Sphere Of Time

I was not always alone; I once had friends. Lots of friends. Friends that I played with, talked with and joked with. Friends that I got into trouble and got punished with. Friends that I grew with, laughed with and cried with.
I had tons of friends.

We grew up together and were as close as the petals of a rose. We’d play lots of childish games; we’d chase the chickens around the house, we’d race to climb mango trees, we’d even play hide-and-seek.

But something- a great rift- broke us apart. A great big chasm that neither of us could cross appeared between us, with me on one side, and my friends on the other. My friends grew up while I remained trapped in a sphere of time. I watched as Annie’s parents died and she stopped playing with us. I watched as Abena stopped watching cartoons and reading comics because Annie had stopped doing those things.

Kofi, Danny, Maame and Trisha remained, but they were not with me in the sphere. Kofi grew to be very handsome and he suddenly had no time for us average girls. It embarrassed him to be seen playing with us and when he finally started acting, he left us in the dust.

Danny –who had always loved to learn- decided to focus even more on his books. He became a dull boy and played with us no longer. <em>There is no time to play when I have so much to learn</em>, he said. Danny-boy became a big shot in the field of science with all his ground breaking theories and still I remained trapped in the sphere.

Puberty was kind to Maame and her body developed splendidly. She had as many suitors as the sands of the beach and could not spend time with us single-folks. With kids who knew nothing about the touch of a man. Eventually some guy got her pregnant and she had no choice but to grow up.

Trisha was the last one left, but I knew she would go too, for I was still trapped in that sphere, never ageing, never maturing. Still a child, still frozen in time. I watched as my best friend went to college and I stared after her as she drifted away. I watched as she grew up and the cords that bound us snapped. She no longer read books or watched anime. She no longer laughed at my jokes or played my video games. I knew she was tired of me, but I could not grow up. Try as I may, I could not destroy the sphere. I was still trapped when she told me she was travelling for work and I watched helplessly as she faded away. She never returned and here I remained. Alone and lonely in my eternal cage. Frozen still in my sphere of time.

I was not always alone.

Road of Fire

Once on a very beautiful night, while the breeze blew and the band played, I walked the road of fire. It was not engulfed in fire, but lit by it and the fire gave the night sky a beautifully eerie orange glow, much like the glow of the northern lights- if they were orange. As I walked in a group with a few of my friends, I could not help but think of her and how much she would love this. Of how fun it would be to walk side by side-with fire in our hands- and talk about trivial things and joke about everything we see. So when I got home, I told her about the fiery road and how lovely it would be. I pleaded and begged her to come with me. I made sure I went with her to all her events and accompanied her to all her boring meetings until she agreed. I just wanted her to come with me.

Next year came and my friends invited me to go with them, but I turned them down because of her. I wanted to walk the fiery path with her. The day finally arrived but she had to go to work and she promised that she would before six so we would not miss the procession. She was always working you know, leaving little time for us to bond. But today all that would change when we walked along the road of fire.

At four o’clock I was still waiting, but I was not worried because she said she would come. We had planned for a year, surely she would not hurt me like this? I was not worried at all- or so I thought, because even as I thought that I began to draw. I often draw to hide my anxiety. But she would come, she had to come.

When it was five, I took my bath and got dressed. I would get ready so when she came we would not waste any more time at home. My friends were still texting me, asking me to come, but I could not leave her. I promised her I would wait and so I continued to draw.

It was nine and she hadn’t come home-or called. The procession was way over and I had changed out of my outing clothes. I was hurting deep inside so I still continued to draw. Because if I stopped…. I just didn’t want to stop.

She came at ten, looking tired and worn. Said she stayed to volunteer at work.  Said she knew I wouldn’t mind. Even though I did mind-so much that my throat closed and my heart bled- I composed myself, shrugged and said, “It would have been boring anyway. Who wants to watch a big fire?”  

I did. I wanted to watch a big fire.

Anime Art Of The Week : Epic Fusion: Naruto and Goku

Ever since I started watching Naruto, I have been wondering how a Naruto-Goku fusion would look like. Naruto and Goku are alike in sooo many ways and I think their fusion would be great. I mean the result would have the Kamehameha wave and the Rasen Shuriken, Super Saiyan Kyuubi Mode. Oozaru-Kyuubi mode (hmm I think I'll draw that) and Kaio-Ken and Sage Mode. Saiyan's speed and Shinobi's chakra! I think it would be an epic fusion! And when I finally googled and saw fusion pictures, I realized that they looked more like Goku than Naruto so I decided to take matters into my own hands and create a fusion that looks more like Naruto. So this here folks is my Naruto-Goku(Super Saiyan 1) fusion!!

Tools used:
Obviously pencils and erasers
Black ink
Crayola and Staedtler(just for his face and headband) colour pencils

So what should I name him??
Gokuto?
Naroku?
Goruto?
Nagoku?
Please tell me what you think?

Maame Water : Legend Of The Fish Queen (Part 2)

                         PART 2
I was still looking into her eyes, but in place of the warmth I had seen there barely seconds ago was a dark, frightening coldness, a coldness which wrapped itself around my throat and caused me to start speaking without even meaning to.

“My father, the king sent me. Our land…. our land.. it is being threatened by invaders from the beyond the sea. Their skin.. they are as white a ghosts. There are so many of them, we will never be able to defeat them and, and if we do not fight them, if we do not re-resist, we will became their sl-slaves.” I stammered.

“Mmmm. That is indeed  very unfortunate.” Maame Water raised an eyebrow, “But why, my prince, are you here?”

I gulped.

“I- my father sent me here to ask you and your sisters for your help. He said-“

“HELP?” she laughed, pressing me closer to her. “The king sent you here to ask for my help?”

“Yes. He said you were the only one with enough power to… to defeat such a vast army.” I responded.

She pressed the dagger harder against my throat.

“Even if that were true, my dear nephew,” she sneered, “what makes you think that I would help your father? What makes you think that I  would help save my idiotic brother’s lands after he banished me to live in this infernal cave? What makes you think that my sisters and I  would even dream of coming to the aid of your traitorous king?” She spat the last word out like it was cursed.

