The Prince – Snail Story#1


The dozen or so flowers artfully arranged in the lavishly decorated room was unable to mask the cloying smell of sickness and decay. The heavy drapes covered the windows, and there was a constant buzz of flies accompanied by the groans coming from the direction of the large canopied bed.

The physician looked down at his patient, the Prince, and struggled to hide his revulsion. He hoped that the disease – it was unlike anything he had ever seen – was not contagious. Rumor had it that the Prince had forced himself on a witch and she had cursed him as she took her own life.

The vicious and arrogant prince was now a shriveled lump in the center of the bed. The shallow breaths he took made a wheezing sound. His skin was dry like parchment, clinging to his bones and flaking as if covered with dandruff. He was in immense pain, unable to eat or drink because his mouth was full of sores, and boils covered his groin. The Prince’s hair had fallen out and his once handsome face was gaunt with sunken cheeks, but his eyes were open, very much alive and trapped in a dying body.

Hey guys! As promised my flash fiction collection – Snail Story is up and cruising. And I want to do a lot of things with it, I feel butterflies in my belly just thinking of it. This is the first and I hope to have close to fifty or more before the year runs out, that’s roughly 10,000 words. Wow! Nice.

Thank you guys for reading. I really appreciate it. You can share and comment, I’d love to know what you think about my first attempt😂

Photo Credit: Pexels

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What’s In The Bag


I believed her bag to be the portal to another dimension and she was the gatekeeper.

What’s in the bag? Is what she said before she dived in for the goodies, making a big production out of it.

“What’s in the bag?” I yell, barely containing my excitement. Although it came out as “Wazzinibah?” I’m not known for my eloquence.

I’m too old for this. As a young man just out of the cradle and about to enter prep school, I certainly know that there are no such things as ghosts, and that masquerades only come out under the full moon – Nancy at the daycare swore it was true, as it was her Danta that told her.

As I was saying, I fall for the same trick every time. But can you really blame me. Whenever she opens that bag, it’s heaven on earth. If ever a Paradise of Goodies exists, it’s in there, somewhere in my Great Aunt Neche’s bag. Yes, she spoils me rotten, but once in a while she’s up to no good.

Ack! I try to grab hold of the bag but I miss because my hands are small and chubby. I feel something wet drop on my chest. What’s this? I’m drooling like a dimwit. The horror! Give me the bag woman or face my wrath, I warn her. She dangles the bag before me and I’m hypnotized, eyes glued to the worn brown leather as it sways ever so gently.

“What’s in the bag?” Great Aunt Neche asks as she slowly dips her hand into it. I push up on my equally small and chubby legs, my soggy diaper a dead weight between them, and my face red and puffy. Ah! The harpy is persistent in her folly, even though I’ve cranked up the volume of my screeching, and the nosy old hag next-door started to threaten to come over and deal with me about five minutes ago.

She brings out her hand empty from the bag, smiling recklessly, “Sorry Nna, but I did not bring you anything today. How about tomorrow I buy you a big red stick sweet. Would you like that?” I crossed my eyes as my brain went on overdrive. I see, she tricked me. The nerve of this woman, with her soft brown eyes and wrinkled face etched with deep laughing lines. The false goddess deprives me of her benevolence yet again.

She must have read my mind because she picks me up and nuzzles me, going for my weak spots. She knows all of them. In no time I put a stop to my loud protests and settle like putty in her arms, tracing the veins that crisscross like train tracks.

That was the last time I saw my Great Aunt Neche at our house. Today is the 24th anniversary of her death. My family often wonder why I always look morose on this day, ever year. They say I shouldn’t be able to remember her because I was a toddler when she passed away in her sleep. I don’t even try to explain how my memories of her are still intact. I just eat sweets and miss her.

Photo credit: Pexels

The Cursed


They said that the land was cursed and that the people were twice cursed, never to find a way out of the region. The white sands of the desert spread out for miles, as far as the eyes could see, with dunes doting the horizon to the east, west, and north. To the south was Mmiri – the salt lands. My people believed it to be a place of death covered with bones and shells of gross proportions. There were large boats called ships that were as ten men tall. It was unbelievable, the tales that they could float on water.

