A link to my neighbours/Community · Fiction · Short Stories Series

Fruits of a Hustle….a short story and a link to my neighbours

Motor park

The Hustle Part 1

The Hustle Part 2

The Hustle Part 3

Collecting his accumulated Isusu from the thrift collector Mama Nchekwube was like a dream come true for Ikem. His skepticism had prevented him from participating in one before, until his friend Ifeanyi showed him the dividends of his own effort.

He had never held such an amount of money put together as his own. It felt good. All the ideas of what he planned to do ran around in his head.

Now, he would buy a nice Ankara wrapper, vegetable oil and share a bag of Abakaliki rice with his neighbour to take home to Mama for Christmas. She prefers the local rice to the foreign ones that have been de-husked. They seemed to loose the real taste of Osikapa, but the art of cleaning the Abakaliki rice which was known to contain stones, was only perfected by old hands like Mama.

There was a hurried excitement of Christmas in the air. Wheel-barrow boys were pushing around cassettes of Christmas songs by ABBA and also blaring them from their cassette players from one end of the market to the other.

You could hear the exchanges of customers and vendors over the noisy din:

“Ha! Nwanyi Bacha, biko, I need to travel with this blouse o.” ”When can I come and collect it?”

”Nne, you should have brought this material earlier than now.” ”You know that this is the season for us eh!”  ”I will try my best but maybe on 22nd, you can come and collect it.”

”Hei! Mbanu! ”Please 22nd is too far.” ”I am traveling on 23rd to the village.” ”Please try for 20th.” ”Biko!”

Indeed, it is the season of harvest for the tailors. They are turning brisk business churning out Christmas and New year attires as expediently as possible for all the holiday galore.

Ikem was gripped with nervousness. The money in his pocket felt hot that he could almost feel it burning through the lining of his trouser. Every brush of another human in the buzzing, cramped market made the butterflies in his stomach flutter some more. He felt as if eyes were watching him and he decided there and then to go and open a First Bank account.

He had never owned an account before and this time of the year is known for spikes in highway robberies and pick-pocketing. He had no plans of falling victim of such nefarious activities and losing his hard-earned money.

The remaining days fly past in a flurry of activities. As he excitedly packs his meager belongings to take back to the village. He knows that he will miss this place and pangs of melancholy occupy his thoughts, but he has to journey forth to pursue brighter tomorrow’s at Onitsha.

****

The motor-park is a commotion of human traffic and vehicles. Wagons are filled with families all loaded down to the teeth with their luggage for the forth-coming days of merriment. Conductors are shouting their destinations on top of their voices to draw passengers attention. Hawkers of all sorts of items, bread, boiled egg, chin-chin, kuli, kuli, soft drinks are doing their best to entice the traveling customers to patronize them..

Quick bargains are struck, last minute purchases are made, buses loaded to the last perimeter takes off with passengers, to Enugu, Ozubulu, Awka, Okigwe, Orlu, Owerri, Aba etc.

The Igbos are well known to sojourn home en-mass during this festive period. It is almost like a general return of indigenes. Some would travel for days on top of lorries all the way from the northernmost part of Nigeria to be with their families for the holidays.

Ikem boards a bus going to Oji, he cannot wait to eat Mama’s authentic Okpa and Abacha Ncha. These are some of the delicacies of his people.

Quick Glossary for words that you may not know:

Abakiliki: Abakaliki is the capital city of Ebonyi State in southeastern Nigeria. The inhabitants are primarily members of the Igbo nation. Abakaliki, as in the past, is a center of agricultural trade including such products as yams, cassava, rice,

Abacha Ncha/aka African salad: Native snack/meal peculiar to the Igbos but has become a well-known delicacy all over Nigeria. Made from cassava flakes, with palm-oil, oil-bean seeds, dry fish, garden egg etc

Ankara: African print known to symbolize African fashion.

Biko: Igbo word for saying ‘please.’