The dagger pierced my skin and I felt the warm red liquid run down my neck.                 As the gore of her kill  

“Because, because I-“ I stopped and swallowed.” Because I can break the curse. I can free you from this cave.”

She narrowed her eyes and slowly smirked, “Tch, tch, tch. You lie, my prince. Has your father not told you the story behind the curse?”

He had, in fact and my mind instantly recalled the gruesome tale.
                             ***

       
    Young Warrior, Young Warrior     
   Do not go out to sea;                  
   She will ensnare you with her beauty            And trap you with her song  
Ultimately when you long for breath
And your drowned lungs break the spell….                                          

  19 Years Ago

The man stood at the edge of the forest and gazed admiringly at the sea. He liked everything about the sea; the breeze calmed him and the warring waves made beautiful music when they crashed against the shores. More importantly, he admired the enormous power the sea wielded. He-the sea (for the man never thought of the sea as a female) - could crush even the mightiest of canoes with a single wave and starve the mightiest kingdoms by leading the fishes away from their fishermen. The man was positive that this large stretch of raging water that sent fearsome storms and frightful waves to destroy mighty lands could never be a woman. Only men commanded such power. Yes, the sea was a man, a powerful man like himself.

Indeed, the man was once a powerful warrior, one of the King’s finest until he was made a fugitive. The King had arrested him because the man had taught some insignificant woman a minor lesson in respect. He laughed to himself. Okay, it was more than a minor lesson but the wench deserved it. 

The useless woman, whose only purpose was to please men like himself, had refused to lie with him and hence, had insulted his dignity by implying that she was worth more than his manhood. Unacceptable! She would pay dearly for her insult. And pay, she did.

He had waited till she was alone before he attacked her.

Initially, she had made futile attempts to defend herself by hitting him with her flimsy hands but did she really think her little hands could defeat his war- hardened ones? These same hands that had broken the muscle-bound neck of Ayiteh the Giant. Stupid woman. Eventually when she realized that she would never win, she begun to beg him. She begged and pleaded, expecting him to forgive her insolence. A man of power does not show mercy to a woman. Finally, she resorted to lying and giving excuses, saying that she had never lain with a man before and that she was a virgin.

Even better. The man had thought. It will hurt even more. 

She had indeed screamed and cried out with pain when he begun and he laughed at her anguish. Hahaha. Scream, foolish woman, scream! You will learn respect!
And whenever she stopped screaming or pleading, he would beat her so that she resumed. When the whore was barely conscious and could utter no more than a pathetic whimper, he left her for dead. He did not know then that the woman was the only daughter of Elder Neequaye and that she would survive the ordeal, so when the elder’s men came to his house to arrest him the following morning, he had been quite surprised. Nevertheless, he had escaped his prison the night before his trial, sneaked into the elder’s quarters and slit the impertinent prostitute’s throat.

He had been on the run ever since, raping girls where ever he went only this time he made sure none of whores lived to tell the tale.

Tonight, he was looking for his next victim and he was getting impatient because it was almost midnight and he had not even spotted his prey. He closed his eyes and prayed that the powerful sea would grant him a good hunt. He was therefore only a little surprised when he saw a young female kneeling at the edge of the sea the moment he opened his eyes.
Thank you Father Sea, he thought as he made his way to the black-haired girl.

“You should not be out here. The sea is very dangerous at night.” The man liked to give his victims a false sense of security, he liked it when they trusted him and thought that he meant them no harm. He always savoured the looks of disbelief and betrayal that appeared on his victims’ faces when they realized how wrong they were.

“May I ask why you are here so late at night?” he asked.

She turned slowly, lifting her head to face him. A breeze passed by and blew her hair off her face.
The man stifled a gasp. This girl was truly beautiful, like no female he had ever laid his eyes on. She had a beautiful cloth wrapped around her waist that outlined her shapely hips amd simultaneously exposed her supple legs. The second cloth, which she wore over her upper half, covered all but her face, her hands and her stomach. Light from the moon reflected off her skin giving it the appearance of sparkling gold and her eyes were very dark- darker the shadows of the night. The sea had brought him this golden goddess and soon, she will belong to him. He licked his lips as he took in her dark eyes, smooth skin and bare stomach. She will be mine, she will belong to me and me alone.

“My brother… he has gone missing and I came here to search for him. I-I cannot find him anywhere and he’s a-all I have. I-“

The man knew of the sporadic disappearances of some of the village’s men and if this girl's brother had vanished in the same way, he was sure that her brother would turn up tomorrow morning- with his throat slit. What weaklings those men were! No one could kidnap him in the middle of the night and murder him! He was the king’s finest warrior! He would use the hands that had broken the neck of Ayiteh the Giant to strangle the foolish assassin! No man would dare to mess with him!

“It’s okay. I am sure he is fine.” He had pulled her into a hug and was now caressing her black, black hair. All mine.

“You should worry more about yourself and less about your brother. He is a man. Surely he can take care of himself?”

She pulled away from him and started wiping away her newly formed tears. “Yes. Yes you are quite right. It was silly of me to overreact like this. I-I was just so scared.”
He brushed his fingers across her face, across her cheeks and stopped at her lips. She stiffened.
You will belong to me.

“Do not fear me, girl. The sea has sent you to please me and I promise you, I will be extremely gentle.”

The girl looked around nervously. “Please you? I- I’m sorry I do not understand. I-“

“Do not worry,” the man cut in, ”I will make you understand.” And with that, he gripped her hair and forced her to kiss him. He did not get far though, when he felt a sharp sting across his cheek. The stupid girl had slapped him! He had promised her he would be gentle, but now she had forced him to obtain her the hard way.
The sea sent you to me! You are mine!

He drew his fist back and aimed for her cheek. As he let loose his power, he could not help but think; my hands will taste her flesh, these same hands that broke-

His hand had stopped moving.

The girl… the girl had managed to block the blow with her palm and now she was looking at him in a bored manner –not screaming in pain- as if the blow had not even touched her. Impossible. Even Ayiteh the Giant had begged him-

“You dare raise your hand against me? Do you not know who I am?” she said, her voice booming like thunder as she twisted his hand so that his bones cracked and he cried out in pain.

