I wait in the black.

I can feel that my form is ethereal, but I am not burdened with fear or confusion. I wait for a length of time I cannot fathom. Strangely, I am not concerned about the passage of time, only what awaits me.

Strangeness begins in the darkness. Luminescent hues of orange slowly come into view, as like the afterglow of a dead fire, chasing away the darkness around me. The light creeps in spindly patterns around me; its movement an imitation of life. The mystery of my situation is revealed slowly as I see that I am in a large hall. I cannot remember how I came to be here or where I was before. The illumination reveals patterns on the stone walls; thick murals in the style of my people. They tell a story I cannot understand, but my attention is taken by the moving vision of light.

The last place in the hall to become illuminated is my fore. The weak yellow light creeps from the left and from the right, meeting at the centre and revealing a great door of such opulence as I had never set eyes upon.

A rumble as like thunder emanates from beyond the door and the fear of the unexpected grips me. I can feel something great is about to unravel, for my ethereal form has only now begun to coalesce into substance. I cannot feel the process, but it does not strike me as odd.  It is a sure precursor to the use of my senses.

A beam of perpendicular light appears at the centre of the giant double doors, and it takes me a moment to realize that the door has slightly opened, and that beyond it lies an area of dazzling brightness. I bring up my hand to shield my face as the width of the light widens. It is like I am in the presence of the Sun. The light stabs my eyes behind my closed lids,then it suddenly dims.

I flutter my eyes open to behold a slender silhouette, for the light is still visible beyond it. From its shoulders to its feet is the likeness of a man and from its neck up is of an animal with which I am familiar, but cannot place. From this distance, I somehow understand that the visitor is only slightly taller than me, and though I cannot see it clearly, I can feel the lordship of its presence. It steps forward into the room.

He approaches me, illumination from the source-less yellow light in the room being thrown upon his form as he draws near. I see him clearly now. I know this being. I have known him since my infancy when I was taught by the great pedagogues. I nearly fall to my knees in adoration.

He is now in front of my still form, looking as regal as the old kings. His Jackal eyes glow blue in the dim yellow light, lending an air of solemnity to this scene. I am not afraid, only now curious as to the crux of my appointment with this magnificent one. Then I hear the sound of his voice.

“I am He Who Sits upon His Mountain, The keeper of Divine Justice; I shall lead you to your place”

I know this being. I am awestruck as I take in his form. His name echoes in my mind.

Inpu, known to the unlearned as Anubis, Lord of the Underworld.

Anubis by Ovapack (

The Lord of the dead is before me. Then it occurs to me. If I stand in the presence of Lord Anubis, this must mean-

“Follow me, the Judges wait”

My feet move as of their own accord while Anubis turns his back on me and moves towards the great door, towards the light. I follow him diligently, my face turning neither to the left nor to the right.

In due course, we move through the great door and I find myself in a small room that is well lit by a white light which point of origin I cannot fathom. My eyes do not squint, curiously, and I can see all who are present in the room.

All five of them.

They all seem like men in form and substance. This room is much smaller than the great hall erstwhile I had found myself.

There was a great stone table in the centre of it, curving like a half-moon. Seated on the other side of the table were the five. The one in the centre, the third, had the visage of a great pharaoh, for his gold-plastered garment was in symmetry with those of the old kings. In his presence was a scale made of the finest gold which reflected the white light perfectly so that it doesn’t seem like gold anymore. But I know it is gold, for gold is the air I breathe.

The one in the centre, I know him now. Osiris. He looks a moment at my face and opens his mouth. His voice rolls out like the gushing of the Nile.

“Until your judgement is passed, nameless you shall stay;

Until your hour is come, perfect you shall stand.

Until your weight is seen, in pain you shall grieve;

Until your end is known, immortal you shall live.”

Anubis, who has been standing behind me, moves forward. I can feel his movement but I am not inclined to turn my head to see him, for an unknown agency has stiffened me.

The pain cuts through me. I feel what seems like a cold hand reach into my back and enclose my heart. I raise my head to the ceiling in expression of my anguish and serendipity shocks me. An innumerable array of hearts hangs from thin strings from the ceiling. The cold hand of Anubis exits my body, and I know that he has my heart in it; I now remember what the scales are for. My chest still throbs with great pain but this I must see.

