Short Story Fridays

Entertainment

Short Story: Safe | By: Ololade Olatunji

‎Emeka hurried into the airport lounge, his travel bag slung over his shoulder, he headed straight to the counter, flashed a smile and tendered his ticket. He checked his wrist watch, it was 6:45am.
“I’m sorry sir, the flight has been cancelled.” The female passenger ‎Sales officer announced.
‎
The news hit him like‎ a falling building . “What do you mean by the flight has been cancelled? Is this a sort of joke?”
‎
“I’m sorry sir, we got the information minutes ago”. She replied instantly.
‎
Emeka stared down at  her with a bewildered expression.‎ “How? …how on earth would you do this? you guys told me to be here by 7am and now the flight is cancelled? You weren’t even decent enough to inform us about the new development. Why was it cancelled if I may ask?”
“I don’t know sir. “ She retorted looking away. Emeka felt a storm rise in her. “What sort of stupid airline is this? I have a meeting for 12 in Port Harcourt for Christ sake. If I had boarded a night bus, I for don reach now?” ‎The roar in his voice alerted other passengers who queued behind him. They learnt about the development, joined him at the front of the counter and added their voices to the chorus of condemnation.
The PSO excused herself and returned with an elderly man who led about 10 of them into an office. He calmly explained that the management of the airline were having internal issues and that had affected their flight’s operation. He collected their tickets and promised to arrange another flight for them as soon as possible.
” Sir pls can you make this very fast? I have a business meeting for 12 pm. Pls, can you sort us out in like an hour’s time. I beg you.” Emeka pleaded. The man nodded in the affirmative.
They trooped out of the room one after the other and occupied the large empty metal seats at the middle of the airport lounge. Emeka checked his watch again, it was 7:40am. Why hadn’t he boarded a night bus or booked another airline? He shook his head, stood up and headed to Soar Airlines’ stand. 
“Pls do you have a flight for Lagos to Port Harcourt today and pls what time’
‘A minute pls!’ The ticketing officer tapped her keyboard and mouse and fixed her eyes on the computer.  “There’s a flight for 9:30am to 10:40am. There are no first class seats and economy seats, the business seat goes for N51,000”. ‎
‘N51,000?’ He uttered in disbelief and walked slowly to other Airline stands. They all had no morning flights. He returned to his seat slowly and prayed that the alternative arrangement will be in his favour. He picked a newspaper and dropped it instantly, removed his phone from his back pocket, scrolled through the menu and locked it.
After about an hour, the elderly man returned clutching some tickets. “Is everyone here?”
“Yes” they answered in unison. 
” We just made an arrangement with Pacific Airlines for 4 o’ clock.”
“4 o’ clock?” they ‎screamed and murmured. “O my God?”. Emeka’s voice roared again. “You guys have succeeded in ruining my day and destabilising my plans. Pls sir, is there any way you can fix us with Soar Airlines, it leaves 2 hours time or thereabout.’

The man apologised again. “We made enquiries about it but there are no economy seats”.

“I don’t mind adding extra cash pls. I just must leave with that airline”.

‘That won’t be possible sir. We are deeply sorry for inconveniences. We regret it’. He distributed the tickets  and walked away.  Emeka hissed repeatedly and tucked his at the back of his trousers.  There was no way he would wait till 4 o’clock. He brought out his phone and dialled some numbers.
“Hi Charles, I need your help Pls can I get about N51,000 from you now. I will return it as soon as I get to PH today. I forgot my second ATM card at home. Pls you’ll get your cash as soon as I land. Pls”
‎
Charles asked for his account no and informed him minutes later that he had sent it through online transfer. 15 minutes after he returned from the ATM point, he called back.
“Guy, I never see alert o and I just checked my balance at the ATM.” 
” Maybe it’s the network at your end. I’m sure you’ll get it soon. “Charles replied.
20 minutes later, he withdrew the cash and quickly joined the queue  at the Soar Airlines stand again. He got to his turn and announced he wanted a ticket for Port Harcourt. 

“Port Harcourt is no more available”. The news came as a bitter blow.‎ 

He swallowed hard and begged.”Pls I beg you, I was the one who spoke to you like an hour ago and you told me there were….”
‎
” I know but there’s nothing I can do. It closed 5minutes ago.” she interrupted.

“5 minutes? Pls I beg you with the name of God, this trip is very important to me…”‎

” Gentleman, passengers are being checked in as we speak. There’s nothing we can do about it. Next customer pls”.

The sadness in his face was unmistakable. The meeting he was to attend was set up to finalise a contract he had been pursuing for months. He was to supply chemicals and equipment worth about N7million to a newly-built hospital in Port Harcourt. He sighed heavily. His eyes were laced with pain. Who misses that kind of juicy deal? He went back to his seat, stood up immediately and told the man sitting close to him he was visiting a nearby eatery.
He had consumed the fried rice he had bought and was about ordering for snacks when a breaking news‎ appeared on the screen of the TV before him.
Everyone in the eatery screamed after reading the caption. 
“Port-Harcourt- bound Soar Airline flight crashes15 minutes after take-off.” 
Friday, May 15, 20‎‎


*********************************************************************************
Ololade Olatunji is a blogger, an award-winning writer and an aspiring Public Relations Executive. She blogs at www.loladeville.com.ng.‎ She can be reached on Twitter @loladeville_

*********************************************************************************
Are you a writer? Interested in sharing your short stories on this platform? Be our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment.
Email: [email protected] or ololade.olatunji@yahoo
0 280
Entertainment

Short Story: Nostalgia | By: Oluwafunminiyi Omojola

The silence deafens her.
It was not always like this, this eerie silence. Even a stranger who has never stood where she stands now knows that this sort of quiet is  man-made.

A noise in the distance punctures the stillness, rupturing the ghostly tranquillity. She glances up at the sky. It is a vulture, dark and frightening in its flight across the face of the sun. The avian calls again as it departs, leaving her in a slight shiver, chills streaking through her slender frame like flashes of lightening.

She returns her gaze to the vast expanse of land where she had played as a child. Her childhood – those were happy times. They never had much, but they had laughter. It rang somewhere in her ears now, the happy sounds of yesterday – her own laughter and Amina’s, the screeching of the other children running in the fields, the babble of chubby toddlers, the cackle of firewood, the aroma of cooking food, the shrieks of village women and the cursing of grown men.  

She had been away for only two years, serving her mistress and schooling in the west, and in that time, an ominous hand had arrived one chilly morning and rolled happiness up like a mat. The hand had tucked the mat neatly out of sight, stashed it in a place reachable only in pleasant dreams. What it left in its wake was a sobbing sadness, a cynical stench that hung onto the shoulders of the town like a desolate mother singing dirges about the death of her children. 

Hauwa’s stomach churns in a violent vortex that sucks air through her lungs and she gasps, determinedly fighting the urge to throw up. Her left hand has been a clamp over her nose and mouth since she arrived. They’d warned her about the flies and the stench, that there was no getting used to anything here any longer, the stench especially. She remembers with a sad smile a trick she and Amina used to play on each other. 
They would stick a finger into their anus, whenever it was at its smelliest, preferably immediately after shitting. Then they would stick the anointed finger in the nostril of the other person. It was a rare evil. The pong followed you everywhere you ran.  The only way to get rid of it was to remove ones nose. And that was the first instinct she had felt when the bus had dropped her off here before speeding off in a dusty haze – a violent urge to remove her own nose, to pluck it off.