“Nothing! You are just a filthy woman! You are nothing!” he spat. He should have been afraid. No normal woman-or man for that matter- could have blocked his blow without getting hurt herself but the man was too proud to be wary of this shameless girl.

“You will not speak to me that way. You will fear me!” She twisted his hand again, breaking both of his hand bones. He screamed- like how Elder Neequaye’s daughter had screamed when he had hurt her- but she would not stop twisting.

Finally when the pain died down (for she had released his hand) and he was able to speak again, he said, gasping, “And why should I fear you?! You are but a woman! What could you possibly do to me?!”  

A lightning bolt from above illuminated the girl’s face and eyes and when the man looked into those cold eyes- the eyes he thought were black- he realized that they were in fact bright red…. like the eyes of the evil spirits that dwelled deep the Evil Forest. Trembling with fear, the man turned and run. 
The girl smiled, her teeth glittering in the moonlight.

“Oh, you have no idea what I am capable of.”                                   

                                  ***
Part 3 will come out next week!! Come back then if you want to know more about the legend!

Anime Art Of The Week : Natsu Dragneel

I know I said my blog would contain stuff about anime and I just realized that I have only written one article on anime. That's why today I am uploading my drawing of one of my favourite fire-users; Natsu Dragneel of Fairy Tail.

      

Natsu Dragneel is a fire dragonslayer and is a member of the Fairy Tail guild. His best friend is a magical blue cat named Happy, who despite my drawing, is almost always happy. Natsu was raised by the fire dragon, Igneel, who disappeared when Natsu was little; Natsu has been searching for him since then.
Natsu is very strong and is always bursting with so much energy that his ecstatic moods are almost always contagious. He is also not very bright and I find his stupidity somewhat cute.
He is very reckless and he almost never backs away from a fight. Natsu is mostly seen engaging in unnecessary fights with his fellow team mate and ice-user Gray Fullbuster.
Despite Natsu's tendency to joke, he gets very serious when his guild, Fairy Tail, is threatened and he would stop at nothing to payback those who hurt his guildmates.

Ultimate Battle: Spidey and Itachi

When I saw Itachi standing on that beam on the night that he killed his own clan, I was instantly aware of how he looked so much like Spiderman and since then I've wandered who would win if Itachi and Spidey were to engage in a full-blown battle!!
Spidey is super strong and superfast with quick reflexes. But can his speed defeat the Sharingan? Can his mask protect him from Itachi's Mangyekou-the illision technique?  Even if it could, Itachi could always use Amaterasu.. the black flames that can never be extinguished.
Spiderman's Spidey senses coupled with his fast reflexes may help him dodge Itachi's attacks but can Spidey's strong webs penetrate the formidable Susanoo?
I believe Spidey's most important advantage is that the Sharingan and its associated abilities will have negative effects on Itachi when they are used and that Itachi will be weakened by his own techniques.
Who will win? Spidey senses or The Sharingan? Spiderwebs or fireballs? Parker or Uchiha? Spidey or Itachi? Comment what you think below!!

Come back next week for more art by me, and more debates!

Bottom Of The Pit

I hold on to the slippery wall
Clinging to it so I do not fall
The voices around ask me to let go
And I am tempted not to say no

I know it would be easier though
To listen to the voices, my endearing foes
When I fall they will comfort me
Just how bad could possibly it be?
If they took away
All my sadness and pain
And erased today
All my worries and shame
I would never be lonely again

Yet when my journey comes to an abrupt end
And my fall performs its morbid finale
The voices would leave me
Broken and bloody
To fend for my wrecked self
At the bottom of the pit itself.

I look down into the black pit
If I give up now I will certainly die
Yet the darkness coaxes me
And urges me to comply.
Then I behold the light that keeps calling
The pinprick of hope that keeps me from falling.
As long as it stays with me
I will escape this pit
But not before I conquer the voices,
The evils that deny me my exit

Pounding Fufu

As I sat peeling the cassava of my relationship, I thought about all the times my mother and I pounded fufu. I was the pounder and she was the turner which meant that all she had to do was prepare the soup, cut the cassava and plantain and ‘ka” (turn) the inchoate fufu while I was pounding it. I did most of the work; I had to use most of my energy to hold a heavy pestle and strike the mixture (cassava and plantain) with it at approximately thirty-five centimetres per second for about thirty minutes. Sure I took short breaks, but work like that expended a lot of energy and all I asked in return was that my mother trust me not to use the speeding pestle to hit her hand as she was turning the fufu. That was all I asked.

Years have passed and I am about to pound a different kind of fufu but now I am the turner and he is the pounder. I realize that I understimated my mother's job  as I cut the meat and prepare the light soup. I realize the folly in my thinking as I judge the number of ingredients to invest in the meal.

When the cassava and plantain are cooked, he will wash the equipment and then hold the pestle-like a weapon- while he waits for me to make the first move. It will be his turn to contribute and all he asks is that I trust him not to crush my hand as he trusts me to 'ka' well.

My mind went back to my mother again: How did she do it? How could she put her hand on the line like that when she knew I might aim wrongly? How could she not vacillate even as I switched hands in the middle of pounding, just to impress?

Trust. She trusted that I would be accurate even when I was not wearing my glasses. She trusted that I would never intentionally hurt her even when I used my seldom-used left hand. Then again she’d known me all my life- enough time to build a lot of trust- and even if her hand were crushed, the meal would not suffer; my sister could always takeover.

But I had known him for barely six months and I did not have a plan to fall back on if he failed. I also could not back out now because I had invested too much time and energy; I had already prepared the soup and cooked the raw materials. I was in too deep. I also knew that my hand could not afford to be wary, to be afraid of getting hit because if it did, it would not take risks, it would not ‘ka’ the food well, and the fufu would come out lumpy and rough. No one likes lumpy fufu.

I look up at him, and he smiles, urging me to put the first cassava piece in the mortar, to take the first step. I could just trust his accuracy, trust his timing as we pound and mix the cassava and plantain, our love and commitment, produce smooth and soft fufu- free of any lumps- and eat our succulent reward with the light soup and the goat meat the soup contained.

