Brevity Bard

The cemetery was quiet, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the graves. Aminat stood alone at Kayode’s grave, the letter he had written to Demola clutched in her hand, Kayode had committed suicide. The air was still, the world around her silent, as if even the wind held its breath in respect. She knelt down, placing the letter gently on the grave, a final act of closure for a life filled with pain and regret. Aminat stood there for a moment longer, her heart heavy but at peace. As she turned to leave, she whispered a quiet prayer for Kayode’s soul, hoping that he had finally found the peace that had eluded him in life. In a small, modest apartment in Lagos, Demola sat by the window, the letter from Kayode in his hands. He had read it over and over, each word a reminder of the love and the loss that had shaped his life. But instead of anger, instead of hatred, there was only a deep, abiding sadness. As he looked out at the city, Demola felt a sense of resolution. The scars would

Kayode sat in the waiting room of the police station, his hands cuffed in front of him. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead flickered slightly, casting a cold, sterile glow over the room. The air was thick with tension, each second stretching out as if time itself was reluctant to move forward. An officer stood at the door, watching over him with a stern, impassive gaze. The room was sparsely furnished—just a few chairs lined up against the walls, a worn wooden table in the center, and a large, grimy window on one side, through which the sounds of the bustling station outside filtered in. Kayode’s mind was consumed by thoughts of Musa, of the moment when his world had irrevocably shattered. He couldn’t escape the crushing weight of his guilt, the unrelenting torment of knowing he had killed his own son. The door creaked open, and Kayode looked up as a small group of people entered the room. Leading them was an elderly woman with silver hair, her face lined with years of hardship and

Kayode sat in the waiting room of the police station, his wrists bound by handcuffs that dug into his skin. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with tension and the low murmur of other detainees awaiting their fate. An officer stood nearby, keeping a watchful eye on the prisoners. Kayode’s thoughts were a storm of regret and anguish. The events of the night played over and over in his mind, each time more painful than the last. He couldn’t escape the image of Musa’s lifeless body, the blood that stained his hands, or the soul-crushing realization that he had crossed a line from which there was no return. The heavy door at the far end of the room creaked open, and the officer called Kayode’s name. "Ojo! You get visitors," he said gruffly, motioning for Kayode to stand. Kayode looked up, his expression hollow. He didn’t know who would want to see him—this man who had taken a life, who had destroyed everything he once held dear. But he pushed himself to his feet, his movements

As the tension in the room reached its breaking point, time seemed to slow down. Kayode’s finger tightened on the trigger, and Demola braced himself for the inevitable. The sound of his own heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else. The world had shrunk to this single moment where everything hung in the balance. Just as Kayode was about to pull the trigger, Musa, who had been silently observing the escalating situation, sprang into action. "Oga, abeg!" Musa’s voice cut through the thick silence like a knife, full of urgency and desperation. He rushed forward, positioning himself between Kayode and Demola. "No do this, abeg. E no go solve anything!" Kayode’s eyes, burning with rage, flicked toward Musa, but the older man’s fury was too strong, too consuming. "Move comot for there!" Kayode snarled, his voice raw with the pain of loss. "This boy don kill my pikin! Today, I go end am!" Musa held up his hands in a placating gesture

Lagos, a city that never truly sleeps, stretched before Demola like an endless maze of concrete and chaos. He blended into the throngs of people, trying to lose himself in the heart of the city. But even in the vastness of Lagos, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Kayode was always a step behind, ready to strike. Desperation drove him to a homeless shelter in a rough part of town. The place was packed, with people of all kinds seeking refuge. Demola found a corner to himself, but sleep eluded him. His mind kept returning to Morayo, to the choices they’d made, and to the knowledge that her father was hunting him with the intent to kill. For days, Demola roamed the streets of Lagos, his heart pounding with anxiety. He needed to find a way to survive, to hide from the man who had lost everything and now wanted only revenge. He knew he couldn’t keep running forever. One evening, as the sun dipped low in the sky, Demola’s steps led him to a mechanic's workshop. The place was run-down, t

The world seemed to slow to a crawl as Kayode Ojo stood in the doorway of the small, dimly lit room where he had been led. His eyes were fixed on the lifeless body of his daughter, Morayo, lying on a cold, metal table. The once vibrant light in her eyes had been extinguished, her face pale and still. Kayode could barely comprehend what he was seeing, the reality of it too devastating to fully absorb. Morayo, his beloved daughter, was gone. Kayode staggered forward, his knees buckling beneath him. He reached out with trembling hands, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "Morayo… my baby…" he whispered, his voice cracking with grief. But no matter how much he willed it, she would not wake up. She was gone, taken from him in the most brutal way possible. Everything he had done, every measure he had taken to protect her, had been in vain. The image of Morayo’s lifeless body burned into his mind, searing with a pain that was too deep to bear. The weight of his grie

Despite Kayode's stern warnings and increasingly suffocating control, Morayo and Demola's love continued to grow in the shadows. Each secret meeting, each whispered word of affection, only deepened their bond. But as their love blossomed, so did the risks they were taking. Morayo lived in constant fear of her father finding out, the weight of her double life pressing down on her with increasing force. Kayode, meanwhile, was not a man to be easily defied. The discovery of Morayo's secret relationship had only fueled his obsession. He couldn’t rest knowing that his daughter was slipping out of his control. Paranoia gnawed at him, and he began to dig into Demola's life with the determination of a man on a mission. Using his connections from his days on the police force, he started investigating the boy who had stolen his daughter’s heart, searching for any reason to keep him away from Morayo. What he found only deepened his resolve. Although Demola was a good boy with no d

In the weeks that followed, Morayo and Demola’s relationship deepened, each stolen moment together becoming more precious as the world around them grew more suffocating. They met in secret at a secluded spot near the river, a place hidden from the prying eyes of the town and, most importantly, from Kayode. The riverbank became their sanctuary, a refuge from the pressures and expectations that weighed heavily on both their shoulders. Demola was everything Morayo had ever wanted in a companion. He was kind and thoughtful, with a quiet strength that made her feel safe in his presence. Despite his humble background, he had big dreams of becoming a lawyer, a goal he was determined to achieve despite the challenges that stood in his way. He saw a future with Morayo—a future where they could be free to love each other without fear of judgment or retribution. Morayo, in turn, found solace in Demola’s presence. He was her escape, the one person who understood her struggles and fears. With him,

The years rolled by, and Morayo blossomed from the curious, innocent child into a strikingly beautiful and intelligent young woman. At sixteen, she was the kind of girl who turned heads wherever she went, her bright eyes and warm smile a magnet for admiration. But behind that smile was a growing discontent, a suffocating frustration that came from living under the constant watchful eye of her father. Kayode Ojo, once a man of discipline and duty, had transformed into something else entirely. The vow he had made at the gravesite of his wife and children had taken root deep within him, warping into an obsession that governed every aspect of his life. Morayo was no longer just his daughter—she was his entire world, and the fear of losing her consumed him. As Morayo grew, so did Kayode’s need to control her every move. He monitored her constantly, insisting on knowing where she was, who she was with, and what she was doing at all times. Every decision she made was subject to his approval,