Don’t Go into the Woods

“Fear is a misperceived and overexaggerated event borne of the human ID.

What do you think is out there, human or monster? Micheal mused

“I dunno”, Alexander was un-flinched by the wild bush and thorns before them, “Only one way to find out”, she stepped forward. “Come with me?”

Micheal scoffed. “I’m really not that curious, it’s getting dark, and I’m terrible with directions”.

Alex batted her eyes and pouted, “I can’t do this without you. Please.”

Micheal tentatively filled his lungs with air, then led the way.

The air was humid. There was barely space between the sprouting weed to thread upon. The soil beneath them was damp. They were startled by the cawing crows circling the sky above them, then they flew away. They forced their way through the small path, halting by a lake that ran as far as their eyes could see. It split the forest into two halves, the side they were on, and the other side.

“This is the best we’re going to discover,” Micheal fact-checked, “let’s make some pictures and go home”.

Alexander took out her Nikon. Click. Click. She paused, focusing on the images.

“There’s a cottage, over there the other side, we sh—”

“No, it’s dark”. Micheal sternly dissuaded.

But Alexander countered. “Obviously nobody lives there, we may have just discovered a clubhouse or secret hideout”

“Yea, you can tell me all about it later”, disenchanted by his friend’s pervicaciousness, Micheal started to leave in the direction from which they came.

Alexander stood feeling betrayed. She sighed, then begun ebbing against the stream which rose to her knees. There was an old willow tree in front of the hut where two tenebrous crows rested. She swung the door open, stepping into darkness. She fidgeted her blazer for a lighter, and soon a rich yellow glow bathed her skin while illuminating the cottage.

It was slovenly. There were cobwebs on every surface. One raggedy old boot in the corner. A book rested on the table in the middle. She flipped the dusty brown pages, nothing was inscribed. A grimy cauldron on the hearth.

A gale left her in darkness yet again. She fidgeted with the lighter for several minutes until there was a glint. She near damn jumped out of her skin when she noticed an owl on the table staring at her intently.

“HOO HOO are you?”, the Owl’s wings began to shed and fingers sprouted from the feathers, it’s nape elongated, it’s torso broadens.

Alexander’s glassy eyes widened as the bird transformed completely into a human. A Nyx.

“Cat caught your tongue? I asked what you’re doing in my woods?”

Ihow didwhat are you? she couldn’t seem to piece the words together

The Nyx wore a menacing rictus, “there are so many things in this world that would fry your pretty brain if you tried to wrap your head around them.” Taking several steps towards the visibly shaken girl, she paused an inch to her face, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Normally people who disturb me get into trouble, but youI sense somethingit’s not fear”. She crossed Alex, stepping behind. “You came here hoping to find something in ordinary because darkness is the adrenaline that feeds your soul. Am I wrong?

Alexander did not utter a sound.

“I’m going to let you go, she continued, “but, I am keeping your friend”

Alex snapped out of the valor, “what do you mean?”

She grinned, revealing her scattered dentures, “The lad you came here with. He’s mine.”

A glint of lightning revealed Micheal in the corner of the hut, his feet sinking into the ground. “Help Alex, I can’t get out”, he yelled. Another glint and he was gone.

” I invaded your privacy, not him, please let him go.”

The door swung violently open, the woman pointed a crusty finger towards it. “Leave now, while you still can”

Alexander fell on the floor, pleading. Cowering.

The woman spat, “your fear is pungent and your heart is hardened., very well. But, you must come to my cottage, every day for as long as you live, and you must write into that notepad, anything. Everyday. This is your omen, in return, your friend’s memory of this is wiped and he lives. Now go.”

Alex ran out as quick as she could. She could hear ta stentorian snicker. Several crows took to the sky. She dived through the trees but she wouldn’t look back till she got home.


The following day, Alexander saw Micheal and sure enough, his recollection of their adventure ended before the lake. He even joked about her new arcane hideout. After lunch, She went back to the cottage. She sat at the table, picking up a pen. She began;

Chapter One: Don’t go into the woods

Son of Pisces

Eons prior to your creation, the sun charted the heaven; Son of Pisces

Neptune unravels its secrets,  invisible no longer

Like aquamarine; your eyes glisten, mirroring your soul.


Frivolous, yet compassionate. You love  like a martyr

Prideful, like the Braveheart. Yours is a torn, pervicacious spirit

Ardent, like the scorpion, revering in  the illusion of life,

Seen and unseen.



Your feet long to leave its prints, voyaging through unassailable  foreign dimensions

Your sentient visions splurge  in daylight

Innovative, like the mind of the water bearer.

As sure as the tide ebbs and wanes;

Son of Pisces

You were meant to be who you are.


Little Wanderer

Her mother calls her little wanderer. Her brother says she’ll twist a joint if she swings from one more branch. she’d play dress up and hopscotch.

