More Dangerous Than the Devil , livre ebook
239
pages
English
Ebooks
2024
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239
pages
English
Ebooks
2024
Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne En savoir plus
Publié par
Date de parution
01 août 2024
Nombre de lectures
0
EAN13
1723102434810
Langue
English
Poids de l'ouvrage
1 Mo
Valentina befriends Mélodie, a young missionary of the Devil, and gradually draws her into the realm of darkness. Despite her compassion, Valentina refuses to bow to the dark demands of Nida, the mermaid mother, which triggers Melodie's anger. Melody then calls in Irina, Valentina's ruthless sister. Faced with this crucial choice, Valentina categorically refuses to give up her goodness, at the cost of her parents' lives. Valentina persists in her relentless fight to prevent Melody from dragging Irina into the dark realm of the devil. But everything changes when Melodie's well-kept secret is suddenly revealed, upsetting the delicate balance between the forces of good and evil.
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Publié par
Date de parution
01 août 2024
Nombre de lectures
0
EAN13
1723102434810
Langue
English
Poids de l'ouvrage
1 Mo
Pierre SOKENOU
MORE DANGEROUS THAN THE DEVIL
Roman
CHAPTER 1 : My introduction
I’m a beautiful young woman. And when we talk about a beautiful young woman, you already know what we mean! A beautiful young woman is one who has a good front and a good back. Why be ungrateful to the Father, Creator of heaven and earth, when he gives us good things? In any case, I’m grateful for what he’s done for me. He gave me beautiful breasts and a big butt. Because of my butt, everyone calls me "The girl with the big butt". I know that myself, because when you’ve got something, you know it. Or who among you can tell me that when the rich are rich, they don’t know it? He knows it! When God gives him the chance to buy a big car, he’s happy because he knows how God has fulfilled him by giving him this beautiful grace.
So I was also happy about this beautiful grace that God gave me. Oh yes, I must be grateful to him. Sometimes we meet people of the same sex as us, and considering how beautiful they are, we say to ourselves: how pretty they are!
This is exactly the beauty God has given me. When I leave the house to go for a walk - no, a mop - I recognize in myself how much I want to feed the eyes of men and women. Yes, when you’re extremely beautiful, everyone looks at you. You become an imaginary person. Yes, it’s in the imagination that the painter or draughtsman could exaggerate the charm of a fictitious person.
Who am I really, because I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’d like to tell you my first name, but it doesn’t matter. The only name
everyone refers to me by is "The girl with the big butt". Even my own mother calls me by this pseudonym. Even though I have a first name, everyone prefers to call me that. I have a father. He’s a polygamist, this gentleman; a polygamist who doesn’t know how to manage two wives. That’s one of the reasons why I say that not all men are good at having two wives. While some men manage their households of four or even five wives well, others can’t even manage two. At least, that was the case with my father. Otherwise, I wonder how a man with two wives could let himself be guided by one of his wives when he has two?
My father ran away from his own house, which he built with his own money, to rent a room for his second wife because of my mother. Why did he react like that? Quite simply because my mother, thinking she was my father’s first wife, stood up one day and told my father that she didn’t want to see my father’s second wife in the courtyard of the house, or she’d kill her. How can a woman dare say such a thing to her husband if she has indeed received a good education from her parents? I don’t mean to blame my mother, but if I were in my father’s shoes, I wouldn’t obey. Do you know that my father obeyed by doing what my mother asked him to do? Instead of kicking my mother out of the house, my father took great pleasure in moving the innocent woman who was always calm. Do you see how far jealousy drags our steps?