Chin-chin: A fried snack popular in West Africa. It is a sweet, crunchy, doughnut-like baked or fried dough of wheat flour, and other customary baking items.

Hei!/Ha!: An exclamation which could mean, you don’t say, indeed, what, really and a myriad of other meanings.

Ifeanyi: A popular Igbo name shortened from Ifeanyichukwu which means, nothing is bigger than God.

Igbos/Ibo: The Igbo people, historically spelled “Ibo”, are an ethnic group of southeastern Nigeria. They speak Igbo, which includes various Igboid languages and dialects. Igbo people are one of the largest ethnic groups in Africa. They are renowned for their tough, resilient adaptability as business people, traders and for their art. The largest migrating tribe in Nigeria.

Ikem: An Igbo name for boys shortened from Ikemefuna, meaning may my power/strength never be lost/or founding.

Isusu: An informal means of collecting and saving money through a savings for the enablement of kith and kin ventures.

Kuli-Kuli: Hausa food that is primarily made from peanuts. It is a popular snack in Nigeria. It is often eaten alone or with a mixture of garri, sugar and water popularly called “garri soakings”

Mama Nchekwube: Nchekwube is shortened from Nchekwubechukwu which means to have hope on God.

Mbanu: An expanded NO with a bit of cajoling added to it.

Nwanyi Bacha: A nickname given to the female tailor occupying the prefabricated shed where she sews. It’s like saying ”the lady at the shed” or nicknaming someone after their trade e.g. egg seller, truck pusher, driver etc.

Oji: A Local Government Area of Enugu State, Nigeria to the south bordering Anambra State and Abia State

Okpa: A traditional Eastern Nigerian delicacy, made with ground Bambara beans.

Onitsha: A city with one of the largest commercial markets in West Africa. It is situated on the river port on the eastern bank of the Niger river in Anambra State, southeastern Nigeria.

Osikapa: A local Igbo name given to cooked rice.

Enugu, Ozubulu, Awka, Okigwe, Orlu, Owerri, Aba etc. Some of the towns and villages found in the Eastern Region of Nigeria inhabited by the Igbos.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Links to the earlier series of this short story can be found at the top of the page. Thank you for reading.

As I foraged this past week, I found loads of treasure in the neighbours yard. I can only share these few with you and save some for another time.

Heenieblogsfood This Japanese rice omelet jumped at me begging for my attention.

Oneta Hayes I loved Oneta’s poem to the passing years.

Tagging ain’t hard people. A sensible blogging advice from Danny at Dream big, Dream often.

Women as builders a must read from the stables of David Snape.

10 things people say to creative writers (but shouldn’t) I found this humorous yet annoyingly true via Sepultura’s blog

Llama at sunset Bogota Piran Cafe’s photos always captivate my mind.

Love a girl who writes Pancake Bunnykins made me smile with this post.

Could you live with less stuff We need to ask ourselves this from time to time.

Lighting up the World with Edison’s bulb an old story from Shadab Rogers that gripped my heart 🙂

I’m engaged!!! Call me a romantic, but this had me smiling all through.

That’s it folks. Kind regards. It’s a weekend. Now, shall we dance?  😉

Some Nigerian Pictures

Creative Writing · Fiction · Short story · Weave that Dream

It’s just the beginining…a Short Story

The Sun sets, leaving wisps of orange and lavender ribbons across the blue tinted sky.

Anastasia leans on the rail of the promenade deck of the cruise-liner, her soft floral dress blowing in the breeze. Alastair’s muscular arms wrap around her, sharing his warmth in the gentle breeze.

It’s a beautiful day. Their wedding day.

A clear Autumn sky without a gloomy cloud in sight. The aisle and pews decorated with hues of Autumn, in orange gold, red and faded green; her best season of all.

She felt like a fairy princess floating down the aisle to a wedding march of soft tinkle of waterfall and chirping sounds of birds, accompanied by the choristers well modulated sweet rendition of their song. The wedding party was sublime. Everything! Picture perfect!