 She knew that the smell was of hurriedly buried corpses. 
“There was no time for proper interment. Husbands, wives, fathers and mothers, neighbours and friends returned under the cover of darkness to bury their dead. They said they’d sleep better at night when they had ensured that the bodies of their loved ones would not be desecrated by vultures. …” she’d read in the tabloids.

She walks hurriedly on now, overtaken by an urgency to leave this place of silence. The sun is fast losing its bright yellow glow and in its place comes a mournful topaz burnish that also diminishes by the minute. She side steps the shallow graves that litter the fields, the ones she can identify from a distance. She steps on others and they are soft beneath her tired legs. 
As she walks, she wonders if she’d stepped on Mama’s grave or side stepped her fathers; she shifts uneasily when it strikes her that the one she now momentarily stands on to steady herself from a renewed wave of dissness just may be Amina’s.

By the time she reaches the dusty road, tears are falling freely from her eyes. She had arrived here with a weight on her shoulders. Now, it sits in her chest, heavy like a mill stone.

She doesn’t need anyone to tell her that she will never return.


******************************************************************
***************
Oluwafunminiyi Omojola is a writer. Follow him on twitter
@ooluwafunminiyi

******************************************************************
***************
Are you a writer? Interested in sharing your short stories on this
platform? Be our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment.
0 363
Entertainment

Short Story: The Birth Of Mbare | By: Eugene Odogwu

SOME PROFOUND births tend to be the result of foolish events. Mbare’s was one of such births, Adudu being the fool in question. It was one of those nights where even the air was latent with careless abandon, where a man would be tempted to see the bottom of his gourd over and over again. 
Adudu soon lost count of how many times he emptied his palm wine gourd sinto his bulging stomach. Soon his eyes fell on a figure outside the drinking hut. No one in Asiga would ever mistake Ene’s figure for someone else’s. 
The curves were obvious even half hidden in the shadows as they were, their fullness and fleshiness apparent under the waning firelight like a fresh fruit begging to be plucked. Adudu smiled and belched as only a drunken hunter would and he pushed himself off his low bench, falling back more times than he rose.

‘Ene,’ he slurred as he staggered over. ‘Even Nda’s fullness doesn’t rival those mounds you carry.’ A stray finger poked one of her ample bosom. 

Ene slapped his hand away, kissing her teeth and shuffling further away, her hips swinging like hanging oranges. Adudu followed, the swishing palm wine in his belly responding to Ene’s rhythm.

‘Where are you going, Ene?’ He placed a hand on her shoulder, more for his stability than to stop her; ‘Won’t you spare me even a few moments this night?’

‘Adudu, go away,’ she said brushing his hand off her shoulder. ‘Leave me alone. Go and bathe in the stream and wash off that terrible smell of old wine.’

‘Ah, Ene,’ he pulled up beside her, pressing himself into her backside. His arousal could be felt even through the thick layers that formed her skirt. ‘That was not what you said after the last harvest in the bush behind my hut.’

‘Maybe after next harvest you might persuade me differently, Adudu, but not tonight, your smell rivals that of a latrine pit. Adudu,I have errands to run so go chase some other unfortunate person.’

Maybe it was the palm wine swirling around in his brain, maybe it was the bulge in his groin, whatever it was, a sudden force motivated Adudu to throw himself upon Ene, wrapping his limbs around her fleshiness.

‘Ah, Ene, come and let me warm you this night.’

Ene yelped, struggling against the drunken embrace.

‘Get away from me, Adudu!’ She screamed and pushed the drunk off her before running off in the opposite direction, moving as fast as her softly rounded limbs would allow.
Adudu rolled in the sand, laughing and pointing at Ene’s retreating figure.

‘Run O! We will see who would run away from whom in the coming harvest.’

Distractedly, his hand fell to his groin, carelessly slipping beneath his loincloth. ‘See? See what you’ve done with that body of yours.’ 

Before long his hand had established a rhythm accompanied by drunken grunts that faded into the night. Adudu in a fit of excitement jumped to his feet, increasing the rhythm of his hand and with a loud trembling snort spurted his seed unto the earth.

‘Ahhhh,’ he sighed. ‘That’s for you, Mba, if Ene won’t take my seed, surely you who takes in all seed shall accept mine.’

He laughed drunkenly, brushing loose soil over the white stain on the ground before pouring a bit of his palm wine upon it and staggering off into the night, leaving only the dark and gloom to witness his seeds sprout roots within Mba, the earth. Roots that would in years to come, taking its time like most mighty trees did, grow into a towering tree, rich in color and beauty. 

Like many profound births, Mbare’s birth was unwitnessed. Its splendor and beauty were unseen and unheard. The bark of the tree did not part for him to emerge like a limb, nor did its fruits swell into the size of a man. Mbare was birthed like a tuber just beneath the tree roots, Mba’s womb cracking and bulging to yield her son’s bulk out into the open. He did not come out a child, confused and crying to suckle. Mbare emerged fully grown…


***************************************************************************************************
Eugene Odogwu is a graphic artist, African fantasy writer and illustrator. He lives in Lagos and is currently working on a collection of short stories.


***************************************************************************************************
‎Are you a writer? Interested in sharing your short stories on this platform? Be our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment.

Email: loladevilleblog@gmail.com/[email protected] 
Photocredit: http://thelittlebaobab.com
0 267
Entertainment

Short Story: A Tale Of The Hat | By: Ene Odaba

SHE CLASPED her hands together as she stood at the entrance of the room admiring its new clean look. The shelf caught her eyes.
‘Eeeeew!’
How had she missed it? she wondered. It was dusty and the books in it scattered. She took out each of the books, flapping through the pages of the ones that seemed interesting to her. She was soon looking at the poetry collections. Each held her disgust. She hissed. After a while, she voiced out:

‘I hate POETRY! Sammie keeps buying more of them each time, he doesn’t have work abeg!’

She found something tucked beneath the shelf so she stretched forth. Hands kneeling, with her big buttocks facing the door way, she pulled it out and stared at it like she was investigating it.

‘A hat?’ she asked as though waiting for an answer. ‘Woow! Beautiful! Sammie has this and doesn’t even use it! Owkay oo, its now mine jare.’

* * *
‘The only thing that made me not try the hat on is because it was dusty. And ever since I have been dreaming of how I would start cruising it to school now you’re bringing poetry inside. Abeg if you cannot give it out just say it and stop beating about the bush!’
‘It is not like that. You see, Onome, there’s a proverb in Tiv that whoever wears the hat of a dead man is calling for death—of the person’s self. Anyone that wears such a hat should be ready to die him—or her—as self…’
‘Traditions! Traditions!’ Onome said and sank into the bed with a sigh. Sammie strolled across the short distance of the room to the window. He folded the curtains up and opened the windows. Onome opened her mouth in protest:
‘Mosquitoes!’
It rang in his ears. After a while, she went closer to him and shouted in his ears:
‘Mosquitoes!’
When she saw he wasn’t going to shut the window, she pouted her mouth and said something under her breath. He seemed to be in a different world as he looked through the windows out to the skies:
Twinkle twinkle wrinkled star
Now I wonder where you are
Up above the world so high
Would those glasses still be on your eye?

