TwoCents and the House of Meaning - Part 1

Note: In this insight, the character "TwoCents" represents every writer on the platform. Please read slowly and enjoy. Kindly drop a comment below after reading. Thanks. <h3>__________________ THE WAR BEGINS</h3> The trouble began on a Tuesday morning. Not because of rain. Not because of NEPA. Not because someone had posted “Good morning, beautiful souls” and secretly hoped one particular person would reply. No. The trouble began because **Metaphor** woke up and said: <blockquote>“I am the greatest figure of speech.”</blockquote> And just like that, the English Language entered a crisis. The Figures of Speech had been living peacefully in a small neighbourhood called The House of Meaning. They shared the same compound, borrowed each other's clothes, attended the same grammar meetings and, once in a while, helped students pass examinations. But peace never lasts when people start comparing achievements. Metaphor had been feeling himself for a while. He walked into the common room wearing dark glasses, a designer agbada and the confidence of a man who had never once used the word “like” when he could simply become something else. “Let us be honest,” Metaphor announced. “I am the greatest.” Simile, who was sitting beside the window, immediately looked up. “Excuse me?” Metaphor adjusted his glasses. “I said what I said. I am the greatest.” “You?” “Yes. Me.” “You are not even able to compare two things without pretending one is the other.” Metaphor smiled. “Exactly. That is why I am powerful.” The other Figures of Speech gathered around. Personification came with her handbag. Hyperbole came with a megaphone. Irony arrived late because, ironically, he had been waiting for two hours at a place he had described as “very close.” Onomatopoeia came making unnecessary sound effects. Alliteration entered the room saying: <blockquote>“Big boys bring beautiful brilliance.”</blockquote> Nobody had asked him to speak. He did not care. Metaphor stepped forward. “Ladies and gentlemen, I do not merely compare things. I transform them.” He pointed at Simile. “She says, ‘The boy is as brave as a lion’” Simile nodded proudly. “Correct.” Metaphor raised one finger. “I say: The boy is a lion.” There was silence. Then Hyperbole screamed: “Ah! This one has eaten the lion!” Metaphor ignored him. “When I say, ‘Her voice is music,’ I do not mean she has entered a recording studio. I mean her voice is beautiful. When I say, ‘The world is a stage,’ I am not saying the earth has been covered with plywood and curtains. I am creating a picture in your mind.” He turned dramatically. “I do not describe reality. I give reality a new outfit.” Simile rolled her eyes. “Very poetic. But you are also confusing.” “Confusion is sometimes the beginning of deep thinking,” Metaphor replied. “See him,” Simile muttered. “He has started speaking like a motivational speaker.” She stood up. “Now, let us talk about me. I make comparisons clear. I don't force things. I use words such as like, as, or as...as” She pointed at a man outside. “Look at TwoCents.” TwoCents was passing through the compound with a notebook in one hand and a cup of something that looked suspiciously like coffee in the other. Simile pointed. “TwoCents writes like a man who has been chased by deadlines.” TwoCents stopped. “Why am I inside this story?” Nobody answered. Simile continued. “See? Clear. Simple. Direct.” Metaphor scoffed. “Your problem is that you always need assistance. ‘He is like a lion.’ ‘She is as beautiful as a sunset.’ ‘The boy runs like the wind.’ Madam, if you are so powerful, why do you keep bringing ‘like’ everywhere?” Simile gasped. “Because I have manners!” The room erupted. Then Personification stepped forward. “Both of you should calm down.” Metaphor laughed. “You?” “Yes, me.” “You give human qualities to non-human things.” Personification nodded. “Exactly. And that is why I am the reason the world feels alive.” She pointed outside. “The wind whispered through the trees.” The wind outside immediately whispered. “Did you hear that?” Everyone looked at her. Personification smiled. “The sun smiled down on the village.” The sun, which had been minding its business, suddenly became involved in the argument. “The angry waves crashed against the shore.” “Angry?” Simile asked. “Yes.” “Waves don't get angry.” Personification looked at her. “Neither do clouds cry. But when I say, ‘The sky cried,’ everybody understands that it rained.” Metaphor nodded reluctantly. “That was good.” Personification smiled. “I know.” And just then, Hyperbole jumped onto the table. “Enough of this nonsense!” The table shook. “I am the greatest!” The argument had just become much bigger. 》》》》》Part 2

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