We Are The Odinas (Part 5)

Magnus
I walked into the empty staff room and let out a loud yawn. It had been a long day and I was looking forward to spending an hour alone marking scripts and preparing for tomorrow's class. There was something about the relative silence, the absence of another human being that makes me work more efficiently.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Odina." A cheery female voice said from behind me. I hoped it wasn't who I thought it was. No such luck. I turned around and gazed upon the speaker.
"Good afternoon, Miss Ogumanki." After the confrontation from the principal, I had spent the whole day worrying about Marge and I. I kept going over our conversations, trying to recall if I had ever said something that can be constructed to show an inappropriate relationship between us. So far, I have come up with nothing, but my mind keeps gnawing at me about a looming danger.

We Are The Odinas (Part 4)

Buchi
"Boys...sit down." Mom gestured to the twin sofa adjacent to her. The seat was upholstered with dark red 'akwa-oche' material that had - gone out of style before I was born and - lost its softness. Sitting in it for prolonged periods of time resulted in an uncomfortable bump on the butt cheeks, sleeping in the sofa was totally out of the question if you don't want to get a hunchback.
Chinedu flopped into the seat, a bored look on his face. I approached the seat warily as if it was a coiled serpent that would strike at any moment.

The Lost Self.

Tossed in the ocean of dreams
Dreams with masked faces
Selves stirred
And selves lost

Voices alike! Another soul worn
Souls with different cherries
With the Prince a dance at the market square
Beats drums gave, beats of fear danced to

An Intelligent Micro-Controller Based irrigation System With Sensors.

During my final year in school, i worked on a very interesting Project and thought it important to share it with my blog readers. Below is a paper i wrote on it. 
BLOCK DIAGRAM OF THE PROPOSED SYSTEM.

A Letter From A Belfast Sniper.

Dear Megan.
I write you this letter with a torn heart, my heart beats for you, It pains me that I cannot behold your springly figure. There is nothing but pain in this city. Every day, we are at it with the Brits, anytime I see a Landover, filled with arrogant Brits, I spit in disgust.

Katie's Letter.

Dear Jude,
I don't know if you will ever read this letter, but I have to write it. I don't want to but I fear that if I keep my feelings to myself, I'll explode.
I wish I could see you. Just one more time, so I can spit on your face. I want to you to hurt like I'm hurting. I want you to feel pain like I'm feeling. I want you to cry, the same way I've been crying over you. Yes, Jude. I hate you.
Remember the day we met, somewhere around Iyana-ipaja, I nearly hit you with my car. You turned to give me the middle finger but when u saw it was a lady driving, you just waved. I never told you this but that first time you looked at me, my heart stopped. That's why I had to convince you to let me give you a ride. You said you were going to Ikeja and I said I was going the same way. I lied. I was going to Abule-egba. I just wanted to be close to you. Why else would I have driven so slowly? We exchanged numbers and my joy was full.

Annals Of The Thereafter.

The maker so wanted the earth
To be a dwelling of mixed breath;
For the righteous ones be given
A paradisaical heaven.
When truth and time have unraveled
The exploits that long have traveled,
A state of judgment is decreed