We lived underground in cave-like compartments, scurrying in the dark like moles. Long ago, my people excavated tunnels to keep us away from the unfavorable weather on the surface. As children, it was drilled into our ears not to wander – the world was a cruel place. As a young woman, I knew it to be true that the climate was unforgiving. There’s the sun, high up in the sky that beat down on us mercilessly during the day, sand storms were unpredictable with destructive force, the nights were cold, and in winter freezing. The curse and the devastation it caused was all around us. Hence, our lives were harsh and our skins tough as leather. We worked day and night to till the soil and protect the crops and the livestock. Stealing was unforgivable, and the punishment was death by beheading. The sand was everywhere – it got into our eyes, clung to our clothes, skin, and hair. It seeped into the water and entered our homes.

I was orphaned as a child and raised by my grandparents. My parents lost their lives on a return trip from the neighboring oasis where they went to pick up supplies with several others. They were yet another casualty of the terrible climate we lived in, and I had one more reason to despise the curse placed on my people. DeDe, my grandfather, the Chief, told stories to me of our history. It was customary for the custodians to pass on our history and knowledge from one generation to another. My name is Princess Uru, and I am the next custodian of my people. I was not treated any different from the next person even though I was royalty.

In the beginning, the gods roamed the world and lived among men. They were revered and worshiped. The land was young, lush and green, teeming with life. There were mountains that touched the heavens, the rivers and oceans stretched across the lands. For someone who has lived her entire life under the shadow of the curse, the world before was to me a paradise.

When a war broke out amongst the gods in the heavens, they took sides, as did the men who worshipped them. The battle was vicious, and the lands bled rivulets of blood. When the Great War ended, both the gods and humans came to realize the destruction they had caused. The world was on fire, and each side sustained heavy losses. Thus, there was a decree by the heavens that gods would henceforth live apart from humans. They restored the world, and the gods returned to heaven and ruled over the affairs of men. Hundreds of years passed, The Great War was forgotten by most men but not by the gods.

There was a strange illness at that time which caused the death of people and livestock. The healers could not find a cure for it, and the death toll rose alarmingly. As it was told, a god disguised as a traveler was passing through the village. He was Nduonwu, an outcast. He did not follow the rules and questioned the decrees of heaven. He was stripped of most of his powers and sent to The Earth for a season, to return when he was remorseful. Nduonwu had been alone for several years.

On that fateful day, Nduonwu, a stranger to my people, was received well by the Chief, treated to a warm meal, and sent on his way with provisions so that he would not spend the night and contract the sickness. Nduonwu marveled at the generosity and hospitality he received. He chose instead to stay and help, although he did not reveal his identity – it was forbidden by the decree of heaven for men and gods to live together. Weeks after he took up residence, the sick got better, and the livestock got stronger. The land flourished, and my people prospered.

Nduonwu fell in love with Princess Olaeze, the Chief’s daughter. The princess was beautiful, skin dark, and brown eyes flecked with gold. Olaeze had a pure heart and a fierce love for her people. They fell in love with each other, the god and the princess. Nduonwu couldn’t continue to keep his secret from Olaeze, and so he told her. They married soon after because she did not care who he was, and loved him truly.

Nduonwu angered the gods. Not only had he broken the decree of heaven, but he also went as far as to marry a human. However, when Olaeze got pregnant with their child, Nduonwu made plans and used his powers to create charms that hid her and the baby from the gods – a godchild, when he comes of age, would come into his/her full powers and could contend with the gods. The gods were enraged and struck Nduonwu down. In his weakened state he could not fight back and so he died. This was when the gods placed a curse on the land and the people. As long as Olaeze and the child were among my people, they were sure to die.

Olaeze cried and refused to eat, swore at the gods, and vowed to have her revenge. As the months passed, her body grew weaker, and her health deteriorated. It was no surprise that the baby was stillborn, smothered with grief before it could see the sun. Olaeze’s guilt and grief were too much to bear, and it was clear that she was not long for death. The curse was unraveling and my people were terrified for their lives. She left instructions with her father to keep the people together and protect them from the wrath of the gods – her love for her people strong to the very end. The people mourned the death of their princess and laid her to rest beside Nduonwu. The charms and the child’s bones were gathered up and placed in a safe place as she had instructed.