‘Sammie don’t tell me you opened the windows just to recite those weird lines again?’

‘There are plenty of stars today and if my eyes were not beginning to blur, I’m sure would’ve seen daddy with his glasses on among them…’

‘Among what?’ Onome asked, as she passed a tissue‎

‘The stars,’ he replied.‎

‘Sorry… I did not mean to bring back black memories.’

‘No… No, you did nothing wrong I’ve been so into my job lately that I seem to have forgotten so thanks for reminding me and there are white memories too!’ Sammie said as he laughed heartily and moved towards the bed and began tickling her. She laughed and begged him to stop till she finally had to scream:‎
‘Sammie, please na…. Sammie! Stop! Stop!’

* * *
Onome was gone after they had a long talk that night. He looked at his transformed one room apartment again; she did a great job in the cleaning. Onome is a great lady, he thought as he closed back his windows. He proceeded to pick up the hat from the center table where she had left it and hung it on a nail on the wall just above his bed he pulled his shoes and fell on his bed. 
The room was dark but he yearned for a collection that now stood neatly on his shelf, Su’eddie Vershima Agema’s Bring our casket home; the collection where he saw the man with the glasses among the stars, the piece he recited to Onome…..

The room became still and so its host. The clock tocked; the fan creaked, spinning slowly. The crickets chirped and sang so the frog. An owl stood by the window wondering why a being would pose while asleep. Somehow, it had fallen off from the stand and now, the hat sat on the head of the still man who dreamt of another among the stars. He was there.

***************************************************************************************************Ene Odaba is a spoken word artist, singer and poet. She won the 2015 Benue ANA WriTALENT competition and was the first runner up of the Purple Silver Slam Spoken Word Contest in 2014. She is also currently an intern at SEVHAGE Publishers in Makurdi.


***************************************************************************************************
Are you a writer? Interested in sharing your short stories on this platform? Be our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment.

Email: loladevilleblog@gmail.com/[email protected] 

0 268
Entertainment

Short Story : Betrayal | By: Sueddie Agema

“Bomboy!!”
The simple sound of my name jolted me back to the present. Whoever complained of issues? I was sweating like several troubled people that harmatan morning. I was in deep shit and knew it. The puzzle, to be or not to be, suddenly made sense. 
I looked at Nnezi, the tears in her eyes, and wept. How could she say I impregnated her? I remembered all the symptoms of pregnancy that I had seen in her before. Curse those sweet thighs that I thought were free!
‎
“My friend, are you not the one whom I am talking to? She is six months pregnant. What do you know about it? Anything you want to tell us?” Aunty asked.
‎
I had been accused of being an accomplice to this same girl before. I had not been able to defend myself then. Now, I didn’t know how to mention that I had already seen the symptoms of her pregnancy before. 
Yes, I had done it but therein lay my dilemma. How could I tell them that I had actually slept with her but had used a condom? Now, the evil Judas had betrayed me! I mentally took note of all the things I would miss in the city. 
I looked at Uncle Anmant, he was sweating, looking a bit worried. I felt bad that I had caused him so much pain. I had sure disappointed him. I looked at Nnezi. Her face was to the wall. 
There was no way she was going to look at me. Judas had kissed Jesus at least … I was going to be a man and confess.
‎
“Uncle, I slept with her but…”‎
‎
The shock on their faces never allowed me complete my statement. Nnezi’s voice went up in a wail. She put her head down in tears. What now? Aunty looked at me for a short while then turned to Nnezi.
‎

“Nnezi, I thought you said that he never slept with you?”

‎

I didn’t wait to hear any more. No one urged me to pack my things. My eyes couldn’t look up to any of the three, six. I wondered who was hurt more. With the back of my eyes, I noted Uncle Anmant’s head down too. As I left, I sheepishly added in a whisper: “I used a condom.”

‎

I got downstairs with my things. Something pulled me back to the door. I decided to go and beg. I prayed all the prayers of my youth and quoted all the verses in the few steps to the door. I heard their voices as I climbed up. I reached the door as my heart pounded. 
There was some argument. Nnezi sounded defiant while my Uncle’s wife’s voice was laden with what sounded like tears of betrayal. She had expected much of her niece. I only wondered what my Uncle would think of me. 
He was silent all through. Perhaps, he was too disappointed and hadn’t, couldn’t… surely, wouldn’t find his voice. I imagined his face still to the floor.
‎
Then I froze as I heard Nnezi’s defence of me:
‎
“Aunty, I got pregnant a few months before I slept with Bomboy.” What?!!
“But you were grounded in the period leading to it. Do you want to say you conceived of the Holy Spirit? Hail Mary, full of gra…” sarcasm spat up to Nnezi’s interruption:
‎
“During the whole period, I still had someone sleeping with me… It was Uncle Anmant – your husband.”
‎
‎
******************************************************************
Su’eddie Vershima Agema won the Association of Nigerian Authors’ Joint Prize for Poetry 2014. He blogs at http://sueddie.wordpress.com, @sueddieagema on Twitter. He can be reached at [email protected].
‎
***************************************************************************************************
Are you a writer? Interested in sharing your short stories on this platform? Be our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment.
‎
‎
‎
‎
0 232
Arts, Entertainment

Short Story: Different Ball Game | By: Ololade Olatunji.


“Baby, the kitchen gas just got exhausted, gimme 10 minutes to breeze into the filling station. I’ll be back before you know it.”
‎
“No problem dear”. Esther replied, sipping from her glass of juice. He planted a warm kiss on her forehead and dashed out.

She turned to the curtains, brushed them aside, smiled and watched him drive his Lexus Jeep outside the compound.

Her man is all shades of perfect. Handsome, hardworking, caring and domesticated. What a package. The last feature is mostly missing in men. And she knew she was one on the few lucky ladies out there. Life couldn’t have been any better.


Her path and Charles’ crossed 2months ago at the biggest unisex salon in town. She, a sucker for Asian weavons had opted for braids on that fateful day to satisfy her friends who constantly and annoyingly drummed “Change your look” into her ears like they were in a voice training session.
She eventually gave in to their demands ‎after 3 years of wearing her Brazilian and Peruvians weavons. Braids it was. It took hours. 5 painful hours. The hair was undergoing punishment for whatever reason deemed by the merciless girls working on it. She contemplated quitting at some point but the boss summoned more apprentices to join and that made the work faster. She vowed that her Brazilian hair would resume duty  two weeks after.


Fatigued and craving sleep, she trudged to her car and then discovered one of her tyres were deflated. “Not this time!”. She sighed. Her butt ached from sitting for so long, her head pounded like a mortar in use, now this? Arghhh!
“I can help with that.” came a voice behind her. Oh my, bless this God-sent soul. He came at the nick of time.

