Category Archives: FLASH FICTION

Happy Valentine’s Day

It was Valentine’s Day, and darn it, she was going to be spending her evening alone… once again. And her night alone too.

Dang! But why did her life have to be so boring and so empty?

God, why did you have to create me to be such a social-shy introvert? Simi cast her eyes heavenward and frowned depressingly at the pillows of patchy grey skies. Why couldn’t you make me bold, witty, a lover of people and crowds and… and some kind of modern-day party animal, huh? Why create me, offer me this pretty face, and then dump on me this burden of… of… Simi searched her head for a better word than timid… of a retiring personality?

Why couldn’t she get a man?

Why couldn’t one stop her as she was walking now and just pay her a compliment?

“Aunty, look where you dey go, abeg? Abi you blind?”

Simi blinked, took a hasty sidestep and mumbled an apology. “Sorry, Oga.”

There, it had to be a rough-looking, crude, musky sweaty bodied man, didn’t it? Simi whooshed a low hissing breath, even now when she was desperately praying for a man, it was the no-no type God tossed her way. Why couldn’t it be a man in Toyota Rav4… or in a sleek looking, curvaceous Venza pulling up beside her and asking her which way she was headed?

The splatter of water, and possibly some particles of sand, came at the same time as the blast of the earth-shattering honk. Then the car blew past her.

The Thief… who stole my heart

He was a thief!

And like the thief he was, he’d come, skulking, unseen and nimble-fingered.

How she’d not known he was a thief, Amina did not know. He’d come when she’d least expected it… But then, whoever expected the coming of a thief?

He’d stolen from her; robbed her of that which she treasured most. That rare treasure, the most priceless of jewels, she’d been saving, preserving for the one deserving of it.

But could she have stopped him?

Amina flapped her hand-fan, her swing aimed at the fly that buzzed by. She would have reinforced her defense walls had she known what he was. She would have locked the gates and stood as sentry against any false entrance, if she had anticipated his intentions.

The thought, and the imagery, soothed her and her hand flailed to fan herself.

But he had been coy.

The charlatan!

His tongue had been costed with sugar-sweet words and like a wordsmith, he had known what to say, how to say it and when to say it.

Sweet-tongued charlatan!

She should have averted her eyes and blocked off her ears. Amina hissed, flapped her hand-fan and beat at invisible flies. She should not have been over eager to listen his words and to clutch at them with her tender, naïve ears.

A liar, with no truth upon his tongue.

And yet, she had believed him.

She had, at the cajoling of his words dripping like sweet nectar, thrown open the door and allowed him to enter, confounding her more with each plunge, he was careful and steady to make.

Sated, he had become blasé. And with indifference borne out of constant knowledge and over use, he had walked through the door… and he had not looked back.

A thief and a charlatan!

But she knew better now. Amina narrowed her eyes, steadied her hand and waited for the perch. Then she swung the hand-fan and caught beneath it, the fly that dared to want a piece of her.

Thief! She would allow him no more. She was wiser now, steadier of mind… and of resolve.

“My priceless jewel.”

Lying words from a sugar-coated tongue. Oh, but why did they have to sound so sweet?

Amina slowly raised her head. And there he… her thief.

“Thieving scoundrel!” She cursed, and wished she carried more venom in her voice.

“I couldn’t stay away from you, so I returned.”

“You returned because you could not find any who would serve you honey from their garden without settlement.”

The words, spoken by her with more punch than the first, were a slap at her pride more than a sneer at him.

“I returned because I could find no one like you. No one as beautiful, as tender, as sweet.”

Liar! She should turn him away. Have none of him.

Amina opened her mouth to do just that. She was, after all, wiser now.

But if she sent him away and no one else came? She no longer possessed the treasure that made her truly priceless, did she? She’d given it freely… to him.

He was a thief and a charlatan. But he was now the possessor of her priceless jewel.

“You will not leave again?” Her voice pleaded even as she demanded.

“I will stay as long as I have you.”

She knew better, but she allowed her heart to cling to the lie. She knew better, yet Amina set down her hand-fan, and opened her arms to him.

“Welcome back.”


A 584 words Flash Fiction. A simple lesson: He… or she, can only do as much as you permit. Your body, your mind and your heart are your own… GIVE WISELY.


After 13 days, still no power. Go save a nation such as this!

Naked, Without Her Honour

She has been stripped of her honour.

That is what they tell her. She is now a woman without honour. Her cloth of honour, that covering that was accorded her, has been stripped off her. She is uncovered, naked, bare. She is less than a woman, an ignominy, a thing of shame.

Her mother has her head cast down. The shame of her unclothed daughter stoops her head. Her sisters, and her only brother, are mute with the humiliation that has taken their speech. They would not speak to her. They would not look upon her. She is the one naked, they are the ones suffering the bite of the cold.

He was her honour.