Or he could betray my trust and strike my hand and I would lose everything. But he would walk away whole, with his pestle in hand, leaving me- broken and helpless-to pick up the pieces of the fufu he destroyed. He would walk away whole, with his pestle in hand, laughing at my naiveté, my gullibility and lastly my stupidity.

Maame Water: The Legend Of The Fish-Queen (Part 1)

We've all heard of sirens. Evil women with beautiful voices who lured Greek sailors to their watery graves. Many believe these sirens are just myths, stories told to children to keep them from doing wrong.
Yet to the Greeks, they were real and they were feared.
Ghana has its own equivalent of a siren, Maame Water. A beautiful mermaid who lurks in the bowels of any waterbody. Many a time I have asked myself, how did the legend of sirens come to being? How did people of different civilizations come to fear fish-women? And finally, how was the dark siren born?

This is short story answers the final question.




                  APPRECIATION
          I thank God for blessing me with enough creativity to write this story- no matter how short.                                                                      

                        PART 1

I made my way through the forest in the dark of the night, careful not to trip on any of the tree roots that crossed the trail lest I fall and sprain my ankle. The forest was quiet as I made my way to the cave reminding me that even the animals eschewed my destination. I tried not to think about where I was going or how the flimsy spear that bore the royal mark offered me negligible protection from the danger I was about to face. I had no other weapons and I did not even carry any amour. In fact, I was bare-chested, with only the green-and-gold royal cloth folded around my waist. Father asked me to go to the cave with little protection so the being I was seeking will know that I meant her no harm. My people needed her help and hostility would only serve to anger her. Even without provocation, she has been known to kill. Men who have wandered this close to her cave have never returned. Fishermen whose canoes have drifted to the point at which her cave opens out to the sea were never seen again. She is the most feared creature in the whole of the land and the elders say her voice is as lovely as that of a bird’s and that when you hear her song, you are lost forever.

Yet tonight, I was going willingly to her cave.

She was the only person who could save my people from the warriors that came from the Sea. They had arrived last two days from beyond the sea line in great big canoes and had declared war on my people. Their skin was as white as bone and their warriors as numerous as the sands of the beach. They had stayed at sea and had sent a messenger to land to tell us that they were given us two weeks to surrender and become their slaves or they would slaughter our tribe’s men and rape their wives and daughters. They would steal all our riches and sell our sons as slaves. Two weeks and my tribe would either be decimated or enslaved. My father is a proud man.

He killed the messenger.

Now a week had passed and we were facing imminent destruction. We were desperate and that is why when I suggested that we seek aid from her, my father offered little resistance. He reluctantly sent his son on a doomed quest to seek assistance from the fish-queen. To seek help from Maame Water.
I stopped when the forest trail led me to a small clearing because at the end of the clearing was the cave. Her cave. As I stared at the cave whose opening resembled the mouth of a beast, my resolve dissolved. What was I doing here? Had I not heard the rumors about the fish-queen? Had I not paid attention to the stories that told of the tragic fates that befell all who tried to seek her? Did I not recall all the songs that were sung about her? In fact, the first part of one particular song had stuck with me since I started on my quest and now I heard it all around me, as if the forest itself were singing me a warning.                    

         Young Warrior, Young Warrior                   You wish to go out to sea?
         Have you not heard of the evil that lurks deep in its depths?                
         Have you not heard of the fish queen?-                      
         Her countenance like an angel’s;                        And yet the blackness of her hair                Reflects the darkness of her soul                             As the gore of her kill          
         Bathes the crimson of its tips                  Haha, the fish-queen shall get you!                    No doubt she will!  

I shook my head to rid myself of the morbid tune and ignored the pounding of my heart. I had to do this; I had no choice. My people were counting on me. I took a deep breath and stepped into the cursed cave.  

The interior of the cave was beautiful. The walls of the cave were a deep gray and crisscrossing them were deep green vines. Green moss lined the walls closest to the lagoon and the lagoon- oh the lagoon was a clear deep blue- the most beautiful blue I had ever laid my eyes on. Light from somewhere- I could not tell where- reflected off the lagoon and onto the walls of the cave, painting them with the deep blue of the lagoon thus giving the cave a certain ethereal quality. Above me were hundreds of beautiful insects whose light cast a red-and-orange glow on the walls of the cave, which in turn created the illusion of a beautiful and eternal sunset. At the center of the lagoon- at the center of all this beauty- swam a lone woman.

Fear gripped my heart as she swam towards me but the closer she got, the more at ease I felt. She reached the edge of the lagoon and when I saw her face in the light, my breath caught in my throat. Never had I seen someone so beautiful, so heavenly! Her skin was brown, not like the fair-brown of all the ‘pretty’ girls in my village but also not like the brown of my skin. Hers was a golden-brown; the brown of a goddess. Her hair was a deep black, blacker than a moonless sky, and when I looked into her eyes- oh her dazzling eyes- I saw that they were a bright red colour. They were…. dark scarlet. Deep in the recesses of my mind, a voice echoed:                             

    And yet the blackness of her hair
   Reflects the darkness of her soul    

Before I could think about the voice, a beautiful sound filled the cave. It sounded like.. like singing. Women singing a song I neither knew nor understood but could not get enough of. The song filled me with happiness I had never felt before, with joy and passion, but more importantly, with wanting. I wanted to go to this beautiful woman with the scarlet eyes, I wanted to kiss her and obey her every word. My legs moved forward without much thinking on my part and I drew closer to the lagoon, spear clutched in my hand. Upon closer inspection, I saw that she wore a red and black crown on her head and that black seaweed covered only her breasts, leaving her flat stomach bare and vulnerable. I looked at her face again; she looked so young-like an 18-year-old. Surely this was not the woman my father asked me to fear. Surely this was not the woman who had murdered countless men. Surely nothing this beautiful could be capable of such evil?

I looked into her eyes- those eyes that threatened to drown me and asked, “Who are you?”

Her mouth worked itself into a small smile but she did not answer and so I tried again.

“You are very beautiful.”

“Am I?” she asked, clearly amused.  

How angelic her voice was- addictive even- her every syllable wrapping around my heart and pulling me ever closer to her. I needed to hear it again.

