The daughter and the god.

When the child was given to you, placed in your belly by the father of gods even though you chose to thank the man with the white robes, messenger of the strangers’ god. We hoped you would remember to teach her about us. We watched you through the veil, as you pressed your fingers on beads and prayed for a godly seed. We wondered how you could not tell you were carrying a god.

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Wednesday Fiction…

HiYa

I’m sharing an excerpt from something I’m working on. I really hope you’d like it.

 

Wake Me Up

Pamela was thinking of ginger as she waited for the kettle on the ring to boil, not ginger the spice but the verb. No! it was the adverb – gingerly, it described her actions in the house since Jerry’s mother arrived yesterday, the only things the woman hadn’t complained about were the things she hadn’t seen yet. Continue reading →

Lantana’s Odyssey – 1

The last time I did a proper fiction series has to be in 2016, since then I’ve done a couple of random series that went nowhere. I’m starting a new series as promised in my last post and it’s set in Bida. It’s about a woman who has to make very tough choices at a difficult time in her life.

Enjoy the first episode and I hope you’ll enjoy the series and the characters I’ve created.

Episode One.

She hated the white walls of hospitals, why couldn’t they paint them something cheery and less sterile? Something like cotton candy-pink or purple like ripe wine grapes. Perhaps the colour of the wall wouldn’t bother her so much if this wasn’t the place where people came to die.

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Heart Gone Rogue.

She had often been accused of lacking a heart. While her haters and detractors had never gone as far calling her heartless, even they had to agree that she was kind and a little selfless but they agreed that she was incapable of being straightforward in the affairs of the heart. It puzzled her that they all said the same thing of her, they didn’t even know each other, the fuckers. Continue reading →

Friday Fiction- It will not Kill you

My neighbour’s girlfriend is pounding yam again, the echo of the thud of the pestle on the yam slices against the mortar seeps through the concrete decking into my room, the vibrations make my windows rattle. She pounds every day, rattling my window in the mid-morning when I try to catch the second wave of sleep after losing the first round in the hours after I return from my night shift at the factory. Her pounding always delays that second round of sleep but I smile when it starts, it means I would eat baby-face smooth pounded yam in a few hours.

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