Anubis moves past me with dignified purpose and reaches the scales. Time is not to be wasted in this place, for there are others who will come after me.  I now see that there is a feather on one disc of the scales. My bloodied heart is placed on the other disc of the scale and an impossible apprehension grips me, for I am without a rapidly beating heart to signal its presence. Anubis moves back to his previous station and my glance rests on the scales. The five look upon it with great interest. The two sides of the scale are equal. I had heard of this stage a long time ago but the sight of it marvels me. The single feather is as heavy as my heart! This means that I have been deemed worthy-

The side with the feather suddenly ascends as my heart goes down quickly and tumbles off the scale onto the stone table. The movement seems to surprise the five judges slightly, for they almost imperceptibly shift their heads. I note all through my agony from the loss of my heart.

By the measure of the Judges I have been deemed unworthy to enter into the paradise of my fathers. I know what my fate is, but I shall not deem to bring it to the fore of my consciousness.

As with one voice, the five who were seated said unto me,

“Thy heart is heavier than the measure of goodness;

Thy deeds are weightier than the feather of Right

Thy end waits in the jaws of Aranik;

Thy cycle ends with her rousing from slumber”

“Come hither,” Anubis says from behind me and turns towards the great door through which we had first come.

In this place, resistance is a study in futility, for my legs move me through my agony. My fear must be apparent to all present. I remember, with growing irritation mixed with my pain, the now seemingly pointless hours spent chanting the verses from the Book of the dead that would ensure the possibility of my cheating of the scales.


The cities were not being built as fast as he wanted. The Amalek slaves were getting weaker as time went on. The officials bring the report to my father in fear, for his anger is known to leave sorrow in its wake. He arose from his throne of solid gold and Ivory and cursed them. He commanded them to use a few of the slaves as example. Asophe must be completed before the commemoration of my eighteenth year of life. Five years.  His anger seeps out of his eyes, and the officials scurry out before He commands them to commit suicide. Some of the new officials live only as long the interval between a bad report and another.

I had been at his feet since the sun god began his journey across the sky, and now he was at the centre of it, and yet I had not set my eyes on my beloved sister, Zirafeni who is my elder by two cycles and in whose third cycle my mother ascended to the stars.

I excused myself and went in search of her. Perhaps we will find fun in talking about my father’s recent ire.

She was alone in her chamber studying the constellations of the planets and smiled when I entered. We make arrangement.


I have now moved through the door, Lord Anubis at my helm. The great hall is swallowed up in inky blackness once again but I can find my footing. My chest still aches but the fear of what is to come dulls the pain considerably.

We are standing at the point where I was when I first came to this place. Before us, an illumination takes effect. I had not turned behind me to look when I had first come here but I am not sure I would have seen it if I had.

It lies prone on the granite floor and opens its eyes as the mysterious light which has no source hits it. It is like a cat in whose body is also the likeness of a jackal. Its beak open in eager anticipation of the meal that is to come as its avian head glares at my form. Aranik, the Sphinx. Devourer of iniquity.


Later that night, I crept under the cover of darkness, past the glowing torches to her chamber. Her arms pulled me in and her lips gave me the succour I sought in them. We had spent two moons like this but I never tired of her body. The servant girls could never be like her.

The lanterns threw yellow light and faint shadows about the place and we exulted in the oneness of our union. Her rising chest gave me incentive and my concentration was on her pleasure.

And there stood my father, just inside the door. His countenance was as one who was about to die in suddenness. His face looked terrible in the yellow light. He was not a young man anymore, for even my sister had been born at a late time.

I withdrew from my sister as my father fell on the hard ground. I did not need to inquire. I knew what had happened. As a son of iron, I removed regret and sorrow as my brain went into play. It was night, and none was about. His room was near. His bed expected him.


I look around me in fear. Anubis is no longer here. This is not life, and I have no chance of prevailing against the edict of the gods. My pain is as something forgotten. My sin will not go unpunished. My sister’s worried face as I thrashed upon my death bed, surrounded by the greatest physicians in all Egypt, comes to me. The beak advances toward me rapidly. I remember my sister smiling faintly as my Ka left my body into the ethereal.

I am Hetsut-ra .Pharaoh of Egypt I was, for three cycles. Short was the length of my days.


69 comments on “Scales

  1. awizii says:

    Damn! Dude you sure put a lot of attention to detail when you write. I think I’ll need to re-read this. *mind-blown*

  2. I love how the mythos is being slowly explored from unique perspectives. Anubis and the gates of judgement. Aranik and the incessant incest that plagued ancient Egypt. Bien!

