There was blood, actual blood. The trail followed behind her. And she got weaker with every drop. Yet she hurried to line up at the roll call. Shoulders square, head held as high. As every member of her platoon. She had learnt over time. That they were best covered up. These battle wounds she bore. There had been many visits to the army clinic. Many talks with the Physician. About the wounds of her comrades, never hers. So how could He help her? March 30, 2015.

Barely legal real life tales of a non academic medical student. May contain nsfw content, and liberal language. As most of you already know, my Grand ma recently passed.

In this post, brought to us by Ohioleh, we see different how sometimes, Nigerian lives are intricately interwoven. A very interesting piece, written with unique style. Ohioleh resides in Lagos and Warri, two cities that afford him a brilliant spectrum of muse for writing. He is an ardent road traveler, Pastafarian and pastime relic collector. How much come be sucking? Two gunshots crack the air. Osaro should not have .