Short Story
The Fake Report Card
It was a cool harmattan day in 1995 when I made the fateful decision . I was a 13-year-old student in JSS3 (Junior Secondary School 3), struggling to keep up with the demands of my classes. English had never been my strong suit, and that term I was falling behind in Mr. Adebayo's English Literature course.
By Emmanuel Ojenike2 years ago in Fiction
Hermit
When I got home from work, some of my neighbors were smoking and laughing on the stoop. I asked if anyone had seen Gene lately. No one had, and one of them said Gene was a few enchiladas short of a fiesta. Hilarious. I walked into the building and buzzed Gene.
By D. J. Reddall2 years ago in Fiction
PIXEL MURDER: CRIMES AND RESPONSIBILITIES IN THE DIGITAL EVIL
The only sound in the flat was the computer's faint hum. With her eyes fixed on the screen, Hannah sat crouched over her desk. She tapped away at the keyboard, her fingers dancing over the countless lines of code. A digital terrain unfolded in front of her, a grid of opportunities. Hannah saw it as a canvas, even though it was just letters and numbers to the inexperienced eye.
By Abdul Qayyum2 years ago in Fiction
The Silent Signal
The Silent Signal A faint glow from the monitor bathed the dimly lit room in an eerie blue light. Claire’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. She was the only one left in the office, the clock ticking past midnight. Her colleagues had left hours ago, but she stayed back, determined to finish decrypting the strange signal that had been puzzling her team for weeks. It wasn’t just any signal; it was something different—alien, almost.
By Timeline Teller2 years ago in Fiction
Arlan Book. Top Story - August 2024.
Arlan Book swung his double-sided ax as hard as his body would allow. The serrated edge cut and sliced through flesh and bone with tremendous ease. The cries of his enemies fleeted with the passing gales, filling his nostrils with the warring scents of fire and blood. They were aromas which ominously aroused him, consuming his pulsing veins with hot surges of adrenaline.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
Shamblin' Sam
Before Sam was a glass bottle of whiskey, a delightful delectation from the old world. The name on the label was too faded to read, but he could recall from the shape of the bottle that it was named after some American hillbilly and would clock in around 80 proof.
By C. Rommial Butler2 years ago in Fiction
The Burden of Innocence
The hot, humid air of Warri pressed down on Oghenebrume like a suffocating blanket as she paced back and forth in her small, dimly lit apartment. The events of the previous night played over and over in her mind, a relentless torment that refused to subside.
By Emmanuel Ojenike2 years ago in Fiction