“Yes you are.” I replied, “And so is that song. Where is it coming from?” I asked, looking around. “Who is singing it?”

She laughed and oh what a sound it was, like soft claps of thunder. It was delightful, much like the invisible women’s singing but not as delicate. Her laugh-like her voice- held power and drew me to her in the same way blood drew mosquitoes to itself.

“My sisters of course. They are beneath the surface. Would you like to see some of them?” she said in her sing-song voice. I nodded and as if on cue three women emerged from the lagoon. They were all beautiful with long flowing hair and brown skin, though none of them had the golden tint of their black haired sister and none were as beautiful. One had brown hair, the other, blue and the last, red. They had stopped singing when they surfaced but now, without warning, they started again. The song swept over me and fell to my knees, dropping my spear. Scarlet Eyes reached forward and touched her right hand to my face. I gasped; her fingers had sent sparks throughout my whole body. Her hand traced the length of my face, moving down to my lips but she never stopped looking into my eyes. Her left hand reached up and clutched my head, her fingers playing gently with my hair. She pulled me closer to her so that our faces touched, so that our lips were mere breaths away from each other. She brushed her lips against mine sending hot tingles flowing through my body and leaving me breathless. I wanted more but Scarlet Eyes was pulling away from me, going into the water. Impulsively, I leaned into the lagoon, cupped my hand around her chin and pulled her closer to me. Our lips met, and she kissed me, hesitantly at first- like she was teasing me- but in a few seconds she was no longer holding back. Neither was I. Each of her kisses sent new waves of heat surging through my being, filling me with passion and longing. The longer we kissed, the hungrier I got but I could not stop for I had never before known warmth like this. I felt that if I paused even a little, coldness would overwhelm me and darkness would overtake my soul. If I stopped, this sweet passion would end and I would die. Dimly I was aware that the three sisters had submerged and that Scarlet Eyes was pulling me deeper into the water but I did not care. If she wanted me to follow her underwater, I would. At this point I would even die for her. The voice echoed again:                       
       
  Haha, the fish-queen shall get you!       
  No doubt she will!  

I ignored the voice and focused on the sweetness of the kiss but… the sweetness, the passion…. they were gone. Panicking, I opened my eyes and saw that Scarlet Eyes had pulled away again.

“Why did you stop?” I gasped, but she was not looking at me. Her eyes were fixed on my spear, precisely, on the royal mark that it bore.

“Why have you come here…” she asked, finally settling her gaze on me. “…My Prince?”

With those two words, the spell shattered. I looked into the lagoon and saw her sisters. The image was a bit distorted but I saw them. They had transformed, their eyes- even the whites- had turned red. Their fingers had grown longer and were sharper at the ends,  much like claws. Their teeth, still dazzling white, were bigger and now sharper than any sword- or spear for that matter. Strangely, in spite of all these frightening developments, they still looked beautiful. I heard a noise above me and looked up, and on the roof of the cave, I saw bats, hundreds of them resting upside down. And their eyes were…. red? No, No, those were the glowing insects. They flew so close to the bats that they looked like the bats' eyes. I tore my gaze from the roof and settled it on the woman in front of me. Her left hand was still on my head and her right hand-now in the lagoon- held a dagger to my throat. I looked into the water and when I saw them any doubt I had about who she was quickly evaporated.  Her black tail covered with scarlet-outlined scales, moved in the water and the ends of her hair were a dark red colour... crimson.                    

               As the gore of her kill              
            Bathes the crimson of its tips

Fear and realization gripped me and I tried to move away from her but I had no control over my body. She had trapped me! Maame Water had immobilized me! I would have been dead by now had she not seen the mark on my spear. She noticed the look on my face and smiled. 

Cover Art- Beverly Decker

This is just part one!! Check my account next week for part two!!

Book Review: Maximum Ride

Today, I am conducting a review one of my favourite non-girly girl book series', Maximum Ride. This 8-series sci-fi book series was written by James Patterson (or one of his minions) and it is rumoured that even more books will be added to already lengthy  the series.  

Synopsis: The story is set two years after Max (14) and her 'flock' escape the laboratory of a group of evil scientists who kidnap and conduct genetic experiments on little children. (Max names the laboratory 'The School'.) However, Max and her flock members, Fang (also 14), Iggy (14), Nudge (11), Gazzy (8), and sweet little Angel (6) do not escape unadulterated.  The School grafted the DNA of different birds into each member of the flock's DNA when they were infants making Max and her flock 98% human and 2% bird. They all have wings and hollow bones and can therefore fly. They also have nuclei in their red blood cells and are naturally slender and tall. They are stronger and more resilient than regular humans and expend so much energy that they must eat above 3000 calories worth of food each day. At the beginning of the story some of the flock possess additional abilities; Angel, for example, is psychic.

Max and her flock are not the only experiments The School created and when Max and her flock escape, The School sends the malicious Erasers- short lived half-human, half-wolf killers- after them. Join Max  and her flock as they battle Erasers and struggle to survive in an attempt to evade The School and save the world from its nefarious grip. The flock cannot trust anyone-not even themselves.

Sample: The Angel Experiment

The funny thing about facing imminent death is that it really snaps everything else into perspective. Take right now, for instance. 

Run! Come on, run! You know you can do it. 

I gulped deep lungfuls of air. My brain was on hyper-drive; I was racing for my life. My one goal was 

to escape. 

Nothing else mattered. 

My arms being scratched to ribbons by a briar I'd run through? No biggie. 

My bare feet hitting every sharp rock, rough root, pointed stick? Not a problem. 

My lungs aching for air? I could deal. 

As long as I could put as much distance as possible between me and the Erasers. 

Yeah, Erasers. Mutants: half-men, half-wolves, usually armed, always bloodthirsty. Right now they were after me. 

See? That snaps everything into perspective. 

Run. You're faster than they are. You can outrun anyone. 

I'd never been this far from the School before. I was totally lost. Still, my arms pumped by my sides, my feet crashed through the underbrush, my eyes scanned ahead anxiously through the half-light. I could 

outrun them. I could find a clearing with enough space for me to— 

Oh, no. Oh, no. The unearthly baying of bloodhounds on the scent wailed through the trees, and I felt sick. I could outrun men—all of us could, even Angel, and she's only six. But none of us could outrun a big dog. 