“Thank you so much”. She said and proceeded to open her boot. 5 minutes after, the tyres were swapped. She placed the instruments in the right positions and closed the boot gently…



**********
They hit it off one month later. The new relationship had been a different ball game. Good Lord, where had Charles been all this while? Where was he when Laide cruised her car around town and picked up some lowlifes? Where was he when Igbokwe, the poverty-striken fellow ran away with her N3million. Where was he when all sorts of men shattered her heart and threw the pieces at her?
This must be the compensation she had prayed to God for for her past relationship woes. The final piece in the jigsaw puzzle of her life. You know what they say about eating the bottom of a pot of jollof rice. The sweetest! She had been to cloud nine and back and life without him is unthinkable.

The past few weeks had been paradise on earth. The outings, the heart-heart talk/ no-holds-barred discussions, the shopping spree. She will relive the moments for the rest of her life.

She paused her movie, stood up and moved closer to a hung frame bearing a black and white picture of a slim, beautiful lady. This must be his late mum he spoke fondly about. God rest her soul. Standing beside it was a bigger frame, an old family picture, his parents, two boys and a girl who couldn’t be more than 5, 4 and 2 respectively.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of a phone. It must be Charles’. She looked round the sitting room and dinning table and eventually traced it to the kitchen where it was grumbling on the microwave.
‎
She checked the screen. It was an unsaved international number. The phone stopped ringing again. 15 missed calls from the same person. Poor soul, he rushed out of the house and forgot his phone, all because of her. Who knows how important this call or caller is? She would take over the cooking when he comes back so he could fix the issue that apparently can’t wait. The phone rang again, the same caller. Perhaps she should pick it and tell whoever it is to ring back in few minutes time.

“Hel…” The deep, masculine voice at the other end of the line roared back, almost throwing her off balance.

“You are a very useless person Charles, very useless. I’ve been calling you for close to 20 minutes now you’ve refused to pick up? What if it was an emergency, is that how you’ll mess things up for me? I know you have been praying for me to die and inherit some of my property and. it won’t work for you”
‎
Jeez, she removed the phone from her ear, looked at it and continued listening. Who’s this lousy fellow? “ En….I ‘ve been away for 3months, only 3months and you’re misbehaving. Anyway, I’m coming back this evening, not tomorrow again. So get the car ready and come to the airport by 8pm.
Wait, what sort of a stupid person are you sef, I’ve been talking for the past few minutes and not even a word of apology from you. En? Hello, Hello, ha, no problem, I see you’ve lost your manners and grown wings en, I will get another driver when….”

“Wait….Your what?….” Esther screamed into the phone.

She paused and continued. “Sir…….who …did..You… call a driver?”. She said with a tremble in her voice.

“Who is this one asking questions? Who are you?”. She was too shocked to offer a reply.. Yet the man continued
‎
“So, Charles has started bringing women into my house en? It is not his fault because I upgraded his salary to 40k. We will sort things out when I come back. Anyway, Sisi, tell him Chief called and ask him to call back on his line”. He hung up.

She clutched the phone in anger and then let it slip off. Her mind was in a twirl. What exactly had she just heard? Charles, a driver? Her Charles? A common driver? She let her guards down again. An avalanche of questions ran through her mind.

Another smooth operator! Where did he get the thousands of money he’s been lavishing on her? His spoken English, untypical of a driver. His knowledge of issues….his forthcoming meeting with her parents, the dream wedding and honeymoon in Spain? All that had been a mirage?

She placed her hands across her head and sat on the kitchen floor. Sweat enveloped her body. Tears flowed effortlessly down her face. She snatched his phone again and scrolled through the message icon. She needed another proof, more proofs. Another one hit her like a tornado. Chief had instructed him to transfer some money into his account, move temporarily into one of the rooms in the main building and wash and service all the cars. She had had enough!

“I am finished”. She let out a cry, stood up and stomped out of the kitchen. She wiped her face with a face towel from her bag and sat still. Memories of their moments rushed back at once.

“Baby I’m back”. He didn’t even hear him drive in. She stared into empty space.

“Common darling, don’t gimme that look. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my fault. There was a little accident at the junction…”
“Your boss” She interrupted.
“My boss? Who?” He asked, puzzled.

Her gaze shifted momentarily from the empty space to his face. 
“Nice acting skills Charles.”‎
“Acting skills?”. He cut in
  What are you talking about baby?
“Quit the pretence Charles” she stood up raising her voice “Quit the silly pretence.”‎
“Baby” Charles moved closer.
“To hell with you and your baby. Who is your baby and where do you think you are moving to? If you lay that filthy hands on me? I’ll break this cup on your head.” “How long was this supposed to go on Charles? Deceive me till God knows when? Answer me you pretentious idiot?”‎

Charles was lost. He looked back.
“Of course I’m talking to you, you filthy liar. Are there not two of us in this house? Suddenly you’re pretending like you don’t know what I’m talking about right?

“You lied to me of being a Chartered Accountant only for me to discover that you’re a bloody driver, en Charles? God will judge you?”. She gave him a head-toe scan, picked her bag and made for the door.













*********************************************************************************
Ololade Olatunji is a blogger, an award-winning writer and an aspiring Public Relations Executive. She blogs at www.loladeville.com.ng. She can be reached on
Twitter: @loladeville_





*********************************************************************************
Are you a writer? Interested in sharing your short stories on this platform? Be our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment.
Email: [email protected] or ololade.olatunji@yahoo


Photo Credit: African Sweethearts


























0 367
Entertainment

Short Story: The Other Side Of Cool (Cont'd) | By: Damore Ali

 (The Other Side Of Cool short story series which kicked off few weeks back was divided into three parts. The story will be concluded today. Missed the two parts? Read them here. Part 1 and Part 2) 

‎
*********************************
I gave my youth away to Martins. An OAP at Galaxy FM. I was an ardent radio listener and participant at the time. I still am, only I have grown and I have learnt. I had called in severally on his program and Gosh! He had a lovely voice. All of them do, anyway. 
‎
Almost all, my mind corrects stoically. After one of such programs, he calls me on his private line, my face flushes with youthful pride. We start chatting often, and calling each other and soon he starts to visit at school. 

Only at night, awkwardly so. He would claim the day always caught him up in a whirl of events and nights were the only time he had to chill out before his program. I was glad he at least made time for me. And from fond feathery touches on my face and lips, to caressing Cara every minute he could, to forehead kisses, and cheek kisses, and eventually mouthful-tongueful kisses. I let him have me, brand new as I was. And I was good, damn, I was. Unknown to me, there was that other side of me that needed only a nudge to bloom.
We went on for months. We’d make love almost every night before his program and I would blush each time his voice came through on the radio at the thought that I knew that big sweet voice more than other listeners and its many other shades that came through only when we were making love. I was sure we were happy and that whatever it was we shared would last long. It wasn’t a proper relationship where one person expected certain things from the other. 