As the ocean-liner cuts through the waters to a blissful honeymoon, Alastair nuzzles and plants a soft kiss behind her ears. She wants the moments to last forever.

This is just the beginning of their new life.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

In response to the FFfAW photo prompt above. Thank you Sonya for the photo and Priceless Joy for this challenge platform.

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A link to my neighbours/Community · Fiction · Life · Short Stories Series · Writing

Its always a Hustle….a short story (Pt. 3)

The Hustle Part 1

The Hustle Part 2

”Hia!” ”Is this not where I hung the shirt?” Ikem queries the silent night. His brand new blue second-hand T shirt with the Chelsea logo was gone! Could it have been carried by the breeze? ”Ah! Ah!” ”I just washed and put it out here not too long ago to dry in the light harmattan breeze!”

His other frayed shirt is hanging and flapping in the wind as if in mockery of his thoughts. He knows in his heart that one of those crooked eyed boys in the neighbourhood has pilfered the new one! ”Maybe it is Jude that took it o.” ”Jude!” ”Jude!” ”Jude!” he bangs on the Jude’s door, to no response.

This reaffirms his decision to go home to the village for Christmas in a couple of weeks and proceed to Onitsha with his cousin Chuks.From the look of things Chuks seems to be doing well at Onitsha.” ”I will join him and start afresh from there.” ”I am tired of this place!”

”So what am I going to wear for tomorrow’s event now?”

He had just walked out of the dingy common bathroom of their quarters bare-bottomed feet; the sling of his worn-out slippers had finally died a natural death on his trek back home after a hectic days hustle.

It was dark in the neighbourhood. ”O boy, these NEPA boys have dismantled and collected the wires o”, says his neighbour Jude, seated on a heap of cement blocks outside, enjoying the nights fresh air. Their light connections are haphazardly and illegally done, coupled with their inability to settle the NEPA officials with something for the weekend.

Child naming ceremony
Child naming ceremony

Ikem chooses not to let such things bother him right now. He is moving to higher grounds in a few weeks time, besides he had purchased quite an assortment of apparels including two new sandals and sneakers that he will launch over Christmas in the village.

As a matter of fact, if fate continues smiling the way it has been these last couple of weeks, ”I might even consider buying a G.S.M torch light phone and a few items to take to Mama and Nwanneka.’‘ ”It is almost my turn to collect the accumulated funds from ‘Isusu’.”

He felt happier than he had in a long while as he quickly washes and hangs his shirt to drain before he retires for the night. Tomorrow will be a good day, he whistles as he goes along. Papa Emma’s is having the child dedication of his twins, and surely the celebration will be followed by several plates of rice and meat coupled with free drinks to go around.

Party Jollof rice with plantain and moin-moin
Party Jollof rice with plantain and moi-moi

He plans to join them to go to church. He has not been to church for so many months. It was tiring attending church services that were fast turning into fashion parades, whilst he had nothing fashionable to wear. It always made him feel ashamed.

Now! The new Tshirt he planned to showcase tomorrow has disappeared. “Thank God I didn’t wash the Chinos jeans as well.” ”I will just have to wear something else!” He muses to himself.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Links to the earlier series are at the top of the page. Thank you

Quick Glossary for words that you might not know:

Child dedication: Child dedication is a symbolic ceremony undertaken by Christian parents soon after the birth of a child. This rite is intended to be a public statement by the parents that they will train their children in the Christian faith.

Chuks: A shortened form of an Igbo name given to boys which could be derived from Chukwuka, God is greater, Chukwuemeka, God has done so well, Chukwudi, God lives, Chukwuebuka, God is very big etc

Isusu: An informal means of collecting and saving money through a savings for the enablement of kith and kin ventures.

Harmattan: Harmattan is a cold-dry and dusty trade wind, that blows over the West African subcontinent, from the Sahara Desert into the Gulf of Guinea between the end of November and the middle of March (winter).

Hia! Just an exclamation like Oh dear!