Dogs, dogs, go away, let me live another day. 

They were getting closer. Dim light filtered in through the woods in front of me—a clearing? Please, please . . . a clearing could save me. 

I burst through the trees, chest heaving, a thin sheen of cold sweat on my skin. 

Yes! 

No—oh, no! 

I skidded to a halt, my arms waving, my feet backpedaling in the rocky dirt. 

It wasn't a clearing. In front of me was a cliff, a sheer face of rock that dropped to an unseeable floor hundreds of feet below. 

In back of me were woods filled with drooling bloodhounds and psycho Erasers with guns. 

Both options stank. 

The dogs were yelping excitedly—they'd found their prey: moi. 

I looked over the deadly drop. 

There was no choice, really. If you were me, you'd have done the same thing. 

I closed my eyes, held out my arms . . . and let myself fall over the edge of the cliff. 

The Erasers screamed angrily, the dogs barked hysterically, and then all I could hear was the sound of air rushing past me. 

It was so dang peaceful, for a second. I smiled. 

Then, taking a deep breath, I unfurled my wings as hard and fast as I could. 

Thirteen feet across, pale tan with white streaks and some freckly looking brown spots, they caught the air, and I was suddenly yanked upward, hard, as if a parachute had just opened. Yow! 

Note to self: No sudden unfurling. Wincing, I pushed downward with all my strength, then pulled my wings up, then pushed downward again. Oh, my god, I was flying—just like I'd always dreamed. The cliff floor, draped in shadow, receded beneath me. I laughed and surged upward, feeling the pull of my muscles, the air whistling through my secondary feathers, the breeze drying the sweat on my face. I soared up past the cliff edge, past the startled hounds and the furious Erasers. One of them, hairy-faced, fangs dripping, raised his gun. A red dot of light appeared on my torn nightgown. Not today, you jerk, I thought, veering sharply west so the sun would be in his hate-crazed eyes. 

I'm not going to die today.

Books In The Series;

1. The Angel Experiment

2. School's Out Forever

3. Saving The World And Other Extreme Sports

4. The Final Warning

5. Max: A Maximum Ride Novel

6. Fang: A Maximum Ride Novel

7. Angel: A Maximum Ride Novel

8. Nevermore

9. Maximum Ride Forever ( Soon to be published)

My Review: When I started to read the first book Max started to sound like Rachel and since I totally did not want to read another Animorph series ( I had read all the main 54 books and the other supplementary books) I was going to put it away but I decided against it and I must say I loved the series! Maximum Ride is not Animorphs. Max is a totally badass non-girly-girl with totally awesome butt-kicking techniques. I also that she is soooooo sarcastic! I simply adore Fang's silent and dark way and Angel's duplicity! The only problem I have with the series as a whole is that it is inconsistent. After the third book, the series deviates from the main story line and never seems to head back. So if you are a fan of coherent stories then I suggest you read up until the third book but if you do not mind inconsistencies and you have the ability to read each book individually (without the rest of the series in mind) I suggest you read it just for the fun of it. Max is really funny and sarcastic- she made me laugh so hard that I do not regret reading all 8 books and I will definitely read the 9th. I just want to hear Max speak!

Warning: She gets really funny after the first book

Other Reviews: 

       It's really good!!

                                - Hanson 

        I love it!! She' s funnier than Percy Jackson!

                               - Jaden Zuriel
   
         I loved it! The plot was perfectly written and there was a lot of suspense in the series.
                                - ShokuAli30 (deviantart)
         I like it! My mom read it to me when I was little and I still like it
                               - ItalysCurl11 (deviantart)
     
I liked it but it gets boring at some point
                               - Jeffrey

Now this is a terrible book.
Written with all the wit and grace of a one-legged puppy, Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment reveals its intentions within the first chapter alone.
                                - Joe(goodreads)


 Take a bit of the child-like innocence vs. evil of Harry Potter , some of the artificially-created destiny from Ender's Game , throw in the flying fantasies from Eragon and mix them in with Patterson's trademark flippant characterization, and you've got Maximum Ride.    
                                   - Allison (goodreads)

This book was okay, but I just felt like it didn't have a lot of substance. 
                                   - Angelc (goodreads)

Max is a sarcastic and tough teen with amazing
wings.
                                   - Denae (goodreads)
         

        

Rates: Goodreads-4.1/5
            Amazon -4.2/5
             Me- 4.0/5
PS- You can also have a look at the Maximum Ride manga and the Maximum Ride movie trailer

Scarlet Johansson In Film Adaptation Of Anime?

Do you remember the anime movie "Ghost In A Shell?"  It was centered on how the main character, Motoko Kusanagi, with the assistance of her team, tracks a mysterious hacker known as The Puppet Master.
Well, according to sources, it looks like a film adaptation of the anime will feature Scarlet Johansson as the lead character!! Although, not too many people are happy that the Black Widow actress would be starring as Motoko because they believe Motoko should be represented by an Asian actress and not a white one. Motoko is after all Japanese. These protestors claim that Hollywood is trying to whitewash the anime much like they did with Dragonball:Evolution. Akira's main character was played by Justin Chatwin- a white man.

On the other hand,  Hollywood may be using Scarlet because they think if she stars in the movie, people will definitely buy and watch it. I mean who doesn't want to watch a Scarlet Johansson movie?

So what do you think,  should Scarlet Johansson play Motoko Kusanagi in the upcoming movie? Or should an Asian actress be giving the role? Post your comments below.

Amanda Aboagye

Okay so this character is part of a comic that I have been working on for three years. Three. Whole. Years. You'd think by now I would have almost finished it. I mean how hard can creating a comic possibly be? Let me tell you how many pages I have drawn. Ten. Haha. Right now you're thinking: Dang!! This girl is lazy!! What the heck have you been doing? Are you really serious about this comic?

Let me just make something clear
1. I am LAZY. I am not going to deny that, but when it comes to art I am surprisingly hardworking you know.