The gods locked the heavens, and the rains stopped. As the years went by and the drought continued, the lush green fields turned brown, and the rivers slowly dried up. My people tried but couldn’t break the curse. Our priests implored the gods but got no answers. To survive, we learned new ways of living, dug wells, and conserved the water. Years of toil and hardship and the gods abandoned us.
I believed that the gods were unjust. If not that humans helped during The Great War, many more of them would have lost their lives. Every day in this cursed land was a struggle to survive. I did not know what it felt like to be in the rain. I could not comprehend the sea, deep and vast, and as blue as the sky, just like my grandfather told it in his stories.

Olaeze and Nduonwu’s gravesite was sacred to our people – every year since her death, the charms and the child’s bones were a part of the coming-of-age ceremony.

As it was the custom of my people to hold the coming-of-age ceremony when a person turned sixteen, I had looked forward to when I would perform my rites before my people. It was something to be proud of, and it signified that I was a woman grown.
When the day finally arrived, I came back early from the farm and cleaned up before joining the rest by the gravesite. The sun was setting, and everybody was excited. My mates and I performed our rites, and DeDe recanted the love story of the god and the human, and how it became a curse that enslaved us. How we’ve lived and survived. People wept openly or into their hands, but I noticed that many of the older generations had dry eyes. I wondered if it was because they had no tears left. If all their lives of suffering had left them hollow inside. Then came the time for us to touch the charms and the child’s bone, and my heart started drumming in my chest. Darkness had fallen, and several torches were lit.

It was my turn to touch the sacred items, and I was trembling. As soon as I placed my hands on them, the charms latched onto my wrist, and the bones rattled violently, a light came pouring out of it and flooded the gathering, and I looked in horror as it rushed into me. I lifted off my feet towards the sky. The air crackled, and the wind was blowing strongly. I could hear my grandfather calling my name as people screamed in terror.

Another presence was inside me, but I wasn’t afraid. It made me feel complete and warm. In the air, my hands raised, and white light shot out like a lance towards darkened sky. I had no idea what I was doing. The light went out, and I was lowered to the ground. I could still feel the power coursing through me. Suddenly there was a crack like a whip and a blinding light arched and lit up the night. The wind was frenzied, causing the sand to move like wraiths. There was a loud rumble like a terrible beast as grey clouds gathered overhead. And then it happened. The heavens opened, and the rain poured in torrents.

Rain. Water. Wet. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. The water was cold. I opened my mouth to catch the drops and swallowed them greedily. The curse was broken. My people who had scattered earlier in terror raised their voices in a loud cry of joy. My heart was pounding in my chest and all my senses were enhanced. The thunder roared and I sensed another power that answered in frustration. Again I was hoisted in the air, but this time not by a mysterious power, but by my people. They chanted my name – Princess Uru, CurseBreaker, StormBringer – and rejoiced in the rain. To be certain the gods would find a way to get rid of us because once again their authority has been challenged. At dawn my people and I would decide on how best to battle against the gods. We have been toughened by our sufferings and this time we won’t go down without a fight. I clutched the charm and child’s bone to my chest. Let them come, we’ll be ready.

For my niece and nephew, Uru and Zoba💕

Photo credit: Pexels


Hey guys! I’ve got really great news. You are the very first to be invited to Thursday Talk Series😘🙌 Yay! I have been working on an interview series to feature here for y’all and I’m happy to tell you it’s coming along nicely. Truth is I’ve wanted to have a chance to share real stories and this is a wonderful opportunity. Now you know you want to MEET NEW PEOPLE THAT WILL TALK ABOUT THEMSELVES, WHAT THEY DO, THEIR STORIES AND THOUGHTS ABOUT LIFE IN GENERAL – THE REAL THING! This is it. Aren’t you excited? I am. I’ll be leaving updates as to when we will get started.

Ramblings By The Window


I started the morning intending to write a story before the end of the day. Sometimes it is a good thing, sometimes not so good. All I know is that words need to be spilled and spilled they shall be. Today is no exception, plus I have a deadline to meet. My editor will have my head if I do otherwise.