Moi-Moi: Nigerian steamed bean cakes made from a mixture of washed, peeled black-eyed peas, onions and fresh ground peppers (usually a combination of bell peppers and chili or scotch bonnet). A very protein-rich food that is a staple in Nigeria

NEPA: National Electric Power Authority was an organization formerly governing the use of electricity in Nigeria now replaced by PHCN (Power Holding Company of Nigeria).

Nwanneka: An indigenous Igbo name given to a girl and it means: ”my siblings are supreme or very important.”

Onitsha: A city with one of the largest commercial markets in West Africa. It is situated on the river port on the eastern bank of the Niger river in Anambra State, southeastern Nigeria.

To settle: The act of adjusting or determining disputes between persons without pursuing the matter through the formal process. In this case, it is giving something under the table to the officials.

I found a lot of treasures in the neighbours backyards this past week. Will share just a few. Do take a peek.

 Ten anxiety antidotes from Chris the Story reading Ape: a lot of people do suffer anxiety attacks and it is not something to pooh-pooh at.

When silence is a virtue from Oba’s blog: we all need to keep quiet sometime and listen from within

Who am I by Amy Lou blogs :

A delicious looking platter from Lynz Real Cooking

International friendship blogging forum: You might be interested in joining.

The right way to grieve by Debbie Carroll Is there a right or wrong way to grieve?

A lovely quote found at Haddon Musings Do take a peek 🙂

Why a watched pot never boils from Blabberwockying. You need to read it to find out why.

Italian vegetable soup: Another warm platter for cold nights from What’s for dinner Moms.

Yes my voice will be heard: I fell in love with this poem found on Kay Morris blog.

Raging Joy Crusher: This thought-filled post from PamWitzemann speaks in very loud volumes.

Breast cancer awareness month: Early detection is key, have you done it!

It’s a weekend folks! Enjoy! Be happy and kind regards.

Creative Writing · Fiction · Short Stories

Hiding…..a Short story

https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.files.wordpress.com/2015/10/wpid-photo-20151005074310397.jpg

Patting the blonde wig, she stares at her face in the gaudy mirror.

This would be her last night, yet she feels uneasy. Is it the anticipated move? Maybe! She thinks.

She is tired of moving. From one horse-shoe town to the next. One harshly lit stage to the other. How many wigs? How many stages? How many towns? How many names? She had lost count! Sometimes, her days start as Rita and ends as Melinda, or Mirabelle, Belinda, Katerina, Chloe and even Zoe!

Young Luc now asks questions.

“This will be the last time my love, she promises.” Finally, she has enough money to start allover in a sleepy town, with a new identity and new things away from stage lights.

The introductory act wraps up. Her cue is next.

Her crooning voice belts out heartrending tunes of a broken heart. The crowd soaks it in.

Her eyes wander nonchalantly across faces. His sizzling gaze hits her. Her pitch warbles to a halt!

Staring in wide-eyed disbelief, like a deer caught in bright lights, its her Nemesis and his goons.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

In response to prompt photo from The Storytellers Abode for Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers. Thank you Etol and Priceless Joy for providing this platform.

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A link to my neighbours/Community · Creative Writing · Fiction · Life · Short Stories Series

HUSTLE Continues….. A short story and a link to my neighbours

Bus Hustle

The first part of the series – Hustle – Part 1

Ego  ne? Ikem asks. Picking up and dropping several T shirts from the pile of bend-down select clothes heaped on a tarpaulin on the market floor.

Hah! I don tell you say na N200 only! Replied the man with the bell.

Second-hand aka bend-down-select cloth sales
Second-hand aka bend-down-select cloth sales

Bros, abeg! I wan buy 2 or even 3 sef, if you fit commot something. Ikem haggles and they eventually settle for N120 each and he happily pays for the three that he chose, clutching his black nylon of new apparels with a bounce in his steps, he leaves for Mama Nwamaka’s canteen.