  3. phantompages says:

    I propose ekwem writes his own version of the bible. It would be more interesting! Hehehe! As usual, impeccable language. I’m a big fan of ‘Egyptology’ and dare I say, I wasn’t disappointed! You really should read Wilbur Smith’s egypt series though (beside the point)

  4. Leonmacedon says:

    I never know wat to comment after reading any of your posts. Mindblowing!

  5. dhamyhan says:

    This is storytelling at its most masterful……and mythology? *swoons*(okay dis is gay),but awesome story,loved those poetic phrases,they were like song….will there be a sequel?

  6. Kemmiiii says:

    *standing Ovation*

  7. Okay, this story took a while for me to wrap my head around, but when it did, it blew. I’m short of words. Masterpiece.

  8. TheManya says:

    “Strangeness begins in the darkness. Luminescent hues of orange slowly come into view, as like the afterglow of a dead fire, chasing away the darkness around me”…… dude dis is genius-level writing

  9. That What-The-Fuck Moment when you read this Piece for the First time and Actually Understand what the Feck is Going On. 😀 As Usual Guy, You’re a Standard all to yourself. To say you’re the best in this narrative technique you utilise would imply you had competition to start with. Awesome Read! 😀

  10. Ekwe says:

    @awizii Thank the Lord

    @passthesalt your comments are highly valued

    @pasyjasy and Leonmacedon and @kemiii and @themanya thanks a lot. we thank God for smal blessings

    @dhamyhan. hahaha. every story of mine is always the best, we thank Yahweh

    @GenesisChronicles Your comment humbles me tremendiously. i can only give glory to God,who is my steroid, muscle and performance enhancer.

    @weirdoo Yimz on yimz on yimz. ayam not dedicating any comment to you. baka-san

  11. BugSpray says:

    This blog came highly recommended. Two posts in, I understood why. Small congregation with a false prophet who comes across as trying too hard to keep what he already has. How else can one explain the deliberate attempt at ruining stories that start well but end up coming across as forced.
    Paragrapg 6: “As the width of the light widens”
    Paragraph 19: “But I know it is gold, for gold is the air I breathe”
    The width widens? Gold is the air I breathe? The careless attempt at forcing the writing style became more and more obvious as I read this. All in all, it was a fair attempt or rather, it will be once you fix the following errors.
    Paragraph 4: “The weak yellow light creeps from the left and from the right, meeting at the centre and revealing a great door(s) of such opulence as I had never set eyes upon.”
    Paragraph 17: “I find myself in a small room that is well lit by a white light (which) point of origin I cannot fathom.”
    Paragraph 29: “but I shall not (deem to) bring it to the fore of my consciousness”
    Paragraph 37: “Some of the new officials live only (as long) the interval between a bad report and another.”

    • Ekwe says:

      I don’t get. are you pointing out errors in my writing style or in my use of grammar? as in…are you telling me how the writing style should go…and ,consequently, suggesting that I change it because it didn’t sound right to ya? :/

      (I swear) I don’t understand what you are saying.

      who is the false prophet, me? O.o Hahahaha. my small congregation? hahahahahahH

      deliberate attempt at ruining stories? Er…you are now in a position to tell me which stories should end badly?…I really don’t get.

      careless attempt at forcing the writing style? *sigh. so my ‘writing style’ is now forced?
      *squints at your name and posts this comment.

    • Ekwe says:

      dunno what you wanted to hear,but since you are being very open with ya comments…I wish to let you know that I really do not follow the rules of contemporary English in most of my posts. a lot of the sentences will come across as weird (forced,in your opinion) but daz how I learnt it from the greats. I assume you wud spend a life-time of correcting grammar if you read Ashton Smith or Lovecraft or most classics.

      I will of course, look into every patent error of grammar *snickers


      • BugSpray says:

        I’ve seen you leave footprints carelessly on a few blogs and up until now, I’ve paid little or no attention to you. A referal brought me here; that coupled with your consistent and sometimes reckless criticisms of other people’s work must have heightened my level of expectation unnecessarily.

        You speak of Ashton Smith and maybe that further helps me sum you up. The unannointed prodigy trying too hard to be like his dead mentors. You hide behind excuses like “I really do not follow the rules of contemporary English” yet you criticize those who give similar excuses? Smith was an amazing writer. I find your subtle attempt at comparing your style with his insulting. Do you really think anything you have here could have come close to being published in the Weird Tales?