My father complied and welcomed the suffering. When he’d finished moving his second wife out of the big house he’d built, he’d come to pick up his big suitcase one evening. Since he left, misery has taken its place in the house. I only have two sisters. I don’t have a brother. I’m my father’s and mother’s eldest. I’m a big girl. I’m a second-year law student. My father is so rich that to go to school in
the morning, I take him five thousand francs for my lunch. Every week, I take thirty thousand francs from him. He robs me of so much money that I don’t even know that there are people who, in order to find even five hundred francs, have to work very hard. But that’s normal! We assume that you were born into wealth; were you going to believe that the opposite of wealth is poverty? Of course not! Because you’ll find everything easy. Oh yeah! You’re going to believe that life is made up of good things and never bad things. In any case, that’s how I saw life until the day my mother turned to poverty. Yes, it was she who called on misery to assist us; otherwise, how could a woman be so courageous as to lay down this law to her man? Don’t you think that all talk is absolutely no talk? In the home, isn’t it the man who decides? Or in a home, isn’t it only the man who urinates into a bottle? Can a woman do this? In what can the woman seek to urinate and the man, with his hose, be unable to do so?! I still don’t get it. That’s why the man’s place is indisputable. After all, my father was free to marry as many women as his heart desired. The person has money and without leaving his house for a whole month, we’ll want for nothing. But then, one fine day, my mother compromised the beautiful relationship between Dad and us. And what would have upset my father even more in the situation was the fact that my father’s second wife was a very quiet woman. She doesn’t like noise. She’s always tucked away in her room. I admire her a lot because, being my father’s little wife and at the same time my little mother, she knows how to cherish me. She laughs a lot with us, and I don’t know why my mother would have preferred her to leave the house. My father, wanting to punish my mother, didn’t know that he was hurting us too. The first day I phoned him after he left to ask for my pocket money, he insulted me on the phone. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know my father. My father, who never called me a fool, called me rude and forbade
me to call him again. Can you see how someone’s words could easily make your life difficult? Ah yes, not all talk is talk. That’s one of the reasons why an African adage says: "Before saying anything, turn your tongue a thousand times, because a word that falls from your mouth is irretrievable".
It’s true! Before insulting even your own child, you have to be very careful. You mustn’t act like a mother who has hurt herself by calling her own child a bastard. How can a well-aware mother dare insult her own child, whom she has kept in her womb for nine months of this term? When she said this to her child, she didn’t know that her stepfather was behind the door. Just three days later, a meeting was called. That day, the father-in-law asked our gossip who was the real father of her child, whom she called a bastard. The woman couldn’t answer. The consequence! She was thrown out of the house. Everyone took her for a prostitute. How else could she dare call her own child that unhealthy term. This is what her mouth created for her.
Indeed, my mother appealed to misery with her filthy mouth and eating became a difficult thing. To feed us, she had to phone her brothers and sisters. It’s only belatedly that they make small gestures to her. She tried to apologize to Dad, but my father was one of those people whose decisions were irreversible. Yes, when my father says no, it’s on the no that he stops. He never said no only to say yes a little later; never! My mother visited him several times to ask him to come home, but he refused. I too went to his new home. He told me the same thing. He even added that if we wanted, we could sell the house and manage with the money. Do you hear this gentleman? And if we sell the house, where are we going to sleep? Do you see the audacity of this gentleman? After all, he’s right. But
there was no need to punish both the guilty and the innocent. But that’s often what happens in life. Even in schools, we experience it. All it takes is one unlearned pupil to make a mistake and an entire class is punished.
The way my father reacted, it’s as if he’d already expected this from our mother. He expected that one day my mother would speak to him in that tone of voice and that he would end up with her forever.
Since my father has already taught me the good life, what am I supposed to do for the rest of my life? It’s how to continue living this better life that will be my vision. But then everything changed in second grade, to the point where I couldn’t even find a hundred-franc coin to take to campus. From five thousand francs pocket money to zero francs, don’t you think that’s too bad?
That’s the only thing that got me into prostitution. Who could imagine for a second that all our actions are observed in the shadows by the devil? Who could imagine that I’d gone from being a simple prostitute to the devil’s servant, and that with my beauty, my big buttocks and my big tits, I’d ruin the lives of lots of men?
Read my story to understand what witchcraft is capable of. Yes, witchcraft is merciless. It’s like AIDS, it shows no mercy. I know you’re going to be angry with me, but that’s not my concern. My concern is that you be very careful in life, because all that glitter s is never gold. I know you like erotic stories; my story is one of them. And far from being erotic, it’s also about many of the pitfalls of the dark world.
Read my story, it may save you from the devil’s traps. Happy reading and Hasta la Vista.
