Posted by on in Short Stories
If anyone had told me that I would one day be seated across a table from James Bond at a fancy restaurant with three full pages of the menu dedicated to French and South African wines, I would have scoffed at them and walked off. Yet he had called me out of the blue to propose a business venture. My real estate holdings needed a pick-me-up after six dry months in a black hole of obscurity and the usual weekend company, Lisa, had run off with another group of friends for a weekend getaway I wasn’t feeling up to. Saying his name without leaving behind a trail of curiosity about my manner has always been a challenge. I had a flared red hot crush on him exactly eight years ago, but there had never been a chance at anything more than the usual strained platonic relationship. I was seeing someone at...
©S.Ogugu 2014
Continue reading Last modified on
Hits: 1708 Comments
0

Posted by on in Short Stories
I had always known that there was something wrong with Stanley. Something in my gut told me so. I thought he looked terribly lonely. He didn’t have any good friends amongst the other men at the office and I never saw him receiving any visitors. It was his awkward uncertainty that had drawn my attention to him at first; the way he hid shyly behind technical jargon and his fancy silk ties. I liked the nice suits and the lovely ties in their dark shades of blue, green, red and grey. He always looked neat. Every tuft of hair aligned on his square head, straight lines running down the arms of his shirt and standing out when he peeled off his jacket on a hot afternoon or when the air conditioning broke down as it often did, his ties always sitting right in the middle of his neck beneath his huge...
©S. Ogugu 2013
Continue reading Last modified on
Hits: 929 Comments
0
Posted by on in Short Stories
A reed will dance in the water from the rhythm of a gyrating stream a stone’s throw from the settlement whose stories remain untold. The drums whose music forces the dance are two wrinkled arms with rough ugly hands holding down the head of a struggling child recently shocked into awaking. Nothing makes sense in his head as it fills up with darkness while the rest of his body yields to the water taking its place therein. He cannot see the lifeless form of his older sibling floating farther away from the scene. He knows those hands. They fed him earlier in the evening. They have smeared oil all over his naked body. They have carried him while he sleeps. They have pinched his cheeks and ears in rebuke. They have patted him on the back for getting the alphabetic order correct. Now, they are pushing him under a fiercely cold...
©S.Ogugu 2013
Continue reading Last modified on
Hits: 856 Comments
0

Posted by on in Short Stories
I’m seated on my couch pretending to watch the current episode of Scandal. My cellphone is on the floor. It’s ringing. I don’t know why it won’t stop ringing. I can’t tell who would be calling me at this hour or why they have been trying to reach me for the past hour. The clock says it’s half past midnight. The carpet spread from one end of the living room to the next makes the house warm; and a little dusty when the sun’s heat loosens the dust from the unpaved path outside the gate. It also helps with the unwanted phone calls because having my cellphone ring on the floor reduces the startling vibrations and constant buzzing.   The bottle of Le Filou is half empty. It’s funny how I downed it after staring at many such bottles in the refrigerator and reaching for the broccoli or tomatoes instead. It’s...
©S.Ogugu 2014
Continue reading Last modified on
Hits: 1006 Comments
0
Posted by on in Short Stories
Today, we shall lay to rest a man who wrote fifteen novels, bore three sons and a daughter, and waited to see tens of grandchildren. After 95 years, we finally mark the sweet leap to yonder of my mentor, the man who build a global media company from scratch, and shook the literary stage with a simple quake of his pen.   Death is a function of nature that must activate itself at some point. We have no sadness or pain or regret in allowing the African Bull safe passage into that controversial realm – the other life. But we’re joyous to look back and see what I call the Kingdom of Sweat, the palace of pain, and the era of making the impossible emphatically possible.   By all means I am proud that my grandmother accepted this man. I pray a simple thanksgiving to the gods who kill great men...
©Oduor Jagero 2012
Continue reading Last modified on
Hits: 1750 Comments
0

Popular Posts

Top Poems

PEN MINES
Editorial
1
Məshē
Poetry
1

Related Posts

Editors choise

Archive

Loading ...

Subscribe

Your Name:
Your Email: