New Post: Experimental Writing
Shout out to @chikaunigwe and Jennifer Egan for the inspiration. @chikaunigwe tweeted about Egan's experimental writing and I was immediately excited. I've had a couple of stories floating around my head, refusing to make it to paper. But the challenge of tweeting a story gave me a break, I love challenges. So, I shall be tweeting the story everyday. The time will vary. On Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, I will start tweeting at 6 p.m. EST. On Monday and Wednesday, there is no time set in stone, as I have classes from 1 to 8:30 p.m. EST. The weekends are fair game. Basically, to keep up with the story, follow me at @olubela.
A white car, with blue stripes and NYPD written in large blue block letters, rolls into the scene.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
The driver turns off the engine, removes the key from the ignition, steps out of car, reaching out to dashboard to retrieve a cup holder.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Two white Styrofoam grande cups of coffee sits proudly in the arch of the holder. The driver is a woman.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Her glistering ivory skin compliments the brown leather jacket and blue jeans she has on.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
In front on her, a Caucasian woman in white chiffon blouse tucked into butt hugging jeans raises the yellow tape and walks towards her.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
In front on her, a Caucasian woman in white chiffon blouse tucked into butt hugging jeans raises the yellow tape and walks towards her.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
The golden badge clipped to the band of her jeans glistens in the sun.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
The driver closes the car, hands her one of the cups, takes the other for herself and places the holder on the bumper of the car.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
The driver takes a gulp of her hazel cappuccino, and a second. She returns her coffee to the coffee holder.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
She looks around, taking in the tattoo shop, the stripper place across the street and a cross rising above one of the smaller buildings.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
She turns back to the part already spotting “Police Line Do Not Cross.”
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
The bevy of plain-coat and uniformed cops around the scene, a contrast to the almost empty street.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Minus the couple of old women standing across the street, everybody else went about their business, leaving New York’s finest to their job.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
“So, what do we have?” the driver says to her partner.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Girl, 17, no identification, clothes torn, possibility of rape, visible marks on the neck, Andrea is there,” her partner says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
“How bad is it, Casey?” the driver collects the coffee from her partner, places it in the coffee holder and walks towards the crime scene.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
“See for yourself,” Casey replies as she pulls the yellow tape over her partner’s head. “Anyone see anything?” the driver says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
“Minus the 911 caller, no one has stepped out,” Casey says as they walk towards a woman bent over the body.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
The Medical Examiner Office’s logo on the back of her blue overalls, proclaim her to be Andrea, the assistant medical examiner.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
The two women stoop around the victim. “Cause of death?” the driver says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Looks like blunt force trauma. The perp hit her with something that caused the gashes on her forehead.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Then the perp strangled her with a makeshift rope. By the ligature mark, he did it four or five times.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
We’ve got bruises, and electrical burns on both areola and labia. Dead less than 12 hours,” Andrea says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
“Was she raped?” the driver says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
“Fluid on panties, flung at a distance,” Andrea says as she walks the two detectives to the spot marked 12.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
A pink tattered see through panties lies close to a dumpster. “I will tell you more when I find out.”
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
The driver turns to her partner. “I guess we should start from the women across the street.”
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
“Sure,” Casey says as she leads the way to the women sitting on a bus bench.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
“Good morning, I’m Officer Warner and this is my partner, Officer Adikwe. We would like to ask you about the girl across the street.”
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
“What a shame. All these young girls be walking up and down the street looking for trouble,” the oldest says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
“Did you see anything unusual around that area?” Casey says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Onachuckwu Adikwe, popularly called Ona, turns around to take in the sight of the street once more, trying to find clues.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Her eyes rest on a pair of familiar ones. The eyes seem to hold her arrest.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
The body, which the eyes belong to, stands in front of a coffee shop on the 54th street. Ona turns to her right, trying to place those eyes.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Her brain cling to the memory, the more she pokes around. She stares at a graffiti for a second, the wall has no clues to offer.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
She turns back to the eyes. But they're gone, with the body that owns them.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
She looks back at Casey scribbling on her pad. Ona couldn't remember what the women had said.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
But she knew that the information couldn't be right. The crime had been committed in the wee hours of the morning.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
The old ladies, although sweet, wouldn't have been up at the crucial moment. (Why wasn't the body found earlier?)
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
She reaches to her back pocket and pulls her notepad out. Onas made a notation in it.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Casey nods, signalling the end of the questioning. Onas and Casey walk away from the women.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
"Do you need a ride to the precinct?" Ona says. "Yeah, Jordan drove me."
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Ona sits, staring at a couple of photographs laid across the diner table.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Laid&Back is her breakfast joint. The TV was on. The commentary on screen couldn't drag Ona gaze from the naked girl on her table.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
A waitress approaches with a plate of pancake, swirled with chocolate and honey syrup, and a strawberry sitting on top, in her right hand.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
In her left, she had a pot of fresh brewed coffee. Ona sights her and brushes the photographs towards the end of her table.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
The waitress places the plates in the cleared around. She unturns a mug and pours coffee into it.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
"Thanks Bianca," Onas says as she unfolds the napkin on the table to reveal eating utensils.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
She arranges the photographs around her meal and digs into it.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Through the side of her eyes, she sees a blurry of movement, but is not motivated to investigate.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
Until the eyes slide into seat opposite her, at her table. Onas looks up into the eyes that haunts her memory.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
She squints and say "can I help you. Do I know you?"
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
"Yes to both," the slight Yoruba accent laced with the queens English validates the latter.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 25, 2012
"So, what can I do for you?" Ona says as she reaches out to bring the mug of coffee to her mouth. She takes a sip.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"You don't remember me, do you?" the eyes says. (Typical Nigerian, responding to a question with a question.)
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"You were six then when we met during your grandmother's retirement party as a judge." 'the eyes' says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"And how many I help you?" Ona says, staring deep into the eyes.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"When was the last time you visited Nigeria?" the eyes say.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"It's been 15 years, but I'm still not sure why you're interested in me," Ona says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"15 years, I'm sure your mum would be happy to see you," the eyes say.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"My mum knows just where to find me if she wants to," Ona's phone rings. She picks it, listens and says "will there soon."
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"Is there anyway I could be of help to you? I have toget back to the precinct," Ona says one more time.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
The president's daughter has been kidnapped," the eyes say.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"And what's my business with the kidnapping of the president's daughter?" Ona says as she slides a 20 on the table underneath her plate.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"I am commissioned to get you to help find the president's daughter," the eyes says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
Ona smiles, shaking her head. "Really, no thank you. I have a case that I have to close pretty soon," Onas says as she stands up.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"I'll be watching. If you change your mind, I'll be there," the eyes says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"The president is willing to give anything to get her daughter back. Think about it."
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
"I'm not interested in the president's money," Ona says. "I never said you were," the eyes says.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
You’ve been reading the first installments of my new "untitled" story. To be continued tomorrow.The story is exclusive to Twitter. And as much, I wouldn't be blogging the upcoming installments.
— oluwami (@olubela) May 26, 2012
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