I’m sitting by the window perched on the stack of crates I use for a chair. The red cushion that cradles my bum is worn from years of abuse. My writing desk is a DIY table with hairpin legs – I found them in the dump and setting it up was no joke – I am quite the creative genius (if I say so myself) my house is full of some questionable pieces. I let out a sigh, feeling utterly dejected. I really can’t think of what to write and my head can’t take anymore of my not so gentle knocks. If you see me with my hair in a messy bun (several pencils are in it giving the impression of a porcupine), my T-shirt with holes and reedy legs sticking out from my strawberry patterned shorts – you’d be hard-pressed not to remark on my general state of dishevelment. Not to worry, it’s a sign that I want to be left alone to work.

Sighing, I peel off the sticky note stuck to my chin (no idea how it got there). I had scribbled, ‘Talk to Angela’ on it. Yes! I forgot, ergo sticky note. I was going on about intentions and this one is rather important. Days back, Shay – my neighbor’s daughter – told me she wished she had the money to get the new purse that was a rave among the girls in her school. I also want her to have the money, heck; I would buy it for her if only Angela, her mother will let me. Now Shay is the sweetest thing and Angela does what she can raising her alone with her wages as a clerk down at the realtor’s place. I am sure the purse would put a dent in Angela’s budget and that is why she refused to get it for her, but Shay is tenacious, like most children her age and I worry about the outcome. I’ll see to it as soon as possible.

My desk holds my laptop, my journals, and a cup with more pen and pencils than I can ever need and another cup that contains the dredges of my tea and a pack of chocolate cookies. Everything is covered in sticky notes. My eye catches the ticket sticking out of the book I was currently reading, The Art of Happiness by Dalai Lama and Howard C. Cutler. The ticket was for a concert last Monday night. James had passed it along saying it was our first official date. It can’t be me groaning like my period just kicked in. I put my head in my hands and groan louder. I’ve known James for two years now. We met at the gym and have become good friends. He has been anything but subtle about his intentions and has grown bolder since the jerk that was my ex- fiancé, Fred, left me for some bimbo from work. Dear heavens! I’m in a mess now. To hear him say it, was bad, and my brain remembers it word for word, which is worse – “I love you Alicia, I really do. But I love her more. I hope you understand.” Snap! The pencil I was holding is now in two pieces, which is good. I’ll poke his eyes out with them. Actually, the concert was fun. James was wonderful and attentive. Truly I have no reason to complain because I had a nice time. But I feel apprehensive about being with James.

I toss the broken pencil on the table and pick up The Art of Happiness, the ticket serves as a book marker for where I stopped the previous day. The book presents the Dalai Lama’s view on leading a happier life, augmented by Cutler’s observation as a Western psychiatrist. I stare intently at the phrase highlighted in green – The purpose of our existence is to seek happiness. I trace my fingers over the words, not sure if I expect it to jump out of the page. When it was first mentioned by the Dalia Lama, Cutler raised objections (as did I). If I can’t write I might as well read.
‘Are you happy?’ Cutler asked Dalai Lama in the book,  and he had answered, ‘Yes. Yes…definitely.’ I can’t help but think that when I was with Fred I thought we were sort of happy. We had to be because we were in love, understood each other well, and made plans for our wedding (even though we hadn’t picked a date). Apparently it was not enough. I have never been under the delusion that life is easy, I mean happiness is overrated, right? All a person can hope for is a measure of satisfaction with their lot. I have my family (lately I have included Shay and Angela), friends, my work and colleagues. I’ve had moments in my life when I was struck with profound joy, no doubt that it was happiness. Still, to pursue happiness solely seems like an effort in futility.

Dalai Lama explains that through the discipline of the mind – in this sense he uses the Tibetan word Sem which has a broader meaning closer to “psyche” and “spirit”; it includes intellect and feeling, heart and mind – happiness can be attained. ‘By bringing about a certain inner discipline, we can undergo a transformation of our attitude, our entire outlook and approach to life…When we speak of this inner discipline, it can of course involve many things, many methods. But generally speaking, one begins by identifying those factors which lead to happiness and those factors which lead to suffering. Having done this, one then sets about gradually eliminating those factors which lead to suffering and cultivating those which lead to happiness. That is the way.’

As I read I ask myself questions and my answers leave me restless. Am I happy? My honest answer is no…definitely no. At least not in the last couple of months. Not withstanding I have made great strides. I do not feel like a piece of wood adrift in the ocean or see gray clouds on the horizon. I’m on the mend. I cannot fault myself for my emotional dependence on the people I love and care about, but sometimes I wish it was not entirely so. It’s why I feel uneasy with James. I know I’m using him to buffet against the hurt and betrayal that still lingers. I have not brought under control my heart and mind, that one is true. It is wrong and he doesn’t deserve it. I will have to tell him the next time we meet that I can’t be with him. Not the way I currently am.