2. I have been schooling. You know a school right? I have been attending the worst of schools- a boarding school. Amidst all the working and the scrubbing and the weeding, I had to learn for my final exams so EXCUSE me if I put my art on hold.

3. I am actually serious about it. The major reason I haven't been able to complete the comic is because it was stolen from me. Twice. The first time I had reached chapter three so it really did not bother me but the second time I had gone really far you know so it kind of broke me. So here I am, picking the shards of my being by drawing yet another comic.

It's called The Ultimate Dragon. I'll post the actual comic in another blog that I am yet to create.

Character Name: Amanda Aboagye
Age: 32
Ability: Ice; Water; Shadow; Illusion
Type: Former Shadow Ninja; Protector
Weapon: Ice and Fire Swords
Spouse: Yaw Aboagye (Deceased)
Children: Dennis Aboagye (Deceased) ; Yaa Aboagye
Status: Princess
Hair Colour: Blue
Eye Colour: Blue
Clothing: Blue ninja outfit, blue and black coat and black hat
Complexion: White
Aliases: The Ice Princess; The Princess Of The Shadows; The Shadow Princess; The Dark Princess; The Ice Ninja; The Ice Maiden
Hope you like her!!!

I am not a girly girl

True I am really not a girly girl. I dont do girly stuff and this little short is about my disastrous attempt at girliness. I hope you like it!!


I am not a girly girl. I hate putting on make-up, dress-shopping, having sleepovers with other girly girls and just about any other girly activities you can think off. I just do not see the point in slathering one’s face with all manner of artificial chemicals to bring out one’s so-called hidden beauty. Neither do I see the point in spending more than five minutes to buy a piece of cloth which is intended to cover your nakedness. Or in wearing suicidal shoes just to give a false impression of height. However, just because I find these practices highly outrageous does not mean my family does not demand them. In fact, it is my urge to meet these demands, to appease those family members who frown on my boyish ways that has put me in this precarious situation. It is because of these demands that I am presently trying to balance my killer (emphasis on the killer) wedges on some perfidious stones while carrying a load that, I swear, was given to me just so I could fall in front of all the people watching the procession.

Sigh.

I might as well tell you how I got into this quagmire.
My uncle is to be engaged today and my cousin, Abena, and I are required, much to my chagrin, to wear matching dresses. If I were a photo, Abena would have been my absolute negative. We are polar opposites of each other. She enjoys indulging in all the antecedent unnecessary girly activities and is too much of an attention seeker. A chameleon, her personality changes to match that of those presently around her. She has transformed so many times that only her family members- me inclusive- can see through her ever changing facades. Needless to say, her interests and hobbies always morph to match the situation. For instance, when she is around me, Abena develops a sudden, yet false, love for books, anime and soccer. Ultimately, she is a shallow little chameleon who can walk in high heels and all kinds of neck-breaking shoes.

I can’t.

I went to my aunt’s house to try out the dress-modesty is impossible here- and I looked divine in it- at least that’s what my aunt said; I can never tell . I had filled out the dress so that all my curves were outlined beautifully (again quoting my aunt). Abena on the other hand- seeing as she had not completed her transition to adulthood and thus had no curves whatsoever- looked like a stick in a dress. It did not help that she had recently cut her hair. My aunt was so in love with the dress that she asked what shoe I was going to wear to the engagement and before I could force my mouth to bring forth a response, the durned woman suggested that I wear a wedge she gave me a while ago. (Obviously since there was no way I could walk in that ‘thing’, I had stored it somewhere hot so it would get damaged before I would be demanded to wear it. I was not lucky).

I winced and replied, “Auntie Eva, please Mummy said I should were a brown wedge that she bought for me.” A total lie of course, but the wedge I had in mind was considerably shorter than that death-inducing shoe.
Auntie Eva frowned. “Brown? But that won’t match the dress. Anaa Connie wonhu?” 
(Or Connie, don’t you think so?)  

(The dress was turquoise). Auntie Connie, Abena’s mother, who happened to be present at the meeting asked, “Wedge b3n na wop3s3 ohy3?” 
(Which wedge do you want her to wear?).

“Oh, tenten green no. Na Connie wonkae?”  (Oh, the long green one. Connie don’t you remember it?)
“Aaaah,” Auntie Connie replied. “Mekae, mekae. But woy3 sure s3 ob3tumi ananti womu. Wei de3”-she pointed at me, “, s3 w’anhw3 yie ah, ob3tofom oo.”  
(I remember, I remember. But are you sure she would be able to walk in it. This one (pointing at me) will fall down if you are not careful.)

“Herh,” Auntie Eva looked pointedly at me. “Wob3tofom?”
(Hey. Will you fall?)

I could have just told the truth right then. I could have just said yes. I could have avoided the mess I have gotten myself into. I don’t even know what came over me because I knew I could never walk in that green shoe. Not with less than a day to prepare. Or no. Scratch that. I do know what came over me. Anger. Jealousy. Urge to impress. Pride. Choose any one of them. These were the emotions that flooded through me when Auntie Connie stated that Abena was also wearing a wedge. I will not let Abena show me up! I will retain my dignity by towering over her during the engagement; I after all am older so my shoes will have to be higher than hers. I did not know that that momentary lapse in judgment will cause my dignity to be trodden upon by war horses with Abena-in green wedges- as their rider.

So I lied. Again.

“Auntie Eva, me pa wokyew, metumi ananti womu.” I said, smiling.
(Auntie Eva, please I will be able to walk in it.}
“Woy3 sure?” she asked
(Are you sure?)
“Oh! Oboa! Ob3tofom!” Auntie Connie cut in. (Oh! She is lying! She will fall down)

I should have stopped there of course. The Lord had given me yet another way out. My mind-in a futile attempt to warn me- had already conjured various vivid scenes which involved me stumbling and falling and never getting up. I paid no heed to these omens. Figments of my wild imagination, I called them.

“Oh, Auntie Connie, me pa wokyew, merentofom. M’ahy3 ako asore da. 3y3 just that menhy3da ny3 comfortable womu.” Still smiling. Still seeing myself fall. Still ignoring the signs.
(Oh, Auntie Connie, please I won’t fall. I have worn the shoes to church before. It’s just that I don’t feel very comfortable in them.)

