Lights Out


When you begin a journey of revenge, start by digging two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself.”


“Move your feet. Prostitute!”

Akweke stood still, tears running down her cheeks. The child in her arms shuddered and cooed in his sleep and the forest before her stood black and still as the bottom of a burnt clay pot. The men behind her were aflame with anger and deep disgust. They screamed and spat at her to walk into the dead blackness. She stood still.

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Short Fiction

We Ate The Passionfruit

He met her in a storm.

The thunder had bellowed and thrown a tantrum across dark skies. Day had turned to night swiftly and Lagos remained relentlessly bustling. Cars and buses still zoomed by, blackish blurs in grey dimness.

He had run as fast as he could to the nearest piece of dry land, because the sky had opened up just as he had hopped off a particularly rickety danfo filled with otherworldly fishmongers and a talky driver. Job hunting was a bitch, they had told him they would call back but he knew better. So he ran through the deluge into the giant iron canopy of a filling station where others shivered and stared at the angry skies, God was putting on a performance that was far from amusing. Lightning forked and split across the sky in blue hot streaks, and even though he braced and held every muscle in his body still, the coming thunder still made his bones vibrate with an odd fear. The lightning was supposed to be scarier — it was fast hot hungry electrons looking for flesh to devour — but in the end it was the roar of the heavens that made him cower.

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