You do not keep abreast of the history of this your village; if martyrs are regarded, why should we choose to be assassins? Look, when there is nothing to learn from and live for, you do not hesitate to take your bread from the most possible available means and have it buttered. To tell you the gospel truth...

Torture. Killing. The child dies. And the other children's breathe taken. Herald are the echoes of an unknown and a dead future...The torture, abuse and, eventual death of the golden child, Baby P, should become the voice of every abused, tortured child all over the world, in the hope that they do not die before help gets to them, or the right attitudes in place by those bestowed with decision making...

Have you noticed lately? Her breasts have fallen, her nipples vanished, her lips pouted, her legs wobbling; her eyes are being threatened with blindness, she has lost her muscles, and replaced with excess fat caused by stress and all the bad habits in the universe. In addition, not to mention her most region, the zeal is an escape. You see, hell has indeed gone rustic!

A stunning portraiture, Eberekpe. Luminous. The colors, textures and nuances subtle and not so. The paradoxes and ironies of this grand city expressed with the perfect inflections of shade and light. This is a fine piece of writing, my friend...Steve Robbins.