Catching my mind drifting, I place the ticket once more to mark the page I stopped and drop the book back on the table. I hear Shay calling for her mum and in a few minutes she runs out of the house. I give her a small wave when I catch her eyes and she waves back, hands high above her head, then she turns around and off like a rabbit she goes. Someone needs to bottle up that child’s energy and commercialize it. I pick up a pen and write on a fresh note ‘The purpose of our existence is to seek happiness,’ On another one, ‘Your state of mind is key’ and, ‘Cultivate inner discipline. I place them in my journal, and hope my resolve is strong enough. Instead of writing like I hoped for, I’ve spent the morning ruminating. Since Angela is around, I best talk to her now before I forget, again. The rest of the cookies I’ll give to Shay when she returns. I’ll continue writing when the fog in my head lifts, hopefully before the deadline.

"We begin, then, with the basic premise that the purpose of our life is to seek happiness. It is a vision of happiness as a real objective, one that we can take positive steps toward achieving. And as we begin to identify the factors that lead to happier life, we will learn how the search for happiness offers benefits not only for the individual but for the individual's family and for society at large as well."

The Art Of Happiness



There was a knock on the door, forceful enough that it rattled in its frames. My little sister, Neche, regarded me with wide eyes that asked, “what do we do now?” The door was locked, although I worried it was only a matter of time before the person rushed into the room. The shadows under the door slithered as they paced outside.

Bang! Bang! Bang! A squeal escaped Neche’s mouth, and I slapped my hand in a tight grip over her mouth. Too late! The person had stopped moving. I held my breath as my eyes started to water. There was a noise below, and the footsteps retreated down the steps.

Beside me, Neche squirmed, and I felt a sting inside my palm that was over her mouth. I quickly released her, and she greedily dragged air into her lungs. We both spoke at the same time.

“Are you trying to kill me?” She hissed.

“What was that for?’’ I exclaimed.

Neche glared at me as she muttered words under her breath. Inky darkness pooled at her feet and inched towards me. I raised my hands and a ball of midnight blue fire hovered above my head. The light illuminated the room softly.

“Will you two be quiet.” Our older brother Odili scolded quietly.”The King’s soldiers are still in the house, and we can’t fight them all by ourselves if we get caught.”

I looked over at him irritated, “We can fight them if we use our powers, they…”

“I told you to keep quiet, Ifunanya. Put out that light before you get us killed. They are too many of them, and our powers are not strong enough.” He cut me off and walked stealthily to the window that opened to the back of the house.

The fire went out of my hand, and Neche withdrew her power. I was still mad at her and Odili had upset me the more. If it was any other time, we would have a good brawl until mother came to separate our fight. He was only a year older than I was, but at sixteen he was tall with broad shoulders. His powers had the markings of a powerful general, and he was getting ready to start the next level of his training, before the attack.

The army had come for us in the middle of the night. They swarmed our castle without warning. Our warriors fought valiantly, but the enemies numbers were too great. When they breached the inner gates our parents joined the fight while giving us a chance to escape. I wanted to stay back and help but the guards sent with us did not relent. The last time I glimpsed my parents was as we rode away. They were terrifying to watch as they unleashed their powers on their enemies.

We didn’t know the outcome of the battle. It was our fourth day on the run with the King soldier’s at our heels. Our guards were dead or dying and Odili had done his best to keep us alive. We were scared and our nerves were frayed. It was getting harder to escape the King’s soldiers.

“Come now, let’s climb down. Don’t worry, just hold on to the vines.” His voice was softer as though he regretted snapping at us.

“We are too young to be caught up in this madness, but I promised Nne that I’d do my best to keep us breathing. It includes preventing you from doing something stupid that will cost our lives.”

He stood close to the open window and beckoned us. The moonlight was just enough to see the dark stain that covered his shirt and hand, from the finger to elbow.

The last soldier that came after us died with a hole in his chest. There was no time to make up a plan, not with the swarm of soldiers chasing after us. We needed to get away from them. Run! That’s what our parents told us as they fought for their lives.