A plate of hot ‘Garri and Onugbu soup’ with some ‘Show Boy’ and a bottle of ‘small stout’ is just the thing to set his World right today; he has more jingle in his pockets from a few days of work than all the previous weeks put together.

Preceding market days have been grueling but more rewarding. It seems the approach of Christmas has triggered off a flurry of more business and lots of off-loading of bags of garri and gallons of palm-oil has enriched him more than carrying baskets for housewives and their wares.

Some of these women came for their weekly shopping armed with scorpion stingers on their lips and taking out the grouch from their homes on unsuspecting recipients.

The last one had nagged and haggled that he was charging too much, that he was almost tempted to ask her to carry the things herself.

“Is it not just from here to the bus-stop, or are we going to ‘Ibagwa’?” She harassed.

Bitter leaf soup and garri
Bitter leaf soup and garri

Carry that thing well o.” ”Hah all this shaking, my oil will pour o!” She went on and on.

You are going too fast!” “I cannot keep up with you, she argued!” Whilst stopping to greet every single market woman that crossed her path and Ikem stood with her weighted load on his head.

Such women were very trying, but he needed all the money he could make.

He wants to buy several new items and to replace his worn out rubber slippers. Occupying his mind with happier thoughts of the jeans and canvas that he will purchase soon, he tunes out the shrewish woman’s voice.

A belly full of good food and a glass of palmy later- Mama Amaka had fresh supply and he couldn’t resist the intoxicating aroma of fresh palm-wine. It is not every day that you could get an authentic bottle that is not watered down. He hurries back to hustle for more customers.

Show boy aka Kpomo/Kanda
Show boy aka Kpomo/Kanda

A few more bags of rice and basket carrying for market late-comers, it is time to go home.

It appears like a throng or water-fall of humans. Everyone rushing to get done and go home.

Ikem is happy with the days events and as he jostles along with the crowd, an unexpected shove from the back has him turning around to lambaste the pusher, only for the ensuing shouting chant of ‘Ole! Thief o! Onye Oshi!’ rings out in the crowd.

The pusher happens to be a wily young pick-pocket who was trying to make away with a woman’s purse. Out of reflex Ikem hot-foots after the escaping thief along with a several young men.

The crowd impedes the pick-pockets movements and he is nabbed a few yards away and beaten to an inch of his life.

It takes the pleading voices of some concerned women to save him from being pulped to death.

Jungle Justice! Quick to be meted out when the culprit is caught; especially among the poor culprits.

Ikem ponders on this issue as he makes his way home. Wondering why a young man would choose to bargain with his life over a paltry sum of Naira. The culprits face is one of those idling chaps that he sees around the market.

To be continued.. You can read the first part by clicking the link in red ink above!

Quick Glossary for words that you may not know:

Ego  ne – How much is this?

Hah! I don tell you say na N200 only! – Ah! but I told you it is only 200 Naira (note that it is expected to haggle over price in the market)

Bros, abeg! I wan buy 2 or even 3 sef, if you fit commot something – My brother please! I want to buy 2 or even 3, only if you can reduce the price.

Bend-down-select: A heap of mixed used clothing where customers literally bend down to scrounge through the pile and select an item they want to buy.

Mama Nwamaka – Nwamaka’s mother. Nwamaka is a native Igbo name that means, ”the child is beautiful, the child is good” There are derivatives such as Amaka.

Garri- A popular West African meal made from Cassava tubers.

Onugbu soup – A type of soup which is peculiar to the Ibo’s. It is made from bitter-leaf vegetable and a thickener of coco-yams.

Show Boy also known as Kpomo or Kanda – These are processed cow hide eaten as meat. It is regarded as a delicacy.

Small stout also known as Odeku –  This is a dark beer made from roasted malt or roasted barley, hops, water and yeast.

Ibagwa – Ibagwa is a community located North of the great University of Nigeria, Nsukka.