CHAPTER 2: My relationship with the first local boy
Ever since Dad left home to move into one of his other houses, the joy in the house had followed him. Yes, we were happy in the house because we had everything. We rarely ate corn dough. We rarely ate gari. In one year, I could name the number of times we ate these dishes. Our daily meals are: pizza; couscous; perfumed rice; or d’oeuvre; spaghetti. Let’s just say we go for the fancy stuff. We ate meat from the first day of the week to the last. My two sisters and I were happy. It seems that it was to keep this joy alive until the end that my mother didn’t want anyone else to move into our house; reason for her law, unaware that it could compromise us.
Dad had loaded his big car with his second wife’s belongings on a Friday night, since it was on a Friday morning that my mother had laid down the law. My mother, I was sure, was expecting an apology from my father. But since my father knew he was the only authoritarian in the house, he made up his mind right away.
My mother had spoken to him in the morning and my father, having said nothing, had taken his satchel and gone to her service. At six o’clock in the evening, when he came home from work, standing beside his Range Rover, he raised his voice to ask his second wife if she had finished packing. She rushed in from the bedroom and told him she was already packed. My father went to the door of the woman’s room, took out her luggage with his own hands and returned to install it in the car. When he had finished installing them, he asked her to come aboard. The young woman came out of her room in a beautiful dress and climbed aboard.
Just like that, Dad and his second wife, who had just arrived and hadn’t even been married two weeks, were out of the house. All of us standing on the terrace, my sisters and I plus my mother, were impatient for Dad’s return, forgetting that this was the beginning of our misery.
Can you imagine how easily a misplaced word could compromise a whole group of people?
In any case, we hoped for Dad’s return that day until late at night, when we realized that Dad had taken the initiative to sleep over for the first time in his life.
The next day was Saturday. I’d have to get to class, and for that I needed breakfast. Ah yes, that was the habit my father had given me. I’d been hoping for Dad all morning, wondering if he’d forgotten that I’d have to go to school. I phoned him; his phone rang tiredly but there was no answer. Because of my breakfast, I missed school. What the hell am I going to do in class when I don’t have my pocket money in my pocket? And if I got dizzy and fell to my death, would the poor white guy leave his country to come to my rescue? In any case, I hadn’t been to school. In the bedroom, there was plenty of food. At the end of each month, Dad always renews our food supplies. When there’s money, there’s nothing but pleasure. Even though he already had everything in the room, to make one meal we needed twenty thousand francs, because we have to buy meat for more than twelve thousand francs for a single kitchen. Don’t you think that’s a waste? But after all, it was our money! Oh yes, Dad’s money was for everyone.
When I waited for Dad all day Saturday, he wasn’t back until eight. And instead of bringing his car into the yard, he parked it on the gate and got out.
When he’d crossed the courtyard, the waiting room, climbed the stairs and crossed the living room with a slightly tight face, he headed for his room, only to emerge a few minutes later with his big suitcase.
- Dad, what are you traveling for?" I asked him, jumping in after him.
- Ask your mother," he replied.
I could smell anger in his words. Yes, Dad often talks like that when he’s angry. My mother, still seeing herself, hadn’t moved from her couch to ask her husband for a little explanation as he walked towards his vehicle. I jumped in after Dad to ask him what was wrong.
- Go back to the house," he said.
- Dad, why are you doing this to us?
- I haven’t done anything to you.
- Yes, you have!
- Then that’s good!
- Now, where are you going?
- I’m going to my parents’.
- And who are you leaving us with?
- You too, go back to your parents!
Dad didn’in his car.t say another word, and sped off
I stood there desolate, watching him go. I returned to the living room, very irritated, to see my mother.
- Mom, do you see what you’ve created?
- What do you think I’ve created?
- Isn’t it because of you that Dad is leaving this house?
- Who told you he’s leaving? How can an owner abandon his house?
- Is this what you think? Do you think that this gentleman, from what I’ve heard him say, will ever come back to this house again?
- What did he say?
- It’s not me who’s going to tell you. You’re mean!
- Please stop calling me a wicked woman.
- Yes, you are! If not this innocent woman, what did she do to you to make you ask Dad to get rid of her?
- You’re still a child and still very small to...
- Stop treating me like a kid, okay? Don’t forget I’m already twenty-five. In any case, whatever you did to get him out of the house, do it to get him back to us, otherwise you and I are going to be in a lot of trouble.
With that, I headed for the stairs to leave her and my sisters behind.