She loved to twirl most of all. It’ll transport her into Neurkhkryx, where everyone is minuscule, like crystal. All eleven tribes are peace-loving. Poverty doesn’t exist. It is Nirvana.

Chihuahuas are the deadliest creatures, and leopards are homebred.

Her extraterrestrial neighbor, Ayo, who migrated from Azuzu, the ninth planet, would stop by with oatmeal raisin cookies whenever she voyaged here. There is no segregation between ETs and Neurakhites, neither is immigration laws complicated. There is no prejudice.

Amongst them, she is giant. They’d stare in awe then make pictures with her. They’d invite her to their homes to dine and meditate. There is only one God, Yahweh, whom they meditate to and they’d often ask questions about the world she came from, Earth.

She’d always have to leave, this made her forehead wrink Back to the other world and its troubles. Her mother would take her to Dr., and he would say;

“Your child has absence seizures, and perhaps a mild autism. Be wary lest she wanders too far”.

Before the first luminous star fades. She would fold unto her mother’s thighs. A smile painted on her lip.

One day, this world would accept her just like in Neukhkryx, this she was certain. And maybe then she could show them that being different isn’t as scary as it’s played out to be.


There is a dilapidating dark  place

Once occupied by wonder, and  meadows

Rainbows, and childish exuberance.

Now a foul stench seethes through the vents.


An inferno ravished by,

leaving behind rusty embers

where a playground used to be.

Despair is borne of a fairytale.


A creature roams through the wreckage.

It blooms, unrestrained. Unencumbered.

It wreaks of melancholia.

Known territories

Unknown boundaries.


It lurks, night & day,

Never resting,

Ever peering its apathetic yellow eyes

Scowling for a faint whiff of hemoglobin.

Innocence must be purged.


Minuscule words, with inexorable meanings.






There is an old Afrikaan proverb which says, no matter what a leopard does, he could never rid himself of his spots.


This is the story of a German lad. He resided in England for the first four years of his life, then his family had to move back to Germany. He made no friends in his new school, he’d sit by himself during lunchtime. His name is Patrick.

The was only one other kid who ate lunch. She was a tall, black girl. He’d stare at her till she catches his eyes on her.  She had a unique beauty, one he’d never seen before. Her name is Ada.


He worked every day at his father’s grape yard, after school hours. One day, he invited her to tag along.  She nodded. Silently, they picked grapes, then a song flustering out the radio which made him forget where he was or what he was doing.  He grooved to the tune. She noticed his exuberance.

“you know who’s playing?”

“No”, Patrick replied, shaking his bum.

“Marvin Gaye, Got to give it up”

It saddened him when the song was over, so she yanked his arm and they ran into a CD store, above the archives, they found everything. Motown records, Tina Turner, the Supremes, Louis Armstrong.

Patrick bought the best of Ray Charles and Otis Redding CDs. He played them twice through that day.


Their friendship blossomed,  and so did Patrick’s inquisition of the African culture.

He could watch,  A soldier’s story, 1984,  a million times,  he had the albums of the Jazziest, funkiest and soulful artists. Of his records, Ada’s favorites were Gladys Knight & the pips and Al Green.

Patrick would have endless questions about her origin.

He wanted to understand why several Nubian princesses he came across preferred weaves.  He would tell them all how beautiful they are,  whether they have a short afro or curly locks, whether they are Ugandan or Ghanian.


He went on to major in History.

Patrick soon learned about the part of history that has been subdued.  The scramble for Africa. The atrocities surrounding King Leopold IIs reign in the Congo-free state, the mutilation of child laborers.

He discovered that the Congo terror was not released to the public media.  It moved him to tears.

Ada noticed him sulking.

“You found out,  she said knowingly, The looting of crude oil and Benin bronze is in the past”.

She paused.

“But the present isn’t any different, why is it easier for you to migrate to the UK,  yet it easier for me to be denied entry because of the countries we each represent?  Ideally, the aftermath of neo-imperialism should yield excellent foreign policies between EU and African leaders, encouraging Africa’s growth.

“Ideally, it should” he agreed in an undertone

Ada wanted to say more about the discrimination concerning citizens of third world countries. Instead, she gave him, Chris Hedges, Days of Destruction, Days of Revolt.

Patrick would find out how rich capitalist in the USA  profit off minors by investing in private prisons. How charges for drug and gun possession are exaggerated by law enforcement. He watched the documentary, The house I live in, and he understood the systemic prejudice. He wishes he could do more.


He is an activist for human rights.

She is an author and an advocate for African youths. The ambassador for Nigeria in Austria.


Scramble for Africa

Spoils Of War

King Leopard II of Belgium

The house I live in

Days of Destruction, Days of Revolt