family
Shattered Trust: A Tale of Relationship Violence
In the quaint town of Willow Creek, Sarah and Michael seemed like the picture-perfect couple. They met in college, fell deeply in love, and tied the knot amidst a flurry of happiness and promises for a bright future together. However, behind closed doors, their relationship harbored a dark secret.
By Ava Sinclair3 years ago in Fiction
A Tale of Missed Opportunties
In a hidden valley, nestled amongst ancient trees, lived two doves named Pip and Pop. They were inseparable companions, their feathers reflecting the morning sun as they soared effortlessly through the clear blue sky. But lately, a shadow of worry has fallen upon their routine. The once lively stream that gurgled by their nest had dwindled to a mere trickle. Each passing day brought anxiety as the water level dipped lower.
By Monnade Mixoum3 years ago in Fiction
Chocolate: A Delicious and Nutritious Treat
Title: Chocolate: A Delicious and Nutritious Treat Abstract: Chocolate is a popular treat enjoyed by people of all ages. It is made from the seeds of the cacao tree, which is native to Central and South America. Chocolate has a long history, dating back to the ancient civilizations of Mesoamerica.
By Layachi Bensadi3 years ago in Fiction
THE ACTS OF WITCHES
I carry booda Tunji, moving sluggishly to the main road to get a cab that would take us to Ibadan. It was almost dark. So, it could be difficult to get a bus at the park if we had to get to the park first. *************************************************** Earlier, I had taken booda Tunji to a white garment church where I was told that our problem was as a result of our mother's involvement in witchcraft. Again, it was laughable as we had the best mother. Iya Labake was an epitome of a good mother. Abiyamo tooto. She was protective. Vicious in fighting for her children. And above all, she ensured we got the best of everything she could afford. But, my mother was the most unlucky mother I knew. She had buried eight out of the ten children she had. My dad had also died, leaving behind my mother, booda Tunji and I. The strange thing about the demise of my other siblings is that they all died from the same ailment. All incurable. None of them lived above forty years old. The last of my sibling that died was rushed back to the village when he was about concluding his Msc program. He died few days after. With all these my mother passed through, I couldn't fathom the revelation of her being a witch. I never believed a mother could kill or cause the death of her own child. I was lost in my thought while we traveled back to Ibadan. But one thing remained firm in my heart; booda Tunji must not die. "Booda mi o gbodo ku" I repeatedly whispered to myself. Three days later, I went back to the Ifa priest with the items he had asked me to buy. He prepared the ebo, gave me instructions, then i went back to Ibadan. I was instructed to drop the ebo at a T-junction close to our family house at exactly twelve mid night. It must be dropped at a time everyone must have gone to sleep because it is forbidden for anyone else to see the ebo before it is dropped. I followed the instructions to the later. At exactly twelve midnight, I got to the T-junction and as I was about to drop the ebo, I heard a loud voice. In fact, it was a combined voices of three aged women Calling out to me.
By raphwrites3 years ago in Fiction
THE ACTS OF WITCHES . Content Warning.
My journey into the witchcraft coven wasn't coincidental. I deliberately meandered into my unbelievable after an encounter with three witches. Prior to making that ill-fated journey back to Nigeria, I had loathed the believe in African tradition. The mere mention of witchcraft was amusing as I never believed there was such thing as witchcraft. I was well educated. An erudite scholar. Why should I believe in such tale for illiterates? ********************************************* The sound of the opele was a strange noise permeating into my ears. It was as annoying as the haggard looking Ifa priest who was consulting a god I didn't believe existed. But I had to sit there, stone cold listening to his incantations. I had come to Nigeria to be with my only brother who had been stricken with an ailment which defied all medical diagnosis and medications. So, I was advised to seek the help of an Ifa priest in a remote village in Osun state. "Ifa ni ki n so fun yin wipe, e o gbe ebo lo si orita meta ni ago mejila oru" The Ifa priest said to me as he continued his incantations. His words angered me greatly, but I had to accede to them because I can't watch my only sibling who sponsored my education to the UK die like that. I was bent on doing anything to ensure he stayed alive. "Baba, e s'eto ebo na ki n se oun tio ye ki n se. E ma je ki egbon mi ku. Mi o ni elomi ni ile aiye yi" I said in desperation. I looked at my brother lying almost lifeless. His bones were visible. I felt so much pity for him and wished I could do as much to bring him back to good health. Booda Tunji managed to turn his head and let out a boyish smile. He had overhead my conversation with the Ifa priest and was pleased with my resolve to save his life. "Booda mi, e o ni ku. Mo n'igbagbo pe e ma pada je eso ilakaka yin pelu iye ati alaafia" I assured him while I raised him so we could make our way out of the shrine. I was to get all the materials needed for the. sacrifice and prepare myself too. We were asked to return after three days with the items which was to be used to make the ebo before I would carry it to a T-junction to drop and my brother would be well again.
By raphwrites3 years ago in Fiction
Why I Fell In Love with You...
The first thing I fell in love with was your red hair. I mean it is the first thing you notice without a doubt but I have a heritage in Ireland and Scotland and am deeply attracted to red hair so your beautiful red hair and your goatee drew me in. It was almost brighter than the sun itself. I just love hair on a man. There is something truly primal about it. The second thing was when you looked at me I felt like I was in my ancestor's shoes looking out at the great blue ocean that carried us all to America. Your eyes are so blue that one could seriously swim in them. And speaking of primal, when you spoke your voice had a deep, husky sound to it but not so deep that it couldn't have a soft edge to it. It could be both at the same time and it was truly a God thing your voice. The first time that we held hands I knew that everything would be okay. Your hand was soft in the center but rough around the edges. It takes me back for a moment to my great-grandfather's hands. He, too, had red hair. To be honest, I've searched my whole life for a man with hands like my Papa. He had rough hands from hard work. You see, he worked with wood, vehicles, metal, and anything that needed fixing on his farm. At the same time, he could also tend the earth with a gentle soft touch or wipe a child's tear away with a gentle swipe of the finger. My grandma always taught me that you could tell a lot about a man just from his hands. I never forgot that lesson. At that moment we held hands, I felt everything I had been lacking in a relationship before that moment suddenly fell away. None of it mattered anymore.
By Lindsey Altom3 years ago in Fiction
The Clock. Top Story - March 2024.
############################################### The following are all fictional snippets of life's crucial moments caught by a time machine called a "clock." Whether we are controlled by time or we seek to control time, we are all subject to the meaning it conveys. Time reminds us there are forces at work beyond what we see. It is concretely set. As the adage says, it waits for no man. Time is a teacher. Time can be joyous or sad; the clock is very fickle and isn't at all prejudicial. It isn't fair, but then again, it really is...It's a vicious dictator and also a loving friend who reminds us to sleep, eat, and rise again for another day. The clock reminds us that we are spinning around constantly. In all of our spinning, we are chided to slow down, speed up, or stay in control. Until one day we cease to spin at all.
By Shirley Belk3 years ago in Fiction
