Tag Archives: short story

Roses are Red

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love-red-rose-black-31000 all4myspaceAnother really long one.  I’m really sorry!  Maybe I’m working my way up to novel standards.

He promised you a rose.  And thus it started.  You didn’t ask for it, you would have been quite fine without it, but he walked past you on the staircase one day and held your stare.  That was nothing new, you were beautiful, men looked at you, it was normal.  Then he walked up behind you as you looked at your favorite painting in the lobby, the one of the single red rose, and he promised to bring you a red rose, one almost as beautiful as yourself. Read the rest of this entry

My Block

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text-messageI’m suffering a case of writers’ block at the moment.  A bad one.   But don’t worry, I know the reason and I’ll deal with him soon enough.

Speaking of blocks, I seem to remember something that happened in my hostel back in Uni days.  I had a roommate, let’s call her Lola.  No, let’s not call her Lola, one of my roommates was actually called Lola.  So let’s call her Funke instead.

One morning after her shower Funke returned to the room naked as the day she was born.  She proceeded to take a full body nude picture, type out a naughty message underneath (I didn’t see the message, I just assume based on the smile she had on her face) and send both off to her boyfriend, let’s call him Dan.  Read the rest of this entry

Glass Houses

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glass houseJust to mention, today I’m writing as a guy…

So there I was, standing in the kitchen staring at the cup of gari that was my home and abroad.  You see, like the Widow of Zarephath, this three quarter cup of gari here was my last handful of flour.  And the three or four tea-spoons of over-warmed egusi soup ‘without’ left in the pot?  That was my little oil in the jug.  After I ate this meal I had no idea where my next one would come from, but I had decided not to think about that just yet because sufficient for today was the trouble thereof.  I had bigger fish to fry – I had to decide how to prepare this last meal.  Did I want to drink gari?  Or did I want to make eba? Either path had pros and cons. If I drank the gari then I could trick my body into recognizing the egusi soup as another meal tomorrow.  If on the other hand I made eba, I would use up the soup but it would send me straight to sleep allowing me forget my troubles for a while, hopefully till Jesus came or the Lord called me home.  Yeah, that was the better choice. They say if you want to eat a frog you should eat the one with a big head.  So if I was going to have my last meal I should have a proper meal, not a snack. Eba it would be.  And then like an affirmation from the gods my phone rang. Read the rest of this entry

My Name is…

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I know I ALWAYS write in ‘first-person’, probably a sign of literary laziness?  I don’t know.  But today I thought to try something marginally different.   Still writing in first-person, but from the points of view of three different people – Abby, EnKay and Jide.  Enjoy, and when you’re done please let me know what you think.  Merci beaucoup.

Abby:

It’s about 11.30 on this dusty Monday morning and a young man walks into the lobby looking lost.  My eyes, trained to spot money (or lack of it) a mile away, take in his frayed collar, faded tie and dusty shoes and I wonder what on earth His Royal Wretchedness is doing here. Yes, he’s handsome, but his one dimple and perfect eyebrows can’t make up for this contraption a very wicked tailor has sewn for him in the name of a suit.  I guess he’s one of those job seekers coming to drop another CV, the manila envelope clutched in his left hand sort of tells the story. Seriously, I almost feel sorry for him.

He seems to gain some confidence as he spots me at the reception desk, smiles and says hello.  “See my life?” I say to myself as I hiss inwardly, on a good day this one wouldn’t have the guts to look me in the eye if he passed me on the street, let alone expose teeth and “hello” me like I’m his mate.  But in this firm I’m paid to be nice to whatever brand of humanity the wind blows in through those doors so I smile half-heartedly and mumble a reply to his greeting, they don’t pay me enough to win an Oscar, abeg.  Then he gives his name as Jide and mentions he’s here for the 1pm appointment with the MD and something clicks! Read the rest of this entry

The Day My Life Ended

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smileLook, I’m not being dramatic, my life is actually over.  Seriously.  You don’t believe me?  Fine, grab a seat and I’ll tell you the story.

It started the day they released us from Camp.  I swear down, the person that invented white and white will never know peace.  I had just wasted 2 weeks of my life living behind walls and being chased around by a bunch of good for nothing soldiers.  Even in secondary school I never had to frog jump!  A big shior to them all.  Anyway, that was all over and we’d been released into the wild, I was determined to cruise the rest of the year to the max.  I can’t shout, there was no way I was going to endure one full year in some water logged creek at the backyard of nowhere so I’d fought tooth and nail to get myself posted to town and it had worked.  As the only girl in the family Daddy and my brothers had showered me with wads of cash before I left home, so when we got to town I refused to join the mere mortals squashed together in the Corpers’ Lodge and decided to get a cab and find a hotel instead.  And on that one decision lie all my troubles of today. Read the rest of this entry

I Will Save You

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My boss wants to marry me.  No, don’t hold your head and shout, now, I want to marry him too.  In fact, I have the proposal all planned out, down to the restaurant he’ll take me to on my birthday and the shirt he’ll wear when he pops the question.  It will be that sky blue shirt I bought but haven’t given him yet, I’m waiting for the opportune time.  Yes, I know it’s strange that I’m the one planning the proposal but it has to be this way, you see, because my boss wants to marry me but he doesn’t know it yet. Read the rest of this entry

The Parable of the Jollof Rice

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jollof rice

Written 19/11/2012, 1st published on ParadigmShiftNG

So last Sunday I woke up with this intense yearning for jollof rice.  It reminded me of one other Sunday like that back in Bayelsa during my Youth Service days. I’ll tell you the story.  Twas a bright and glorious Sunday morning and I simply couldn’t find the N50 I was to use for a bike to church so I decided to cook jollof rice instead.  I was broke as glass but at least I had the standard ingredients so I got to work.  Midway through the cooking I got a call from a fellow Corper who ‘was just around my side and was just checking to see if I was around’.  Now, if you’ve endured proper NYSC (not the ajebota fixed type) you’d know that that’s Corper-speak for “Babe, u get food 4 dat ur house so?”  So I said, “yeah, come over, I’m even cooking sef”.

Now, for some background gist.  This was like the latter half of the NYSC year and the well-meaning public had been drumming in our ears that we had better come back home with two certificates – one in paper form and one in man form, and this corper was a nice, handsome young man with a not-so-terrible job and some really good prospects, so the plan was to wow him with this my perfectly cooked jollof rice and hopefully get him to take the toasting to the next level.  Of course, am still single today so we know how that turned out. Read the rest of this entry

On the Bus

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If you know my schedule you’ll know that right now I’m so damn bored. And in my boredom I remember a bus ride I once took.

Some background info. I travel alot. Some trips are work related, some family-matter related and some are just plain dog-leg related. And I do most of them by bus and quite a few by night. The problem I always had was why in ALL these trips I had had all manner of seat mates EXCEPT a fine boy. Well, on this night’s trip that was going to change. Read the rest of this entry