        I’ve read your banters with other seemingly jobless people on some blogs and I want none of it. You have my attention. Your blog is the stage and it’s time to dump the banal, safe offerings you’ve been serving. Live up to your hype and entertain us.

  12. Nate Oblivion says:

    Who the fuck is bugspray and what the golden fuck is he saying? I know we’re all entitled to opinions and shit but the dude is a forced critic. A blog post is not a bestseller novel, if you love finding faults so much, go and criticise actual writers. *sighs* *dusts salt off blog* *walks away shaking head*

  13. kennibal says:

    Tight! This is nice!!

  14. Nate Oblivion says:

    Mr. Bug Spray seems pertinaciously vindictive, and obviously has personal vendetta with Ekwe. I really just hope he has heard of CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, not criticism because of a pre-existing grouse. Anyways, it’s not my problem till I see this ish on my blog.

  15. PreyingMantis says:

    So much attention to detail, the story encompasses even the unnecessary. The description is endless and painful at some point.

    What is your fascination with illumination? Most of the paragraphs had some description on the illumination of the setting & some inconsistencies were noticed. Almost as if you are saying “Look. I have taken note of the illumination in my story. I’m very detailed and meticulous”.

    For a non-literary enthusiast, the story is boring at best.
    For a literary enthusiast, not bad.

    • BugSpray says:

      What’s going on here? A very rare appearance by my favourite critic on the same day I decided to explore this blog. I could be wrong but I doubt I read any comment from you on any of the previous posts I read here today. I wonder why? I am however glad some other person shares some of my opinions.

    • Ekwe says:

      yes, it is possible that i get carried away when describing things…and one of the horrors of proof reading my stories is that i become bind to the patent incongruencies. this is a point i have actually considered when writing.perhaps i shall think about reading out my stories out loud before i publish. may help in defining the errors.

      i will also make do to counter your last two generalizations. you must cease to speak for enthusiasts everywhere. “non-literary enthusiasts”(what an odd turn of phrase) have expressed their pleasure on reading this same story.

      your point is noted.

  16. Ekwe says:

    It would be mighty kind of you to show me your user name and gimme a link to your blog. hiding behind ambiguity is boring, and as such, I never do it. this is the only reason you could find my blog.

    It is not my wish to banter with you, but feigning ignorance of your uncouthness will only serve to disturb my sensibilities.

    It is now obvious that you want to do someone a favor by reducing the contents of my bog to ashes as I was misunderstand-ably seen to do on theirs. the angle of direction between your first and second comments prove so.

    In reality, you do not sound like a critic. you sound like someone who loves to play God all the time, perhaps the public acceptance of your comrade has given you the courage to do it here.

    “The unannointed prodigy trying too hard to be like his dead mentors.” …the possibly high level of your retardation is summed up in that sentence. which creative person does not have a role model or other? is there anything new under the sun?

    On this blog which is run by me, I am actually smart enough to know the people whose opinion about my writing count.

    You do not fall into that category. even with your smart sounding rubbish.

    If they have expressed satisfaction, I shall only try harder to elicit higher levels of it from them; and if not, i will actually resume work on my oars.

  17. Newton Samson says:

    Good work

  18. Ngupay says:

    I’m in awe! The story and language with which it is told is enchanting. Thumbs up!

  19. PreyingMantis says:

    @Bugspray: Wish I could say nice to meet you but you’re a bug spray and I’m a bug. Nice to meet you all the same.

  20. thatifygirl says:

    Please enlighten me, dear Preying Mantis, what exactly is the “non-literary enthusiast” enthusiastic about in literature?
    As usual, you captivated me with your story. Your powers of description….
    Some sentences I read in this post will probably stay with me the rest of my life.
    Well done.
    Off to read it again. 🙂

  21. thatifygirl says:

    Another thing I love about your posts is that I hardly ever notice that there are grammatical errors or what not…. your stories are that captivating. To me, at least.

  22. thatifygirl says:

    Yeah, I loved it the second time.

  23. @Qurr says:

    Ekwe this is absolutely brilliant! You tempt me to set pen to paper once again!!

    Hetsut-ra’s heart balanced out with the feather at first. Until he prided himself in the fact that it did, and then the scales shifted. We know he did wrong in his life, but maybe he had been forgiven until he showed pride to the gods (rather than gratitude). Or else it was a test to see if he would proudly think he was deserving of salvation. Or last of all maybe it was a glitch as his deeds were being summed up. Whichever way, that scene was one of my favourites in this story.