Ole! Thief o! Onye Oshi!’The three words mean the same thing: Ole is Yoruba for thief, and Onye Oshi is Igbo for thief. It is not uncommon to mix English with broken/pidgin language and another tribes language.

Palm-Oil – a reddish – yellow butter-like oil which is derived from the fruit of the oil palm. It is used as edible cooking fat and also for making soaps, candles and cream.

Palmy – a shortened name for Palm-Wine, which is an alcoholic drink made from fermented palm sap. It is used in major traditional occasions in Igbo land such as Traditional titling occasions, Traditional weddings, burials, child naming ceremony and general entertainment.

The posts that I would like to share because they spoke to me:

When great trees fall: This poem from Maya Angelou featured by JoHanna Massey’s blog spoke loudly to me. Almost felt as is Maya was talking about her demise ”in my mind” because she is indeed a great tree. This is my first time of reading it.

Evening Chuckle: Nutsrok does know how to bring the mirth out of me. She offers rib-cracking laughter each time 🙂

Wordless – Wednesday: I love food. Lucid Gypsy’s picture was pure temptation for me 😉

Value of life is measured: A precious tale from MLou. Bless you Ma’am 🙂

Help a Writer Out: From Christian Mihai. You might be in a position to assist.

How to keep dangerous jealousy and envy from destroying your life: I need not say more.

Going smoke free one year on: Her resilience is quite admirable 🙂

Woo Hoo: A challenge that might interest you.

New EMV chip card scam: A need to know security tip from Tasha.

A butterfly trapped in a school bus: This didn’t put a smile on my face. It made me very sad and ill 😦

Have a lovely weekend folks and God Bless.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Creative Writing · Family · Fiction · Inspiration - Motivation · Short story

To Chase A Dream… a short story

Boat

For quite a while, she stands at the breezy quay watching the boat weave its way gradually away from the shores; every watery mile creates more distance between them.

The aquamarine gray water is calm and the weather quite pleasant, but, Madeline’s thoughts are far from calm.

She is not so sure that her decision to send him away is the right one and even as the white stern of the Wayfarer moves beyond swimming reach, she feels a powerful urge to call him back.

Her boy’s waving hands are now a speck in the far distance (in her motherly mind, he is still her little lad who clutched onto her for guidance).

She wants so much for him. A brighter future she sees in his tomorrow and their small fishing town is nowhere to chase his dreams.

Her hope is that under the Maestro’s tutelage, he would rise to his true potentials like his late Papa.

With a heavy sigh and a whispered prayer, she trudges up the stony pavement back to her cottage.

It will be a lonely time she thinks to herself.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

In response to prompt photo from The Storytellers Abode for Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers. Thank you Louise and Priceless Joy for providing this platform.

http://new.inlinkz.com/view.php?id=567569

Creative Writing · Fiction · Short story · The Daily Post · Writing

His Flanges Got Propped!…. A short story

Defeat

It’s been quite a grueling competition! Sebastian is determined to win the championship even if is by the skin of his teeth!

He has come far and this is it! The moment of his life and his dreams!

He could almost taste the victory and the fame at the end of it all.

His face would be splashed all over the papers and television. Instant celebrity status stamped on him as he turns into the toast of the town.

Endorsements would fly in from here and there. He could imagine his preening and the ladies cooing after him; his companionship sought by all. He could see it all! The pause to pose for silent brooding pictures for the paparazzi. The constant request for interviews. The frenetic social calendar. What a success it would be!

For just a split second, his wandering mind drifts off from the game at hand. In that split second, the ball comes sailing through the air and his delayed reaction causes him to over-reach. His legs fly out under him! He sails into the air, landing with such a heavy thud at an odd angle.

Pain pierces and radiates through his entire body. He struggles to rise but this legs crumble under him as the excruciating pain keeps him down.

The medics rush to attend to him and a quick examination is carried out.

Through the haze of the pain, a sober voice filters through;

“Well my young man, it appears you have popped a rib or two!” Said the Voice.

