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Lyda - #5
ACROSS town on the lower East side of Singapore, Marty was back in his hotel room which wasn't exactly a luxurious suite like he was used to while staying with his parents. The room was like a monks with living necessities. The not too tiny room had a couch and a bed. Other amenities included a sink and a half height white refrigerator. At least the bathroom had a bathtub, his one necessity in life and his most favourite place.
He strolled pacing non-stop checking his black leather wristwatch as well as tapping in the screen of his smartphone. Holding the phone close to his left ear, he placed the phone on a call mode yet the phone went to a voice mail. In anger, he flung the phone on his spring induced bed and continued to pace the room. He could feel his throat close up in a thirst as his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He moved towards the refrigerator to take a sip of water from the already opened bottle in the fridge. He had drank a few sip before leaving to see hi
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The doctor affirmed that Mitchell seemed stable though he seemed to be in a comatose yet his face looked paler comparer to the white bed sheet covering the bed he is laid on. His breathing was supported by the oxygen tank placed beside him. On the way back to the hospital, he had called his Dad about the doctor's report. It's funny how you see a person hale and hearty one minute then the next minute such person is already bedridden.It seems Mitchell had contacted the Lyda virus his Dad had told him about as some of the medical issues were still unexplainable. Although Marty didn't know much about his love life, he only knew that he loves partying as to those he sleeps with or goes around with he had never met them. Mitchell had not for once introduced anyone close to him either. Marty had always perceived him to be dece t and not promiscuous.Sighing deeply, "
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Sisyphyra The After-End - #1
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2021 by A.E Ilupeju. Alll rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the Author. The After-End - The amnesiac monk who tries to remember his memory as he journeys through hell in search of his family. The Cursed Grave - A de
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He journeyed through the land, keeping track of the days spent. He didn't know the route but trod on the path with his instinct. Although he sensed a familiarity with the plains and mount surrounding him. As if he had once walked the path before. After walking for a very long time, he came by the path that led to a small village. This village was hidden behind thick and dense greenery comprising of wild bushes and trees. Seeing the remote setting of the small houses with tree houses hanging above them, brought back a memory. He had been here before. The small houses were made from bamboo and dried palm fronds, the thatched roof was woven from stacks of dried up hays, fallen palm leaves, and tall stalks of dead brown grasses. He remembered how they had dug small holes into a gigantic tree of strong roots and great height. His people had carved out the inside in any way that suits them. His friends had stayed in these treehouses throughout their lives.&
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The intricate patterns of ice hovered weightlessly dancing in the air like a dry feather. Each white flake glittered in the red moonlight, it drifted down to his left cheek. He stood up and observed his surroundings. He noticed a thin blanket of snow on the trees and ground as clumps of wet flakes continued to drift down endlessly. The icicles on a tree dropped with a loud smash, like glass cracking and shattering raising his adrenaline level with the false alarm. He admitted that he was scared, jumpy probably because he just had a dream but when he started to feel too much cold around him he glanced down at his clothes. He realized otherwise when he noticed the cut patterns on his cloth at the front and the faint red scratches on his chest affirmed his fears. It wasn't a dream. I'm safe. He thought and he puffed out in relief. He felt faint a
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