    Good job, man.

  24. I don’t have any overtly smart comments. I really enjoyed reading thhis and it was well written.
    Thumbs up bro!

  25. Well done, Ekwe. I like this story.

  26. terdoh says:

    It is not compulsory to comment. But I must.

    I’ve noticed (and I’m glad to see) that a lot of ass-lickers have gone into hiding, and have been replaced by critics.

    I have read this story, and as shallow and dim-witted as I am, I thoroughly enjoyed it. The tale from this view is fantastic. I enjoy Ekwe’s work and I’m proud of him.

    As much as I appreciate the criticisms, I wonder where they are coming from.

    Preying Mantis: You do realize that the setting is the heavenlies, and over there, a lot of attention is placed on beauty and LIGHT. So his attention and detail to the description of light is palliated.

    You are probably the best critic to walk blogsville, and I hope one day you will grace my blog and make me better. But do not let the drive to chastise blind you.

    Bugspray: I understand your intent, and I can guess where it stems from, but point out the flaws in the post instead of aiming at the blogger. A critic gets his facts right before castigating. All you did initially was copy and paste excerpts from paragraphs. I personally do not see your points. Don’t take a grudge out on a blogger for the sake of flooring him.

    Criticism is meant to be constructive. To make the ‘victim’ better or stronger. Intelligent facts pointed out only help the person discover his mistakes and work on them.

    If you want to destroy a writer, praise him all the time. He’ll never see his faults. If you want to help him, criticize constructively. I do not appreciate an obvious attempt at attention. We are all guilty of that. (Ekwe included).

    STOP IT!

    • PreyingMantis says:

      Mr. Terdoh, in this story the setting’s description almost takes over the story, the story final picks up mid-way. What I am looking for is balance. I walked away thinking about murals and can’t even remember the protagonist’s name. Now, Mr. Ekwe, might be an interior decorator in reality and therefore gets carried away in his writing, he should however, rein it in. If he was to write this story in say, 300 words, how do you think he’d fare?

      • terdoh says:

        Much as I hope Ekwe has taken note of this observation, I do not agree that it takes away from the story. I believe it builds an ante for the climax. Which he handled well. Maybe not well enough, but well.

        If he were to write the story in 300 words, he would make a conscious attempt at minimizing the ‘irrelevant’ sections of the story. But he is privy to the option of having a larger word count. Ergo, he “wastes time” describing the scenery. I see no problem with that.

        On the flip side, you agree with me that no good story is just 300 words. That’s something you find in the children’s section of a newspaper.

        In hoping that these criticisms make his story telling better, I don’t see how building up the climax from the core descriptive base took anything from the story. I’m not saying it’s perfect, I’m saying it’s a very good attempt.

      • BugSpray says:

        @Terdoh This part (Ekwe included) of your initial comment got my attention. I hope Mr. Ekwem reads comments from readers like you.

      • phantompages says:

        lmao @ interior decorator…a nice way to say painter. Actually ekwem is a witch doctor. 😀 #OKseeya!

  27. Laitan says:

    the critics can say whatever they like . . . . but this right here is a masterpiece, i’m awestruck.

  28. Mahnyuell says:

    =)) I would’ve said i enjoyed the comments more than the actual post but…oh wait u can’t block me here, lemme sha shut up.
    Now, i’m not a big fan of mythology and the like (i think those obsessed with it are depressed and in desperate need of beer and sex) and i’m also not a big fan of theology (the afterlife is a very sensitive topic for me) but i thoroughly enjoyed this post, the details, the storyline itself, it was beautiful. Thumbs up mehn(and i think i insulted you on some other blog, i dont remember well sorry 4 that! 🙂 u proved me wrong).
    As for the critics again i repeat the pont is not the grammatical accuracy, its about the story and how well the writer can tell and captivate the reader with his story and this dude did just that…beautifully i must add. And the best critics are those who have set an example by their own work for the subjects of their criticisms to refer to #nuffSaid

  29. dbrizio says:

    “But I know it is gold, for gold is the air I breathe.” My initial grouse was wit dis line and I wondered what it added to d story till I read d last line…. That’s genius.

    Not a fan of mythology or ancient Egypt but your descriptive powers and your way with words kept me glued. An awesome post once again.

    I know I may be an ass-licker (according to terdoh), but dis is awesome once again. I’m officially a fan of your writing (divinity for now though).