That lesson was ingrained in her the moment he paid her dowry. That meagre sum, that would not purchase ten parcels of tobacco, was the price tagged on her honour. He paid the price and claimed her honour.

She held her head high as she went home with her honour. Her back stooped to cook his meals and wash his dirty linens. Her stomach swelled and sagged to give him a child, a generation to carry on his name.

Then his fist struck her. Her honour, he threw her to the ground with punches and slaps and whips.

She cried out. They shushed her. She must not lose her honour.

His foot kicked the child out of her womb. Another foot broke the ribs on her sides. Soon she can only see with one eye and barely hear with her ears. Even worse, she became empty without the sac of her motherhood.

Her honour took it all from her. And she is the one naked, a thing of shame.


This was the Flash Fiction for the Etisalat Competition. It’s a 284 Word Count micro-fiction story. Bringing it on because… well, it is mine and I need to make an announcement.

PHED has struck again. Haven’t had Power since Wednesday. Had to type with my mobile phone on Wednesday and then proofread on laptop and post Thursday’s episode of MW. Now, the matter still lies unresolved and I don’t know if it will be resolved today… and today is Election day in Rivers, so movement is kind of restricted.

Bottom-line: Mercenary Wife may not make it tomorrow.

Let’s keep our fingers crossed though. Do have a great weekend meanwhile.

My Son Deserves Better

A less than 300-word Dialogue Flash Fiction:

“I am the best thing that ever happened to you.”

He hurled the words at me and I cringed at the venom that imbued his voice.

“You would be nothing but a thing of shame if I had not picked you up and brought you into my home.”

His blazing eyes scorched me with the heat of their hate.

“I tolerate you when any other man would have thrown you out and married a better wife.” He hissed. A long pealed out sound of disgust. “I don’t know why I married you. I don’t know why I took you in—you and your bastard son!”

I winced then, roused by the arrow to my heart.

“Don’t call my son a bastard.” My voice trembled. But not out of fear.

“And what is he?” He shouted the words. “Who is his father? Do you know his father?”

“I know his father. And he is not you.” My head did not cower in shame. “I know his father but I gave him to you where I should not have. He deserved better.”

“Gave him to me?” His laughter rang with scorn. “You were pregnant and denied by the man who planted his seed in you. I gave you honour when he heaped shame on you. Gave him to me?” He spat on the ground. A non-visible spittle. “I gave him a home and a name when the vagabond who sired him took to his heels.”

“He deserved better.” I repeated that truth. “You gave him a home and a name and you took his humanity and his dignity as recompense for them.” My mouth trembled. In unison with my broken heart. “You took mine.”

“Then go!” He howled. “Take your bastard and go!”

“We will go. My son deserves better.”



I sincerely apologise for being away throughout this week. I have a personal emergency and require the timeout. I do hope to be back by next Monday. Have a great weekend everyone and God bless.

Na My Choice 1 – Flash Fiction

**Retrieved this from our old blog.**

Belinda was restless.

She wanted to leave; was sorely tempted to walk through the open door where the curtain was billowing back and forward in tune with the cool, evening breeze. But she didn’t, couldn’t.

Stephen was once again in the kitchen. Why he thought that preparing her homemade meals made up for hardly ever taking her out like every good boyfriend did was beyond her imagination. She twisted her lips and hissed under her breath, stingy man.

The frown already creasing her forehead deepened. Well, he wasn’t stingy per se. No, he wasn’t stingy; he was just too poor for her comfort. She was a young woman for heaven’s sake. She adjusted her body on the polyester covered couch and grimaced, everyone had leather covered sofa sets in their sitting room these days, but Stephen still used these cheap coverings… and it wasn’t even a sofa set, just a miserable couch in his one bedroom apartment.

Unfaithful 2 – Flash Fiction

“How long have you been seeing him?” Again. My head reminded my battered heart to add again, but I could not muster the effort.

“A month or so.” Ama didn’t look at me.

She’s been avoiding my gaze since this conversation started. Well, longer really. She hasn’t quite been able to hold my gaze for a month or so.


This One Night – Micro Fiction

So yesterday Toykathy made a teasing remark on the Writers’ Guide 101 post about me writing an Erotica. Not a genre I have particular talent for but I once had my trial moment whilst I belonged to this Writers’ Group and we were asked to write an Erotica Flash Fiction (or Micro Fiction) of no more than 500 words that will begin with “Let’s go crazy” and sort of finish with “I love you”. Below was my submission.

Remember, it’s just fiction oh… don’t get carried away *wink*

“Let’s go crazy.”

That was what he whispered into my ear as he leaned across the bar table.

It wasn’t my first time seeing him. He was a regular at the bar. He came in every Friday night, never week days. His name was Kane. Always wore same thing, a jeans and T-shirt. Only the colours changed. Tonight was all blue.

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