It was random yet so well put together. He never said he loved me, but I adored him, and on one of those nights when through his husky voice he told me I had etched an unforgettable mark in his life, I knew somehow he felt something for me too. But it was all so sudden when he disappeared. Yes, disappeared. No trace was left of him. It was sad. Mind-breaking-soul-ripping-ego-smashing kind of sad. And it took a year or so to get over him. So that now when I meet the likes of him that want to get too close to Melody, Martha or Cara, I make them fall hard and then pull away. No strings attached, no commitments. And I almost always succeed.
—
The next day, he is talking Love at first sights on Souls. I smile to myself. He is surely good at what he does. Giving nothing away with his voice that filters through the radio. Thinking about it now, maybe everything he discusses on the show has some bearing to his everyday life. Just maybe.
Two days later, I receive a call from him. He wants to hook up. He surely got my number from Zara, how dare she? He wants a see-you-like-right-now date, and although I am craving some good company like his, who does he think he is to just barge in on my privacy like that? 

‘I am a little busy with a couple of things at the moment. Weekend would be great. I can always make a minute.’ I respond coolly. Ah! Did I just hear his heart break so loud? His voice dropped. He says I really did inspire his week and he is needing more inspiration so he thought he could drop by at mine since it isn’t so far a distance. What? He knows my house too? Ah! Damn Zara! Really damn Zara! ‘You’ll be fine.’ I promise like a fairy princess. After fixing a date for the weekend, I call Zara to warn her to never try that again in her life. 

I really do not appreciate unexpected calls on a Wednesday evening from some gorgeous man who’s a constant reminder of a past I’ll love so much to put to rest.
—
The weekend date is a mini road trip, characteristically delightful. He picks me at mine and we drive through Dominos and Coldstone to get a 10 inch pepperoni Pizza, and two big cups of German chocolaté- chocolate ice cream, pecans, coconut, brownie and caramel- yum yum! He is on the steering so I have to feed him. Eew! My subconscious smirks. I forgive her audacity.
We make a few stops every now and then. Somehow at some point he dares to kiss me. The taste of chocolate and caramel melting on his tongue is exquisite. My breath stops. The ambience is delightful and his eyes warm with feelings. My stone cold heart seems to be failing. Melody is working up on me. She is the gentle, calm one, remember? Where is Martha when I need her now?! But I can handle this, Melody protests. Damn right you can! 

She doubts the sound of that even. It’s easier to deal with the other kinds- the ones that are fine, but not particularly gorgeous, and the ones that are gorgeous but are too nice-guy to feel comfortable in their own skin- but his type? Lawd! He affects your whole being- mind, body and soul- a typical Christian Grey? Or Bill Fraser? I muse a little as I try to place him between E L James’ and Sidney Sheldons’ characters. Gorgeous men, those ones!
I dare to spend more time with him, and indulge myself as much as he indulges himself. It’s fun. Watching someone you’ve crushed on for so long unravel before you with each passing day, melting in the glory of what you do to him, ah! Fun is an understatement even. It’s two months running, this friendship thing, and it’s almost tempting to just let it play out as time wills it to. I never ask him about his relationship life, he never asks about mine and we are fine with it. If he is not getting into my body, I really am fine with it too.
He is surprised at my kind however, he lets out one day, he is surprised that I am different from every other girl he has come across. He is surprised that I am not floored by his personality -oh, he’s got a lot of that and ‘m floored, I just won’t feed his manly ego-, he is amazed that he is more affected by me than I am by him. He finally reveals how badly he wants me. 

I smile and I don’t know when I start to spill ‘Of course you want me, everyone does. Everyone wants a perfect size 8, with enough bust and butt to grab on to and hold, and then they penetrate your being and tell you you’re pure amazing and make you feel things only naïve people feel and then they balk out of your life like an eclipse! But ‘m done being wanted like that. Whoever wants the body, wants the heart with it too…’ 

His face is white with a where is all that coming from stare. Good, point well served! He apologises to have made me feel that way and just as quickly, he spares me a disarming smile, and I forget what I am mad about. Let me remind you again, he’s fifty shades of gorgeous.
Some days after, we have a Sunday lunch date at mine. I make Poundo Yam and Efo riro. I love to cook, especially for people… More like special someone’s my subconsious teases. I am wearing a long sleeveless top on a leggings. Nothing too curvy and showy. He is wearing a pair of jean, shirt and black jacket. He is sexy in anything. I feel my face heat up suddenly. Is it him, or it’s the kitchen? I welcome him with a hug and a smile. He takes in my apartment as I would take in the sight of a freshly baked chocolate cookie. I blush. It’s a small apartment but the touch of Melody and Martha gives it all so much appeal. 

After meal, we pack up together to the kitchen where I set to wash the plates. That’s when he comes to me from behind. He kisses my neck. I quiver under his warmth. He wants me.
‎
‘Am I crazy to want you like this?’ He murmurs, his breath raspy. I want him too. I turn to face him. We kiss, long fierce passionate kisses. His hand rummages through my body. I stroke him through his jean, slow and steady. He whimpers. He pulls me up on the pantry and pushes into me. Cloth after cloth we peel off. In another thirty minutes, we had made love on the kitchen floor. Plates long forgotten in the sink, unwashed… In my mind’s mind of course. What happened to the Steven Harvy’s ninety day rule? Melody asks jabbing me back to reality. If he breathes on me one more time, I won’t be able to help it. Melody steps in for me.
‘I think it is time to go Sola’. I didn’t have to muster anything up. Courage and good cover is me right now. If it is not the way my body is quaking under his glowering stare, my voice will never give out a clue. He lets out a sharp exasperated breath.

‘Why are you torturing me like this Folorunsho?’ He stares at me, truly pained.‎

‘I am too old to play games Sola. If you want us to stay friends, we’ll stay friends. If you want us to kiss, we’ll kiss, hell friends do that all the time. But this side of me, you’ll have with some commitment.’
He is flushed. I salute Melody quickly in my head. I never knew she could stand up for me like that! He leaves after about a minute of thorough soul searching to no avail. I am not sure if he’ll come back but then it’s safer when they go leaving you as they met you, or better.. But not worse, with the best part of your life in their hands. Steven Harvy must be so proud of us right now, I reckon in my head! I am truly too old to play the I don’t know what we have game. 

It is either friendship, or a relationship. No in-betweens. Some Sunday night this one is as I find it pretty hard to sleep. My body needs him but I am sure we’ll get over it.
The next day, he is talking I love you just because… On Souls. And when one of his listeners after making her contribution asks what he’d say to complete that sentence to a loved one, he muses and responds ‘I love you just because. No more. No less.’ And then he plays Michael Buble’s you are always on my mind for her. How sweet, I muse. I am smiling unconsciously. And a part of me is wishing, hoping dearly that I am her. His loving feels good. And it is not just the untamed electricfying current that charges between us when we are a breath apart, it’s much more. 

Maybe you are her, Melody acquiesces. And maybe you’re not, Martha steps in. Ha! This bitchy one is back, I retort offensively. And just then, his call comes through. My heart stops. Should I pick it?
‘Hey’ my hand acts before my thought forms completely. Damn my nerves!