    Once again….this is awesome!!!

    PS: I probably used ‘once again’ & ‘awesome’ one too many times……but u get what I was trying to say.

  30. highlandblue says:

    Well done. I liked it.

  31. kponja says:

    I love the way your writing guides my imagination into corners of your story.

  32. PreyingMantis says:

    Mr. Terdoh, that is where you are wrong. The description builds up nothing. It only increases your awareness on background/history which I believe is good for a story. Going on and on, almost ‘nagging’ about it makes no sense.

    You’ll be surprised to know that there are excellent stories in 300 words. I disagree with you.

  33. Tomboxe says:

    Just so we are perfectly clear, I love this story. Anyone who doesn’t is free not to, just don’t come over here and start pointing out faults that I couldn’t care less about.
    Erm… Bugspray, I don’t like the Lord of the Rings that much – does that make it bad fiction? No. It’s called taste you insect killing ignoramus. I bet you come in a styrofoam canister. 😛

  34. @Qurr says:

    Some of these blog critics need to chill. Sometimes one just has to relax and enjoy the writeup / story. No story is “useless”, but maybe some may not be worth your own personal time. At the very worst, one learns how NOT to write or construct ideas when you are about to write your own article. At the best, one learns incredibly useful modes of literary expressions.

    There is a little bit of wisdom or beauty of art, even in the most “unworthy” article. If one cannot find it, then the onus is on you to know why you are UNABLE to discover the art: which I think is your fault and not that of the author. In my own case, I only consider an article unworthy when it portrays an otherwise well-known account in a lesser light; or when the account has been rendered incoherent. Then I ask, why did you bother? For you have wasted your time and ours.

    The only way to get better at writing is to write even more. Live and let live, in my opinion. But this bugspray looks like (s)he’s on a vengeance agenda against @ekwem though. Is he/she from the famed “sawaleh” team, here to pay him back in his own coin?

    Anyway my proper comment was rendered earlier. This second one is already too long. No further comments at this time.

  35. phantompages says:

    I’m commenting..again…because i have nothing else to do. Actually i do. So ekwem we’ve agreed you’re blunt and tactless. That doesn’t stop you being a good writer. Bringing in beef from another blog is just not right come on. If the story isn’t your cuppa, fine! There is a thick line between making a constructive criticism and just plain hating. Be bold. Don’t hide your hating in a mask of ‘Constructive criticism’ No one ever got shot for hating. I hate Man. U and I’m still alive (entering a bunker after this -_-)…and i’ve run out of steam.

  36. BugSpray says:

    I find it funny that almost all the members of this congregration have turned up to defend their prophet calling people like I and Mr. Mantis, ‘blog critics’ when the beloved head of this temple is infact guilty of the same crime. I will however not stoop to the same depth he has before I get my point across. I simply came here to turn the same search light be beams on others to his home. Like I previously said, I’m waiting to be entertained.

  37. phantompages says:

    ngwa! Prophet Ekwem what is the name of this our church? I propose ‘Ekwem The Dibia & Friends LTD’ 😀

  38. Bimpe says:

    What’s not to love about this, it’s beautifully written.

  39. jemjem says:

    Wierdooo… how do u expect to make frenz wen u dwell on
    beautiful writin tho’..even lame me had fun readng!

  40. […] Egypt. It was inspired in part by popular demand to write more on Egyptian mythology after I wrote Scales, a story of the Egyptian underworld and also the most “influential” post on my blog. Do go […]

  41. MzLoulette says:

    Just read all the comments, and I was thinking, ‘really?? This was an amazing story, IMO. But then again, I love detail. I was captivated from the beginning. Yeah, there were some grammatical errors and stuff, but none of them were major enough to detract from the overall brilliance of the piece.
    I’m definitely a fan of your work. 🙂

  42. teekellz says:

    The comments were so much fun, I just hope the energy wasted in the banter among the “so-called blog critics” can be channelled towards something more constructive instead. Nice work ekwe.

  43. 'Dania says:

    I enjoyed this a lot. The story, its telling and the not-so-subtle metaphors.

    That said, I am won’t to agree a little with PreyingMantis. Perhaps it is because of my personal dislike of excessive description (probably caused by laziness) but i found myself making a conscious effort to stick through the story just because I’d started.
    Besides that minor hiccup, it read really really well.

    This is my first and I’m impressed. I’ll definitely be back.

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