Three Sniffs. Or Something Close.

1. I flung the bottle of lotion I was holding at the mirror in front of me. Cracks quickly travelled to its edges from where my bottle kissed it. I watched my scattered reflection, wishing I didn't have to do this everytime I failed to catch a guy's attention. Makeup wasn't magic and my Ferraris… Continue reading Three Sniffs. Or Something Close.

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Three Stories.

1. I shifted my eyes from Nnamdi's bulging tummy to his face as he rinsed it in the sink. I drew my wrapper up to cover my breasts. It was hard to understand, even though we shared the same room, how he could smile that widely and laugh longer than he lasted inside me. 2.… Continue reading Three Stories.

Threads.

I saw the story published in the newspaper that was delivered yesterday. I didn’t send the story in, someone else must have. If I wasn’t the subject of the article, I may have believed everything in it completely. The only truth in the story was the fact that I was, because I no longer am,… Continue reading Threads.

Simon.

Simon rested his chin on the handle of his broom as he stared down the rows of chairs—yellow, green and black—that spread out before him; dull, bleached and empty. He had just cleaned them. He had spent a lot of energy trying to make them perfect. He realized, after the third go, that he couldn’t… Continue reading Simon.

Magnets and Sermonets.

Nnamdi watched a gangly young man dressed in a red polo and knee-tight royal blue jeans which were slightly faded at the bum, go across the road in front of his provision store. A few minutes before, the man had been in his provision store with an invitation flyer to a church program, and after… Continue reading Magnets and Sermonets.

Punctured Edges.

“Don't stay up late sweetie. There's food in the fridge, make sure you've eaten and slept before I'm back.” The words wafted through Bayo's mind for the fourth time that night. “Don't stay up late.” A few years ago, hearing his mother mouth these words before she disappeared into the evening, had meant nothing more… Continue reading Punctured Edges.