Ruyi's World of Books & Stories

  Ton the Little Man by Omoruyi Uwuigiaren Chapter One - Hard Times Tom wore a long face and trudged on. His trousers had faded and clothed with dust. Reaching the threshold, he inserted the key into the lock and embraced his house. He hissed and slammed the door behind him, for the evening was the worst day of his life. He had to work late again even though it was Christmas Eve. But now, at last, the hammer had fallen on him! As soon as he was indoors, Tom sank into his favorite chair. After a time, he sat up and drew his rickety table. The little man lit up the room and his face looked pale in the lamplight. Tom took the letter out of his pocket. He lowered his bifocals. He glanced above them at the letter and a deep melancholy settled over his spirit. The company had sacked Tom, and it was a bitter pill to swallow. "WHY ALWAYS ME?" he banged the table. Tom had disposed of the letter when he heard a faint knock on the door. "Who's there?" "It's ...

After months of undergoing multiple surgeries for an undisclosed ailment, veteran Nollywood actor John Okafor, alias Mr Ibu, died on Saturday. The president of the Actors Guild of Nigeria, Emeka Rollas, confirmed this in an Instagram post. Mr Ibu, 62, suffered a “cardiac arrest” and “didn’t make it,” Rollas stated.

  omoruyi uwuigiaren CHAPTER FIVE The Dilemma of Syclos So many things crept into my mind as I waited for a vehicle to convey me to my destination. I thought of kicking Yomi out of the house, for his coming has robbed me of my job. The thought of taking my life was an infirmity in my troubled mind. Then a vehicle pulled by at the other end of the road. Before I could blink, four masked men stormed out of the car and opened fire on me. I ran into an old busy street. People scrambled for safety. Stray bullets caught an old woman in the head. She drew a loud shriek and lay struggling for life. One motorcyclist became a victim of the crossfire. Bullets riddled his body. He tumbled from his bike and fell stone dead. As everyone on the street fled for dear life, I raced with my legs almost touching the back of my head. People perished as bullets flew in every direction. I was the target. As they gave chase, I went past two or more bends. I glanced back at intervals at the horribl...

  Turtle Soup is Enough Did you know that the fluid in your spinal cord is the same color as lemonade?  I sat and watched it drip from my little brother's limp body into a medical bag on his bedside, as one of his surgeons told us the news that nearly shredded my faith to chaff. "This kid will never walk again." These essays were written during the worst year of my life. I wrote them for one of my college classes, answering various prompts on the theme of place. I didn't know at the time that I was chronicling a fight for my existence. My family and faith have never been about fitting in. We don’t believe in God because of what they say at church. We see him in the mud that cakes our jeans and the laughter we share around the campfire, drinking beer and listening to the grisly stories our dad brings home from the ER. Our faith in God has never been about propriety; it’s been about relationship. How can you reconcile that kind of faith when it seems like God st...