Run! We ran away from the house under the cloak of darkness. Our parents are generals of Abali. We are children of the night, and when we return, our enemies will run before us.

Excerpt from a story I would love to complete. Like and comment if you want the rest of the story.😌😌😌

Daft Punk Girl (Missing Love By A Chorus)


I had a long day at school and was exhausted by the time I arrived home. I am early enough to have dinner with the family. We all miss Baba. It’s evident because that is all we care to talk about as he has been away for weeks at his job, and Mama has that faraway look in her eyes often. My younger siblings start a food fight and earn themselves a swat on their heads. I try not to let it show how tired I am – Mama will throw a fit – and even play a little tug of war with the dog.

At long last, I crawl under the sheets. It feels good to be horizontal. I reach for my ear pods – the same as every other night since the day I met her and made a new bedtime playlist. When the music starts, I don’t fall asleep immediately. I must listen to the same track on repeat. It is deliberate, and I feel tremors as the music thrum in my ears.

As I lie in the dark, I remember her face clearly, in fact, everything about her. I was going to class on that fateful day and had missed my bus. I was frantic and had to wait for 10mins before another one came along. In a flash, I jumped in and swiped my card. After a glance, I noticed her at the back, by the window. I chose the empty seat beside her.

Her eyes were closed, dark lashes framed acne-scarred cheeks, and her full red lips moved silently. Her hands crossed over her breast, and I could see that her fingernails were short and painted black, the same as the shirt and jeans she wore.

It was her face that I couldn’t stop glancing at; she had her headphone on, and the music bled through the speakers. A bag was by her led sneakers clad feet – they flashed blue and red – that kept time with the beat.

The song she was listening to was on repeat. It was The Weeknd – I feel it coming ft Daft Punk. I have since then called it ‘her song.’ The expressions on her face kept changing like a slide presentation; it was riveting. I don’t know how long I watched her. Her chest would rise and fall as a sigh escaped her parted lips. She smelled like lavender, and I would have given anything to know what she what was on her mind.

The bus hit a bump on the road, and her eyes fluttered open. I caught a glimpse of her dark brown eyes, and my stomach did a backflip. Immediately I looked away. I didn’t want to be the creepy guy on the bus. I felt her heated gaze on me, but I was too nervous to look her way. I could still hear her song playing. Soon the driver called my stop, and I hurried out of the bus without looking back.

Several times, I’ve found myself missing my bus on purpose, with the hope that I would see her again; no such luck. I wish more than anything that I could look into her eyes and ask her what made her frown or smile.

I’m drowsy though I still try hard to stay awake so that I could hear her song one more time. I feel connected to her this way. Her lips haunt me during the day. Her brown eyes follow me everywhere I go. I close my eyes, unable to fight my exhausted body. Red and blue lights go off like fireworks.  I don’t even know her name, but this girl haunts my dream.  Her song is all that fills my head.

The Weeknd – I Feel It Coming ft. Daft Punk

Ah, yeah

Tell me what you really like
Baby I can take my time
We don’t ever have to fight
Just take it step-by-step
I can see it in your eyes
‘Cause they never tell me lies
I can feel that body shake
And the heat between your legs

You’ve been scared of love and what it did to you
You don’t have to run, I know what you’ve been through
Just a simple touch and it can set you free
We don’t have to rush when you’re alone with me

I feel it coming, I feel it coming, babe
I feel it coming, I feel it coming, babe
I feel it coming, I feel it coming, babe
I feel it coming, I feel it coming, babe

You are not the single type
So baby, this the perfect time
I’m just trying to get you high (I’m just tryna, babe)
And faded off this touch
You don’t need a lonely night
So baby, I can make it right
You just got to let me try
To give you what you want

You’ve been scared of love and what it did to you
You don’t have to run, I know what you’ve been through
Just a simple touch and it can set you free
We don’t have to rush when you’re alone with me

I feel it coming, I feel it coming, babe
I feel it coming, I feel it coming, babe
I feel it coming, I feel it coming, babe
I feel it coming, I feel it coming, babe


Photo credit: Nawato

Hey guys! We’ll miss Daft Punk💔
Wish them all the best. Let me know in the comment section what your favorite Daft Punk album/song is.

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