces short term muscle relaxation in anaesthesia especially in endotrachial intubation. It has the fastest onset and shortest duration of action of muscle relaxants in emergency medicine. It is quickly degraded in the body by plasma butyrcholinesterase and its effect wears off in a few minutes.

In Tamil Nadu, anaesthetics ask for their patients’ castes because many members of the Arya Vaisya Chettiyar clan are fatally allergic to Sux.
Sux does not produce unconsciousness or anaesthesia; its effects may cause significant distress and simultaneously rendering the patient unable to communicate.

She had siphoned 15ml, just enough to stop in a minute - all sympathetic motor co-ordination and then in a smattering of 5 minutes or thereabout would initiate ventricular fibrillations.
“What’s that? I’m not taking injections if that’s what that slowpoke think I should begin doing” she thought she heard Ozioma grumbled. But she wasn’t really sure, right then she was bent in accomplishing her task. she was too lost in the success of it that somehow it seems she was transfused into another plane where her unconscious brain was in the driver’s seat and her sensory perceptions are forever numbed.

She could only feel the mad rush of adrenaline in her circulation and her thought processes spurning around her task.
“I’m not taking any fucking injection just give me my tablets”. Ozioma crooned further and went back to his curled position again, staring forlornly at the oriental bed lamp on a bedside drawer with the hand painted geishas figurines.

“Suits you then, I’ll get you your tablets” she had said quietly and clinically and pretend rummaging via the steel box. But that was only to divert her husband's attention.
The next minute came by fast in a flurry of quick steps and a sharp cry of pain and a splutter of coughs and another cry of desperation as the needle point plunged expertly into Ozi’s jugular veins. The nearer the target organ the faster.

The contents of the syringe emptied as fast as she could manage the plunger and then she relaxed her muscles. Her panting almost matching her husband’s spontaneous coughing beats. She knew the drug will set into action in just….

When Ozioma recovered from his spluttering fit, he had turned and fiercely clutched his wife’s right hand. The grip was too savage for a weak pnuemonia stricken person. Eliza winced and cried out in anguish. The syringe dropping off and nearly hitting Ozioma’s right eye just by whiskers. A tiny red spot appeared immediately where it’s sharp needle point pricked his temple, just above the right brow. She was taken totally unawares and for a prickly moment there, She thought Ozioma could even kill her before the drug begins to take effect.

And much to her immense relief, Ozioma's grip began loosening as his muscles set in an inadvertent relax.


Wriggling away from her now getting-paralyzed-husband, She gathered her ankle length skirt , sprang off the bed and moved quickly into the next room, a small inlet that Ozioma used as his studio. He was an enthusiasistic pastel artist even with his drinking and he kept a lot of turpentine for thinning his acrylic paints. She saw herself grab the rather heavy tin of Turpe , her eyes briefly scanning the obvious manufacturer's notice in flaming yellow: Highly flammable.

In a matter of two minutes she drenched the immobile man, splattered the aromatic incendiary lavishly on his chest and groin region. she remembered not doing this with hate but rather with a sense of purpose, a need to do the needful.

She had known that within the universe of emotions, hate affords the most candid clarity of mind, however, there's a lot of room for error if you used it as a yardstick for vengeful justice.

She had moved a little distance away from the bed. Her eyes momentarily resting on her man's scared eyes (she had never seen Ozi this frightened, she guess anyone would be if someone was about to make you crisp toast) and then she flicked a match at him. Angry tongues of fire tasted and quickly licked up the bed sheets with relish, crawling slowly and then hastily over Ozioma's sweat and incendiary drenched body.

Ozioma's skin ruptured into fissures as the fire ran over him, but he lay still, as frozen as a dead iced fish - motionless, just tears rolling down in glistening golden globulets and the muscle around his lips spasiating. In his view, though getting misty with his tears, he saw his standing mirror provide a last, hellish vision of himself consumed.

Tongues of fire danced around him, the heat washing over his drenched body. In seconds, his skin took the colour and texture of greasy goat meat then it tans and darkened.

Then the dream had morphed, as such nightmares do.

Ozioma crunched in a hollow depression on the bed. His measly skin peeling off in charred chunks, revealing the stark whites of his bones. The fire had eaten his facial muscles but it was still so starkly recognizable. His badly burnt eyes were reduced to spherical masses of blackness starring out-dispassionately at her.
His mouth, a slit of skeletal teeth stuck into fissures of burnt gums, had cracked into a spittle drooling smile and then at one point had quivered as If to say something to her only to turn in an agonizing howl that echoed and echoed.

He writhed in that depression carved into his bed for what seemed like forever. Each movement with the virtuosity of a wounded but vicious snake...........OK THIS IS WHERE I WILL MERGE GREENEYES PART