Novels by Cent A. Ganiyat

Mondays and work. Tuesdays and work plus unfinished Monday’s work. Tomorrow would be much worse if I don’t finish these 3000 words today.I tried writing in the room. I had set out my PC on the wooden modern desk, sneakers placed beside it to reward myself at each completion of 1000 words and curtains drawn to allow the daylight’s liveliness do its works of inspiration. After writing two paragraphs for five hours, I gave up.I could not concentrate. My mind kept drifting to a certain striking man. Questions and scenarios of what could have been if I hadn’t deleted his number flooded me. Would I have called him? Was I right to have judged him as a playboy? If I’m to abandon this independent woman I had going on, would I be in his muscular arms now, relishing the season of love? The type of love that only appears in fiction.Now, as I sat on a chair in the barbecue spot, I read the paragraphs all over.‘He jumped on the b

The day is bright. The sunlight flooded the football field, boosting the beauty and glow of the stadium. I have to accept, coming to this football match is considerably better than hanging at home. I’m glad David beat me in the scrabble game and I have to do everything he suggests for today. Even though he cheated.How else would I experience the thrill that comes with sweaty, ripped guys chasing a ball into a net? And the loud and crazy part of David and humans entirely.I have no idea what I’m watching except that David is on the black jersey side and the two teenagers sitting in my front are on the green and black jersey side.“What do you call them again?” I asked David. He sat at the tip of his seat, eyes darting wherever the ball darted to.I waited a little for him to reply and pinched him when I’m sure he isn’t going to.He jerked and rubbed his thigh. “Home versus away.”When he arced