Short Fiction



Mary Had A Little Lamb (July 6, 2019: 12:08am.)

Hello! This is Osi.

I hope you can hear me.

Mary is dead.

She died less than twelve hours ago. She was standing under the shelf. Baba Sumbo had warned me about that shelf more than twenty times. About ten times after he started warning me, Mary and I shared our first kiss. It tasted like gbegiri but it was all soft and Mary smelled like Hair Wonder. Under the shelf. She died under the shelf. I did not mean to get anyone killed talk less of Mary. The whole shelf fell. Please help. How do I untangle time? Whom do I ask for help? I need to see Mary again. I must undo this or I die, by my own hand or by letting another man be my savior.

I beg. Please.

I love her too much to let her go without me. Continue reading

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. Continue reading