‘Oh hi. Is this the call operator to tell me my credit is exhausted? But I recharged for 3k earlier today and…’ God! He is such a peacock. He won’t let me breathe because I picked the call at the first ring.

‘Just shut up already.’ I blush.‎
He does his confident-in-my-skin laugh. ‘I am sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t thinking.’
My hearts stops again. ‘It’s okay.’ I respond. But it isn’t. Why is he sorry? Why wouldn’t he just take a step further and act like a man rather than a teenage boy who understandably cannot handle commitments and responsibilities.
‘Friends?’‎
Omg. Did he really just imply we stick to the ‘friends forever zone’? Now my heart just broke. Would he never take it past that? What is he scared of? ‘Sure’ I respond almost coolly.‎
‎
‘But I really do like you Gosh!’
I smile. ‘I am sure you can deal with it.’
‎
He wheezes.‎

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ I dare to ask, against every nerve of my being. There is a lull or is it just in my head?‎
‘Errm. I thought you’ll never ask.’ He pauses for effect.
‘I have now. So?’

‘Kinda…’
‎
Omg again.
‘…See, it’s not what you think okay? It’s… It’s… I don’t know! I was here, with my girl on this side of the world and all, and then you came along at the store that day. It wasn’t your body I fell for. Damn, you’re fine and yes it attracted me to you, but then I got to hang out with you and the things you’d say and do damn right swooned me. I never, never thought it would get to this, and I never meant to let it come to this… And, and then again, you seemed fine with whatever we had, and it just made me feel comfortable… I…’
What’s all this about? Martha and Melody ask in unison, both looking thoroughly pissed.
‘It’s a yes or a no question mhan.’ I am sure my voice is rather harsh but I don’t care. He’ll be damned if it is what I think it is. A wife.‎
‘Engaged.’ He finally responds with a sigh.‎
Bubbles! And he had the guts to go down on me like that yesterday and tell me that bullshit story of how I swept him off his balls? For the first time in a long while, my face is wet. Omg, I am crying. And it feels like 2007 again in the four walls of my hostel room in Moremi hall where I am mourning the loss of Martins and all the beautiful things I thought I had.

‘Goodnight Sola Williams. I have to get to work in good time.’‎
‘Fo–‘ he is calling my name but I disconnect the call before he says something stupid that’ll really tear down my walls.
And it seems like everytime I fall in love with someone and it looks like they are loving me too, something rears its head and they’d rather pick it over me. Is it me? Or just my body? Or is it the way love is? That feeling hurts. It feels like the other side of cool, and I don’t ever want to feel it again! I plug in my earpiece to the timely rendition of Jennifer Hudson’s ‘I ain’t going nowhere’ and as more tears slip out my eyes, I am wishing I have her tenacity to fight against all odds when it comes to the things I love.
**
‎
‎
The End‎








******************************************************************
***************
Damore Ali is a poet, short story writer and blogger. She has been published on several online forums including Naija ‎Stories. She is an accountant by training and a lover of good music. Damore also goes by the name Dr. 2103. She blogs at https://minisculediary.wordpress.com/








‎
******************************************************************
***************
Are you a writer? Interested in sharing your short stories on this
platform? Be our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment.

‎
‎





0 290
Arts, Entertainment

Short Story: The Other Side Of Cool (Cont'd)  | By: Damore Ali‎

(Click Here to read the beginning of the story)

—

It is Sunday evening and I am dressed in a Baroque beaded mini with bateau neckline by Shail K which I shopped off the online store a month ago. I fish for a black regal teardrop ear-ring from my jewelry box, fit into a pair of black stilettos and grab my futuristic clutch purse by Nina Larsen before heading out to Baby. That’s what I call my Nissan Funky Crossover.

We share a warm girly hug when she comes to the entrance of her Lekki apartment to receive me. Zara had invited about 10 of her friends over, 5 males and 5 females, I quickly acknowledge. Her closest friends, maybe? 


Truthfully, I am humbled to be one- and more importantly, the only one from the office where we work in. I say a perfunctory hello to the other guests and offer a warm smile as Zara leads me to a seat and clinks her glass afterwards to get everyone’s attention. 

‘Good evening sweethearts. It’s a great delight to have you all here at my 25th birthday.’ 


‎There is a short whistle call followed by random applauses. She giggles and continues ‘Now that the guest list is complete..’ Oh! She had a guest list? I had no idea. ‘..this is Folorunsho Davies’ she is saying, introducing me to the others. ‘..my friend, colleague and oga at the top’. 

The sitting room warms with gracious laughter. I laugh too. She just had to make me the centre of attention, didn’t she?

In another five minutes, Zara is in and out of her kitchen serving this and serving that- wine, beer, juice, sweets, salad, cheese, mainly light stuff. Name it. I am enjoying myself and glad I didn’t pass this up for a family dinner which Bimpe had informed me about earlier that morning before leaving my apartment with a bagful of some of my most-prized possessions. Ah, that girl! Bless her greedy soul. I muse warmly. 

I can imagine Mum, Dad, Bimpe, my two elder sisters, their husbands and sons at the big family dinning table which would no doubt cause my parents to question time and time again when I was bringing ‘him’ home. They are certain I am just hiding him from them, or taking my time with him, whichever the case is- because they are sure I can’t be without a ‘him’ at 26 with a younger sister old enough to bring a man home herself. Ah. Tales of an old soul, my subconscious taunts.

‘Fine evening eh?’ Some man walks up to me from the far end of the room. I was lost in the swirling movement of the wine in my glass cup that I didn’t see him coming. Some man? Definitely not ‘some’, more like ‘the’. He looks surprisingly familiar.

‘Remember me?’ He questions as he makes himself comfortable on the edge of my chair.‎


‘Err, no. Should I?’ I respond unapologetically. A price for your good looks, I muse wickedly.


He flinches, seemingly hurt, and then his gaze deftly moves over Cara. Only then does it register- the long being from Major Store. Ha ha, I do the wicked laugh in my head as he shifts his gaze to rest squarely on mine with the ‘I can never forget this pair of boobs’ look. 

‘My bad, we met yesterday right? Forgive me, I am not too good with faces.’

‘I see.’ He responds dryly. ‘I am Sola Williams’ he offers, his long awkwardly straight hands stretched forth for a shake. I take it with a smile ‘Folorunsho Davies’.


‘You stay on MainStreet or the supermarket thing was just mere coincidence?’ I ask.

‘I happen to stay there on some days when ‘m not staying somewhere else. So yes.’ He responds.


Hmm. I rummage on that for half of a second. Why not just a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?

‘So how do you know Zara?’ I ask because I am surprised Zara knows some hunk of a man as this ‘or is she your girlfriend?’ I add quickly, more out of curiosity than anything else. 



Zara is the innocent, good girl kind that you would swear can never have bad-looking-cute-boys for friends.

He laughs. ‘Wouldn’t you know? Seeing as she says you are her friend. Well, we have been friends for what? Forever? She’s a family friend.’

‎
‘Oh.’ I nod my head in silent thought. Family friend. Cool. ‘So what do you do?’

