James Mightypen

THE FRAME OF BLOOD

Three years since I opened the door on the outskirt of the school library, I found myself here; they call it "the grave land".
Anyone who finds himself/herself here is a potential sacrifice; no natural death.

We spent everyday we lived to see ourselves alive like it was our last. No one knew who'd be next, no pattern of killing, just spontaneous. Each day, our people lived in sin knowing they could meet their end any night.

One person sacrificed is solicited for by the entry of two new captives, all appeared from the wall in the middle of the village.

For three years I'd never lost hope. I still believed I would find a way out of this sh****le. while they spent each day in immorality, I worked out myself finding the truth behind the one sided wall in the middle of the village with a frame of blood inscriptions.

The inscriptions were names of past, death residence who were sacrificed. One name stood out different—boldly written, like a topic while all others were like subjects scattered beneath it. 'Selene Morgan', the people said she's the first maiden born of the village , every other person came through the portal frame.

My name is Mira, I'm an archaeologist, and Jace is my high school friend, we were captured together, and together, we would navigate through the mystery of this timeless village.

Jace and I wandered the forest covered with thick fog, where Spirit cries echoed like enchantment filling the atmosphere with suspense; untraceable but everywhere, birds chirped ominously like dissonant strings in a horror score, yet invisible, skulls scattered everywhere like a battlefield. The stench assaulted our nostrils, thick with dread.

Night came but we were one day's walk away from the village; no going back. Right in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the skulls, was a tomb. Jace and I spent the night in the tomb. within it were incense burning, the cave reeked of garlic, quiet and peaceful, yet fe**sh like a sorcerer's cabin.

"Selene Morgan; the virgin mother" The name well carved on the stone which served as the door to the tomb—in red.
Within her grave was a scroll with a bottle of blood—her blood. Written on it were incantations and prophecies.

Guess who the prophecy was about? me. I was here to fulfill a seven thousand years prophecy that has never been told, but hidden. Today marks seven thousand years since the village came into existence.

The scroll carried symbols same as the frame in the village. We took the blood and the scroll out of the grave and headed to the village at sunrise.

Suddenly, darkness covered everywhere, lightening strikes and thunder rumbled, the guardian spirits growling at rage. The blood has left the tomb, and the prophecy's about to be fulfilled

WHAT HAPPENED NEXT ❓❓

ANTICIPATE, FULL SERIES DROPPING JANUARY.

SAVE THE DATE.




Hollywood.com
Nollywood TV

THE POCKET VERSE OF CRUELTY

Technology was meant to be an inventory of knowledge, a documentary where past, present, and future events were recorded. A virtual museum where culture could be preserved for generations yet unborn to witness the life before them as though it was then, but is it?

They call it different names, some call it cyberspace, some call it the internet, while some call it the world wide web, yet, they all mean one thing and perform one common function—a reservoir of knowledge. Each name given, describes its purpose in the users’ perspective.

Like spiders, whose web serve myriads of purposes; from a home, to a trap for preys, as a means of transportation, and also as a defense system against predators. This world wide web performs a plethora of functions, but for the purpose of the 16 days of activism against Digital Gender Based violence against the girl child and women, this essay will focus on the misuse of this Digital verse in support of the afore mentioned menace.

Like spiders who use their webs as traps to tangle their preys, this world wide web is used defyingly to tangle the human preys; world wide. Who is this prey in question? The victims of this defiance is the delicate human with well defined contours and curvatures, a special feature bestowed on her by nature, but has become a stepping stone for mockery, specifically when she tries to express her right to freedom of speech, or when the world finds her curvatures not bulging enough to arouse their lust. Her delicate skin and fragile heart leaves her vulnerable to this virtual world of cruelty. The human In question is the girl child.

Conversely, this supposed web of knowledge has suddenly turned into a battlefield where posts are sharpened into swords with words, this swords are wielded by bloggers, content creators, memers, etc and are used in slicing her reputations, comments pierces her heart like daggers sent down the spine, and reactions are used to describes true intentions of mockery. It shot like gunshots to her dignity.

These words drop like bombshells, shattering the integrity of the girl child and her confidence, it cuts deeper than a double edged sword but leaves no physical bruice, and no physical injury but pain pulsing through her veins yet the world could not see. it destroys something far greater; stealing everything the girl child ever stood for, making her a mediocre of her own self. Her pride is shattered into fragments of shame. no one cares about what and how she feels. And she's left helpless and made to feel worthless.

Her sadness is an achievement to those living in this web of profanity, and feeding off her inferiority until she's left feeble and timid.

A ding! In her phone clouds her aura with terror; her deepfaked nudes is boldy script on the headline of pepertrators blogs seeking to make billions while her dignity and integrity is shattered into billion pieces. Trolls become welcoming messages in her inbox. Each chat is a dignity stolen, each comment feels like a confident lost, each call is her integrity strangled in this web of harassment. The life she lives is no longer hers but the netizens.

Digital violence is a poison that taints reputations, it spreads darkness where light once lived. It is a cage with bars forged from cruelty, trapping hearts in invisible prison. And should never be encouraged.

we can destroy this cage of silence, break these bars of cruelty. and make this digital world a safe haven for the girl child, by not being st*****rs of rights but advocates and protectors. Through the power of empathy, the weight of pain that a post would cause can be measured, and hence a desist from such post

Also, making only credible post that sparks development, empowerment and awareness on the need to disembark from gender based violence can help curb this menace. Creating of people's deepfakes in the name of content should be discouraged, together with avoiding slanderous comments.

Stop falling in love, you can get hurt. Rather, Walk into love so you can walk out unhurt

The pen is about to rolling, Anticipate!

If making an extra *₦20K - ₦50K* weekly isn't too small as a student or teenager,then u should think twice in joining us here on this profitable business🥏🙌👇🏼👇🏼just by watching videos, playing games and withdrawing weekly

🚀🚀 *Note* I will guide you and teach you how to earn massively without stress! 🧘🏼💰
*JOIN US NOW AND EARN UNLIMITEDLY WITHOUT A SINGLE REFERRAL🎁*
Click on the link to join👇👇👇

chat.whatsapp.com

,😅😅😅😅😂😂

Science has refused to explain how coca cola bottle is still 35cl despite size reduction

You are welcome to WEHL'S Telecom service how can we be of service to you

Newton's law of love motion
States that ; A relationship will remain in its state of rest of peace and harmony unless acted upon by an external forces; vawulence, cheating, bestie, side chick, sugar daddy etc
🤣🤣🤣

It's a scholarship forum aimed at helping student complete their education

Refer To Win Recharge & Data The Batch C College Relief Fund Ends SOON. Join over *800 Existing Awardees* if you are a current Nigerian Higher Institution Student. Registration & Enrollment is *ABSOLUTELY FREE*. Forward to all students you know. You never know who needs it the most. https://www.collegerelieffund.ng