”You will be needing a FLANGIPROP  for support for several months or more.” ”Unfortunately you cannot continue with the game.” The droning voice continued as he administers on-site first aid.

He is quickly holstered on a stretcher whilst he writhes in pain and anger. This is not the way it is meant to end he argues in his mind.

The flashes of the camera keeps popping in his face as the paparazzi catch every wince of pain and misery that is etched on it.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha.

In response to The Daily Post – Invent a definition for the word “Flangiprop,” then use the word in a post. 

The actual definition of Flange: An external or internal rib or rim which is used to add strength or to hold something in place.

The actual definition of Prop: An object placed against or under another to support it: anything that supports.

Fiction · Short story · Writing 101 · writing ideas

He Was Father’s Good Friend…a short story for you.

Drinking man

Today’s assignment in Writing 101 – Day 19 Assignment: Feature a Guest is actually a feature that I would like to inculcate in my blog posts going forward.

It would be a way of sharing those articles/words that ministered to me during the week, as well as serving the purpose of neighbourly recognition and encouragement.

They could come in the form of quotes, pictures, stories, experiences, anecdotes, recipes, etc.

The idea is to share my own short story followed by the links to the URL’s of those things that captivated my mind, that made me smile, ponder, cook, dance, rant in my mind, inspired and motivated me during the past few days.

He was fathers’ good friend… a short fiction.

He was fathers’ good friend, but he wasn’t mine! Even though he worked very hard to be my friend, his sweetness repulsed me! He would visit a lot of evenings and occupy space with his large frame, guffawing at every joke even those that I failed to understand.

Many attempts did he make to pinch my butt when no one looked. Attempts made to squeeze my budding chest under the pretext of an uncle-y hug. He fooled them all by his pretense to be a good one!

Armful of candies to cajole and sweeten Carols little mind, followed by his clumsy, harsh breathing hugs. As she grew up she knew what it was. The day she found him out for who and what he was, is not one that she cares to remember. Even though the foggy parts of her brain sometimes brings up these better forgotten memories….of a sleepover that turned into a night of pain.

She faltered and haltingly told mother; how she was hurt and she can remember the redness of mothers face. The string of curses that spewed from mothers mouth and her vengeful promise to deal with him.

He came calling again, his cloak of conviviality all annoying Carol’s 9 year old mind and she hid at a distance, away from his treacherous hugs.

Mother gave him good helpings of the casserole (Carol wondered why he never ate in his house, wasn’t he just the gluttonous one, wanting to covet his neighbours goods) and copious doses of wine.

He drank and he drank. Little dribbles and droplets dotted his pale shirt and stood stark like blood.

He left under the haze of wine and thereafter, and was never seen again.

Now and again Carols mind drifts and she wonders whatever became of him. How did mother get the boogie man to stop visiting?

Father seemed sad for sometime. His friend came visiting no more.

The END

The posts that I would like to share because they spoke to me:

Bring in the Light I found this quite inspiring and thought provoking. It is up to you to choose!

Its the little things I simply fell in love with this post! *Hugs* Kelly

The Orchard – Horror story Thrilled and gave me the chills too 😉

The problem was me.. This is a beautiful story Mary Lou 🙂

What value system are you instilling in your children? Am I doing a good job? One always needs to ask these questions.

Anand’s Parodies & Caricatures He brings out the chuckle in me 🙂

Lynz real cooking Easy breakfast fix that the children love and saved me some time too 🙂

Putting Flesh on the bones Thank you Wallace for tips on how to put that story together.

Am I responsible for the actions of my adult children? This got me thinking.

If you are Be the best that you can be! Short and inspiring

Thanks good people. It’s almost weekend

Yay! Dancing Time 🙂

Image Credit: Businessinsider.com

Creative Writing · Fiction · Short Stories · Writing

To Have and To Hold…. a short story.

wedding gownI am not sure of what I am doing, but it feels right and beautiful. I am scared that I would fail and things would not work out well, but I choose to face my fear and brave it. After all, I love Will and I feel that our love is enough.