‘Errm.. I talk’.‎


Hahah. Is that some joke? I laugh quietly. ‘Seriously dude.. Really, what do you do?’ He is charmingly sweet to talk to, and if that’s what he really does for a living, ‘talk’, then he’s awesome at it!

‘Really..’ He shrugs. ‘I talk people to sleep. Mostly girls. Sometimes guys too’. My already big eyes increase even ten times more as I sit beside him, horrified. He laughs again. A confident-in-my-skin kind of laugh. ‘I am an OAP. I do the Souls TMB program on Galaxy Fm.’

Omg! Did he just say Souls, my best radio program? Did he really just say he hosts that show, and he is the Sola Williams? My body tickles enticingly. Little wonder he’s so in- his- skin. He’s used to this kind of thing. The reaction the gorgeous+sexy+OAP combination commands. I shame him, and maybe break his heart a little bit as I gather my wits around me in two seconds.

‘Whoa. You don’t say. That’s interesting’ I flash him my ‘charming-est’ kind of smile. He is surely amazed. If I were in another persons skin, I would have jumped all over him with a squeal that would likely raise the roofs to the doors of heaven because Gosh, I have loved him since forever. Who doesn’t love him anyway?


He gets over this quickly as he springs back with his usual sassy vigour. ‘So what do you do?’‎

‘I work as a Legal consultant with Doroville.’ I must have sounded a little too self- accomplished there. But who wouldn’t? Working with the biggest legal firm in town is no beans mhan. I laugh in my head.


‘Oh? The DoroVille? That’s impressive. You must be an A-class Harvard grad or something then.’ I blush but thankfully I am black, he can’t see it.


I shrug. ‘You don’t have to be to work there, really. Just work your way through the ladder tenaciously, have something unique to offer, and you’re good.’

‎
‘I see.’

At that moment, Zara calls us together to cut her birthday cake. It’s a yummy sight. Damn, how I love chocolate cakes, just the perfect for dessert! After an almost-too-perfect rendition of the popular happy birthday song from the lot of us, she dips the knife through the cake and Hurray! The birthday is properly marked! 

Afterwards, there is music. Ah! I love to dance, you know? Both my personalities love to dance- Melody, gentle, calm, good girl, she does the slow bad- girl- I- want- to- seduce- you dance; and Martha, the one I am tonight and on days when I meet the likes of Sola Williams and Martins.. Oh Martins! 

He birthed Martha, the vengeful wicked teaser, with the crazy-who-cares dance steps. Now I remember the Anastasia-line- never trust a man who can dance- from 50 shades of Grey. And I smile to myself as I move towards Sola in the centre of the sitting room with a silent warning- never trust a woman who dances crazy like this. I am all over the dance floor to Baby Hello by Wande Coal and Dance for Me by Wizkid and Aye by Davido and through Yemi Alades Johnny and many others… My butt wriggles to perfection as I do the etigi dance. 

Then I komole and kosoke and it’s so much more fun because the steps just flow through without premeditation and the way Solas body responds to my every movement is just pure magic. Ah! Chocolate and caramel, you may say. I, the chocolate. He, the caramel. A perfect mix on the floor.

We hardly notice we are the centre of attention until the light goes off. Ah! Nepa!! 

Then comes the applause and whistle calls. ‘Gosh, you guys should hook up’ someone was saying. I hear the chit- chat in the background and his breathy laughter a few steps away from me as he holds my hand while Zara makes to put on her generator. We just stand there, unable to make out the facial expression of the other in the stark darkness. He pulls me upclose. My head rest on his chest, Cara on his belly again and oh, I can feel him beneath too.

Immediately power is restored, I pull away from him and inform Zara of my intention to get going. She let out a fake cry. She says she wished I could stay longer. I smile politely, thanking her for the wonderful evening! It is the best decision I have made in a long time, I note. I hand her my present, we hug and after a quick smile at Sola, I head out. He tags along. His eyes a smoky delightful sight under the evening bulb.

‘I had a wonderful time Folorunsho Davies.’ Ah, of course you did. Thank Martha.


‘Me also. I need to get going. Tomorrow is work day.’ I state the obvious as I make to my car.


‘Nice ride.’ I smile my thanks and hop into my ride before he says whatever it is he obviously has on his mind. He waves and watches me leave. Far out onto the street, I breathe easy. Damn, he is so Martins and that is so not a good thing…


‎

‎
‎
Photo Credit‎: Wikihow

…….To be continued 


******************************************************************
***************
Damore Ali is a poet, short story writer and blogger. She has been published on several online forums including Naija ‎Stories. She is an accountant by training and a lover of good music. Damore also goes by the name Dr. 2103. She blogs at https://minisculediary.wordpress.com/

‎
******************************************************************
***************
Are you a writer? Interested in sharing your short stories on this platform? Be our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment.

‎

0 329
Entertainment

Short Story: The Other Side Of Cool | By: Damore Ali

My alarm shrills. It is 6:00am and it’s a Saturday. Time for my early morning work- out. I make my naked self out of the bed to the mirror standing graciously beside my wardrobe.
 ‎
‘Good morning Cara’, I say focusing more on the full mounds that graciously adorn my chest than on anything else. Yes, that has got to be the most beautiful part of my body, the one I love most and I have a name for her too. 
Not even my face that holds the biggest pair of sleepy light brown eyes, small pointed nose and full grown lips can beat it. In one swift distracting movement, I change into my sweatpant and a spaghetti top, grab my phones and debit cards and tuck my earpiece in both ears to the gentle assault of ‘Indie Arie’s Brown skin’ and a couple of my other favourites.
In another hour or so, I am at the Major Store to pick out a couple of weekend needs. I am oblivious to the people staring down at me like sex starved maniacs. Attendants, male, standing on their toes to be at my service. 
Ah! I just smile them away. I pick out 3 packets of Pringles, 1 American Chocolate Cookies, a box of Eclairs with honey chocolate centre, wine, tampons, and errrm… Yes, one more packet of chocolate cookies. 
Bimpe, my younger sister promised she’d be visiting and I won’t have her zap my fridge to nothingness.
Satisfied, although very certain there’s one more thing I’m missing out, I bound off to the cashiers’. 
There are two people before me on the queue. One woman with a kid, and a man whose fragile frame promises he’s no less than 80. 
I busy myself with my Blackberry phone as I set my basket of purchase down. It seems they will take a minute or two. There’s Bimpe’s chat yapping on about how delighted she is to finally come check my new house. 
I smile and reply her with a ‘don’t get any ideas to ransack my very existence’ smiley. The closest I could get to it was the ‘eyelashes’. She loves to shop off my belongings, a very annoying yet lovable thing. 
She replies with a laugh and we chat on about other things. There’s a couple more chats but I scroll to Zaras’, a colleague and ‘well-um-friend’. She says there’s a small birthday party at hers’ on Sunday. I am surprised. 
Is it her birthday tomorrow? Oh my! What kind of friend doesn’t remember a friends’ birthday- a ‘well-um-type’ my subconscious replies with a smirk on her face. Whatever mhan! I turn to make out of the queue to get her a birthday gift when I distractedly bump into this long standing being, my most prized asset, Cara, assuaging his belly.
Yes. He’s long alright, I think to myself again. I tilt my head to smile an apology into his face. He is gorgeous and his face is shmuck stuck in my breasts. 
He probably won’t get over that bump in another two days. My smile widens. I appraise him in a nanosecond. I am sure girls would whimper at his manly sight, talk less of his boring stare that it stirs him when I say ‘I am sorry’ totally unruffled by his charm. 
Without awaiting his reply, I bound off to the perfume section where I pick out ‘Flower by Kenzo’ for the hopeless romantic and hopes she likes it.
‎
(To be Continued) ‎
Photo Credit: wisegeek.com 
******************************************************************
***************
Damore Ali is a poet, short story writer and blogger. She has been published on several online forums including Naija ‎Stories. She is an accountant by training and a lover of good music. Damore also goes by the name Dr. 2103. She blogs at https://minisculediary.wordpress.com/
‎
******************************************************************
***************
Are you a writer? Interested in sharing your short stories on this
platform? Be our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment.
‎
0 291
Arts, Entertainment