“3na fa spare gu wo bag no mu eh?” Auntie Eva so helpfully suggested. "So when you feel ‘uncomfortable’ you can change.”
(Then put a spare shoe in your bag eh?)

“Me pa wokyew yoo.” I replied.
(Yes please)

The second I arrived at home, I put on the accursed wedges, and amid vexing post-monitions, I honed my drunken gait. Initially, I stumbled so much that I stopped practicing with the wedges and, instead, used one of my mother’s shorter heels. When I acclimatized to the height, I went for higher heels and worked my way up to the infamous wedge. My stumbling had reduced and I began to gain confidence with every step. However, I was practicing on the flat terrain of the corridor. What will happen once I got outside and was required to walk on rocky terrain and rough paths? (Sadly my country is plagued with them) So I moved my runway to the backyard, a much rougher runway than the corridor. Finally, when I had stopped stumbling and faltering, I retired into the house. I was pleased with the results- the only problem I had was balancing on stones, but it’s not like the place the engagement would be held would be packed with stones, right?

Oh, how wrong I was.  

The next morning-that’s today- I wore the shoes and set out for the engagement . I balanced beautifully on the shoes, no tripping of any sort and I looked stunning. Tall and elegant and whatnot. I was a bit annoyed when I saw that Abena’s wedges were nowhere near as tall as mine but I really didn’t mind because it just made me look more mature than she looked. Everything was fine and dandy until at the engagement grounds- my uncles fiancé-to-be’s house- I was giving a parcel to hold- a very heavy parcel if I might add. So heavy that it unbalanced me. Crap! During all the time I spent practicing balance I did not carry a load heavier than my handbag- which held only my phone and a book. I struggled to maintain my balance but the durned parcel kept slipping. We-my cousins and I- were asked to stand in a line in front of the house while clutching our parcels. A line. A line is never good. A line usually means a procession which also usually means observation. I did not like that word, but I could be worrying myself over nothing. A woman in white at the front of the line shouted something that sounded like “Agoo”. But that couldn’t be right because-  

“AGOO”, she shouted again.

Agoo. Knock, knock. Oh no. it was then that I realized why I standing in a line and carrying a parcel. This was the knocking ceremony. In Ghana, a man does not get engaged by simply asking for a woman’s hand in marriage- no. There’s a whole ceremony that is performed before one can have a fiancé and the first step in that ceremony is the knocking ceremony. This is when the man and his family literally knock (hence the “agoo”) on the door of the woman’s house in order to hand over the bride price and ask for the woman’s hand in marriage. The parcel I was holding was the bride price- or at least part of it. Any fantasies I had held of not being observed by anyone if I tripped quickly dissolved. A line. A procession. Everyone’s attention will be on the dowry. On me. Surely it could not get worse than this.

I should not have thought that. I should have learnt from every book that I had read and from every movie (or cartoon) that I had watched that every time some idiot says “Surely it could not get worse than this”, it always does. For as dowry passed through the gate, I saw that covering the compound between the gate and the door were huge stones.  Not cute, smooth and tiny stone, noooooo. Humongous, rough and unforgiving stones! The kind of stones that can wreck your heels.
I.
Was.
Doomed.

I could already hear the shouts of dismay stumbled and fell. I could see Abena’s smirk clearly and I could hear my aunts’ laughter. I saw myself falling again. And again. And again. And never getting back up. My mind of course saw it fitting to remind me of a quote from Julius Caesar. During one of Mark Anthony’s speeches to the fickle crowd, he said:            
     
   O what a fall was there, my countrymen!       Then I, and you, and all of us fell down. 

Oh what a fall there will be. And all my countrymen will fall down with me; they will fall with thunderous laughter.  The line started to move. I took on shaky step onto the field of stones. I concentrated on my steps; two steps and I hadn’t yet fallen. I could do this. I was walking with confidence by the time the line stopped abruptly.

“AGOO!” the woman in white yelled again. The woman’s (the woman to be engaged) family had to grant us permission before we could go through the door. As I stood waiting, I got cocky, lost my concentration and stumbled. O what a fall was there. Why did I have to recall that phrase? Damn you Anthony! I quickly regained my composure, looked around and let out a grateful sigh. No one saw me; they were too focused on the door of the house. Next time, I may not be so lucky. The already heavy parcel felt even heavier now and it was still slipping out of my sweaty hands.

So you now know how I ended up here. Let’s get on with the story then.

The parcel is slowly slipping but trying to grip it well will lead to me losing my concentration and consequently my balance. Just as I commence my prayer, the line starts moving again. I am so focused on my balance that I do not hear that our permission is granted. I continue to pray as I make my shaky and awkward trek across the treacherous stones and I finally present my part of the dowry and-thankfully- take a seat.

I do not fall, however it is obvious to everyone at the engagement that I cannot walk in the shoes and I feel the crack in my dignity.

After the engagement- and at the reception- I take out the spare wedges (the brown ones) my mother brought, in case I needed a shoe change, and wear those instead since they are considerably shorter than the shoes I have on presently. Abena, who notices the furtive little transaction I make with the bag, asks if she could wear the green wedges. I have a vision of her falling in public and smirk in my head. I ask innocently, “Are you sure? It’s way higher than the ones you have on,” in order to feed her ego. I know she’ll definitely wear them now and predictably, she says she still wants to try it on and wears them. She gets up and start walking on the stones. I see that she’s struggling to maintain her balance and I wait for her to fall. I keep waiting. And waiting. And waiting until I realise that the durned girl is walking splendidly in the shoes and I realize that her earlier staggering was just a ruse. My aunties start comparing my drunken staggering to Abena’s graceful gait as I seethe with envy. She is supposed to fall but instead of falling she shows everyone at the engagement what a boy I really am. A girl who cannot even walk in high shoes. While Abena looks regal and elegant, I look like a cheap imitation; the China version.

My dignity is now in shambles. I can feel them you know. I can feel the horses galloping-and crushing- what is left of my dignity and I can see Abena goading them to gallop even harder with my green wedges.

Sigh.

I am not a girly girl. I hate make-up. I hate sleepovers. And most of all, I hate wedges.