Twirling before the ornate looking glass at the Wedding bells store – the only one that could be found for miles around in our small town, I am pleased with the image that stares back at me.

The dress is delicately gorgeous. I love the way it clings to all the right parts and accentuates my hour glass shape. It is even amplified around the upper chambers. The cleavage is cut in such a way that it creates a mirage of more bosomness, where that is non-existent.

I lack Joleen’s and Ma’s capacious specifications. It flows down , hitting the floor in a soft frilly fall of French lace. I know that this is the dress for me.

Ma’s nose is red from crying and blowing it. The fitting lady thinks that her tears are from mere joy of seeing her daughter try on wedding gowns for forthcoming nuptials. In Ma’s own way, I know that she is very happy to see me getting married to Will; Will is a fine and well-mannered lad. Not that scapegrace Jake who broke my heart and only rekindled his interest when he saw that I was getting along with Will.

For a moment, I was almost fooled and persuaded to take him back. He gave me a wicked thrill but treated me with such disrespect that I knew that the thrill would lose its appeal in the long run and problem drag me down a long winding road of regret. He was like a bad habit that was difficult to break.

Catching him making out with Lucinda was the jolt that I needed to get my head straightened out, even though he blamed it on the drink, I was done!

I know Ma’s tears partially stems from her feeling that she is losing an ally. I stand as a buffer between her and my father’s punches. Why she has stayed and taken it all, is an answer that I have never figured out? I keep hoping that one day, he won’t get so deep into his cups and kill her, more especially since no one would be around to support Ma.

My sister Joleen ran off at seventeen with a trucker who had more brawn than sense. She has passed through husband number 2 and on the prowl for number 3. She is in town for my wedding shindig, even though she has spent most of her stay getting up to no good. She couldn’t even come to the wedding store with us – bleary eyed and sleeping off her last nights carousel.

Kev O’Reilly’s wife Maybelle is on a war-path. Joleen has been blinking her baby blue eyes and extra long lashes; with some tips of fakes, at Kev. Giving him an insiders view of her ample bosom. I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in a quick swallow and the glazed look that appears in his eyes whenever Joleen is around and flirting with him.

The O’Reilly’s have wealth to their name and Joleen is hell bent on the fact that husband number 3 would have a well lined deep pocket and some class too. She was tired of traipsing around the big ole country with a truck for a home.

Joleen is very pretty and Maybelle – Kev’s wife is not! She is…homely! Yes! That is the word.

I sigh over these thoughts as I hear alarm bells tinkle in my mind. I feel disaster coming along!

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

In fulfillment of Writing 101 – Day 15 Assignment: Take a Cue From Your Readers. In the opinion poll that I placed, most of the vote were cast in favour of fiction, so I wrote this!

Thank you for reading and kind regards.

Image credit: Weddingideas.com

Creative Writing · Fiction · Short story

An Artist for Nobility….

An artist for nobility

Desire to paint was compelling. She couldn’t stop even when there was hardly any coins left to purchase supplies. Grocery change finagled to buy a paint or two.

Thoughts flowing from fingertips onto the easel with boundless verve, leaving people in awe of the elemental depths of her works.

Mama had urged her over and over to focus on a sensible trade. To pull her head out of painted clouds.

Mama’s fear, was that she would end up a penniless and hungry artist, if she had nothing else to do.

To please Mama, she had learnt a sensible trade. A governess to spoilt brats and dabbling in her painting away from prying eyes.

If only Mama could see me now!” Georgiana fervently wished for a moment.

Her works had won the National Art entry and gained public acclaim!

.And here she is on the palace grounds, painting her ladyships gardens. Appointment notes chock full with sittings for portraits and the likes!

Who would have thought! I Georgiana, the daughter of a green-grocer, would be an artist for nobility!

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

In response to the photo prompt from Graham Lawrence for Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers.

Thank you to Priceless Joy for providing this challenge platform.