Short Story: Yet Another Frog | By: Ticia Towns

“Yes baby I know it is for our own good but it’s really difficult to cope” Cheta said to Laolu who was on the other end of the line. Lately this was the tone their conversations took as Cheta had been complaining quite often about the long distance relationship.
Laolu was far away in the UK and she was here in Nigeria all by herself and trying hard to stay faithful to him; well it wasn’t that hard for her because she loved him too much to cheat but her main concern was him. How long could he stay without sex? Yes they spoke all night over the phone and then communicated via social media during the day but that was hardly enough, after all he was a man “good night baby, I love you too” and with that came the click sound she always dreaded. 
Cheta laid on her back with her long braids sprawled on the bed as she cuddled one throw pillow in her arms and her ear phones still plugged in her ears while her mind drifted to how she had met this man she had fallen so crazily in love with.

2 years ago after she had broken up with her ex, Cheta had decided to take a long break from relationships and enjoy her youthfulness and the freedom that came with it. The break up afforded her a better opportunity to embrace her extrovert side; she started going out for drinks with friends, having sleepovers and taking vacations…life was never better for her and she hoped it would remain that way for a few more years but cupid had bigger plans; or maybe the heavens finally decided to answer her mothers’ fervent prayers as she met Laolu sooner than she planned.

“I should have stuck with my usual airline” a very impatient Cheta blurted into the phone when her friend Funmi called to ask if she had boarded. ‎

“You won’t believe the flight has been delayed; now I will experience traffic from the airport when I land Lagos” she continued. 
“Madam vex vex, I don’t need to see your face to know there is a frown on it” Funmi answered; laughing so hard Cheta had to join in and with that they ended the call.  

“That call did you a lot of good you know, you are so lucky to have someone who can wipe away such a frown in an instant” said an unrecognizable voice which came from the guy sitting opposite her, Cheta looked up in amazement and wondered who the busy body was, he was so lucky Funmi had made her feel better else she was so ready to pour her anger on whoever the fellow was. If it was a BBM chat she would just reply “LOL” which was her polite way of dismissing idle talks but since he was right there she had to come a with a better way. 

“Yes I’m lucky, one of his priorities is to make me happy and he has never failed at it” and with that her eyes returned to the candy crush game that had been keeping her busy. 

Cheta did not see the stranger again and she wondered why she was even bothered. She had been a little bit disappointed that her dismissal tactic worked as the dude did not bother making conversation but she found a way to justify his behavior after all men were all the same; they wanted to be handed everything on a platter of Gold. 
After spending a fun filled Sallah weekend in Lagos it was now time to leave as she queued to check in she only prayed that her flight would not be delayed again and she even wished she would have bought a one way ticket after all who dares to try out a new airline and then buys a return ticket? 
Those thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a voice she was not so sure she had heard before but what the voice said had jogged her memory “Isn’t this the lucky girl that has an instant antidote to her frowns?” and when she turned round smiling she was glad to see a very welcoming smile on his face as well. 
She had not really taken a good look at him the first time they met but now she could not ignore his very sexy looks and somehow instead of focusing on his eyes her gaze was fixed on his lips. They were far better than Mike Ezuronyes’ and for a minute she was lost till the impatient desk officer screamed “Next”!!!‎

“If only I knew he would leave the country in the long run I wouldn’t have begun this relationship” she said to herself as she unplugged her earphones to prepare for bed. 
It was now 2 weeks since their last conversation and Cheta noticed Laolu seemed a bit distant. 
During one of their ladies’ night out she confided in her friends Funmi and Adaeze but they shrugged it off saying it was typical of her as she worried a lot, Funmi even went ahead to remind her of when she had thought he was cheating shortly before he travelled but it turned out to be a surprise party he was planning for her, Adeaze also chipped in and said “this time it might me an engagement he is planning sef” and both ladies gave each other a hi five and laughed about it. 
“You girls never take me seriously, I remember that incident but my intuition this time is different.  It is very unlike Laolu not to return my calls or even acknowledge it with an SMS, he has shut down completely and I am worried.”
Adaeze who was always more sensitive was the first to speak “I think you should watch him for some time, it could be pressure from school since he will be rounding up soon. If he doesn’t give you any tangible explanation or the situation doesn’t change then I think you should start making plans to pay him a visit after all it’s been 5 months since you saw him last”, the rest of the evening went uneventful with Cheta quietly planning her next move which meant the countdown had officially began because knowing who her friends were they would ask her everyday starting tomorrow if Laolu had called or texted.

2 weeks turned into 3 months, Cheta had been Lying to her friends about the situation with Laolu, just yesterday she had told Funmi that they were back on track and he was even planning to come home during summer meanwhile the reality was that she had told Laolu she wanted to come and visit him and instead of his usual excitement he had given her a million and one reasons why she couldn’t come. 
If he was trying to be subtle about his change in attitude this reaction of his just made it more glaring like someone wearing a red dress in a celestial church. She had hated lying to her friends but the embarrassment wouldn’t let her do otherwise not after how much she had flaunted her relationship to them and anyone else who cared to listen. 
That night as she listened to his caller tone over and over she decided after the 5th try that she was never going to call him again, as difficult as it was for her to let go of a good man who had given her wonderful memories with no good reason for the abrupt change infact he had never even offered any reason not minding the fact that in her desperation she was willing to accept even a stupid one; Cheta decided to read the handwriting on the wall as ignoring it did not mean it wasn’t there. 
Crying herself to sleep tonight, just like every other night in the past 3 months was inevitable as she had never imagined that a man she thought to be her Prince would turn out to be yet another frog.

‎******************************************************************
****************************************************************
Ticiatowns is a writer extraordinaire with a passion for
entertaining and that she does through her vast imaginativeability touching fiction, lifestyle, inspirational and humor.
Follow on Twitter: @ticiatowns
Instagram: ticiatowns

******************************************************************
****************************************************************
Are you a writer? Interested in sharing your short  stories on thisplatform? Be our guest on our Short Story Fridays segment.Email: ololade.olatunji@yahoo/gmail.com


0 312
Open chat