Category: Short Stories

Short Stories

Coming Out…

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From the top of the hill, Logan stared at the house at the foot of the hills, a deep longing stirred in him.

It’s just a few meters to the place that would always remain home in his heart but was no longer welcoming to him.

He knew that they would be gathered around the table chit-chatting and passing the plates around.

In his minds’ eye, he could see the setting; he could smell the vanilla and cinnamon, he could almost taste his mother’s signature pecan pie and tears pricked his eyes.

Did they ever think about him? Did they miss him the way he missed them or were their hearts still hardened towards his choices in life?

When his dad stands at the pulpit to preach about love to his congregation, does his mind go to his only son?

Logan loves Greg his partner deeply, but he misses his family so much.

Sometimes, he wonders if the price of coming out of the closet five years ago was not too steep and he often finds himself in an emotional quandary.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Thank you Footie and Foodie for the inspiring photo and Priceless Joy our amiable hostess for your support.

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Short Stories

Swift Fingers…

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Davey juniors small fingers moved the pawns with such dexterity and certainty that surprised Maxwell who was considered the chess champion and legend in the neighbourhood.

He wasn’t about to let a little human beat him on his turf and at a game that he could play and win blind.

Checkmate! Davey’s pronouncement dug into Maxwell’s ribs in irritation. A round of chess he had laughingly engaged in to entertain the young fellow had turned out differently.

Out of reluctant admiration, he wanted to know how Davey became such an excellent player at such a young age and Davey’s response brought a smile of understanding to his face.

Davey junior had learnt from a renowned chess champion. As a tiny tot, his late grandpa Sir David Checkers aka Swift Fingers used to balance him on his knees and he thought him everything that he needed to know to play like a champion.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

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Thank you, Iain for the photo and Priceless Joy for hosting this charming platform where we unleash our stories:-)

Short Stories

Forever 16

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Maria placed the bouquet of lilies by the corner of the bridge that she had turned into a little memorial. Opening the small forget-me-not box she added another note to the growing pile of notes tied in little ribbons.

Each year she did the same thing, but each year neither made the pain easier nor took her guilt away. No day passed without her thought racing a thousand times to Lily.

Today is Lily’s birthday. She would have been 24 but she remains forever 16. Today is the 8th year that her daughter had drowned in the cold river.

Leaning on the brown cobbled wall of the old bridge, Maria allowed her salty tears to flow freely like the breeze that fluttered her hair.

She never ceased to wonder why; why she hadn’t noted that her daughter had needed help; why Lily had chosen to jump into the river.

The guilt that she had failed as a mother sat like an unwieldy boulder in her soul.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

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Thank you, Joy, for the photo and Priceless Joy for hosting this charming platform where we unleash our stories:-)

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Short Stories

The Courtroom – Friday Fiction In Five Sentences

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Image result for image of courtroom

My grip on the armrest was so hard that my knuckles must have turned white.

Anger boiled inside me like a witch’s cauldron barely containing itself and the loud voices of other people in the room sounded like a roaring babble in my head.

I refused to believe the verdict that had just been handed out, but the smirk on his lips and the sneer in his eye’s said it all as I looked at him with burning intensity.

Justice has just let the man who abused and violated me walk away free; in fact, the defense counsel tarred and feathered my image till I could barely recognize the strumpet that they portrayed me to be.

It’s not over! Not by half a mile! I have a plan and he won’t know what hit him like a ton of bricks.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

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Short Stories

The House…

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Out of habit, Miranda, glanced at the vacant house as she walked past.

She was always willing to tell the story of the house and it’s former inhabitants to anyone, of course without missing her highlighted moments of local fame as a witness to a highly publicized grizzly incident.

This is where she grew up and lived all her life. She knew the late Jones’s. Houses in the neighbourhood were close to each other, that everyone knew the other’s business and each wall had an ear listening to it.

She remembered that night when she overheard Jack’s gruff voice as he shouted ‘over my dead body Sue!’

It was nothing new to hear him make such declarations. The Simpsons loved hard, played hard and fought even harder. Their strange shenanigans were noisy enough to give the neighbours a clue.

Tilley, the beautiful Mrs. Jones went missing, her body parts found in different parts of town. The strange thing was that Jack was found with a slit throat and missing ears. The murderer is still at large.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

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Thank you, to Priceless Joy for hosting this charming platform where we unleash our stories and Yinglan for providing an innocent photo that brought out my dark side 😉

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Short Stories

Old Habits – Friday Fiction in Five Sentences.

jacquelineobyikocha9 Comments

Image result for bouquets of carnations

Passing the flower shop, he bought the usual – a beautiful bouquet of red carnations, she loves carnations on Saturdays.

Whistling, he walked slowly to the boulangerie and ordered his basket of the usual, grabbed a free newspaper and waited – he is a man of habits, formed over three scores of existence.

The tram pulled up, boarding along with other passengers, the next thirty-five minutes trundling ride was spent in a light conversation with the gentleman who sat beside him; they talked of little things and their rheumatism – he made a mental note to tell her about the interesting fellow who still wore his old tweed jacket and a dated fedora cap.

‘How is she today?’ He perfunctorily asked the stoic-faced nursing assistant and walked down the familiar corridor, passing room numbers 28, 29, 30 and then opened the door to her room, number 31; everything was as it should be.

Bert took off his coat, planted a cool kiss on Ida’s pale shrunken cheeks, patted her hand in a familiar dismissive mode and sat down to eat whilst he regaled her with little anecdotes of the past week; she stared at him with vacuous eyes, lost in a caged world of her own which he preferred, the staged accident was quite effective, he had grown tired of her nagging.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Have you checked out my new site? I hope you will. Thank you 🙂

Stay tuned for our blog party tomorrow Saturday 29th – Sunday 30th. It’s a Blog-o-ween!

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Short Stories

Finding Pleasure Again

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Eyes shaded from the morning sun that made them hurt after a while, Richard allowed his gentle, trained guide to lead him down the footpath for a walk.

His heightened sense of hearing could pick up the various sounds far and near – the Seagulls calling to each other, the crashing sound of the waves hitting the banks, a loud honk from a shipping vessel, the slapping sound of a jogger’s trainers, his nostrils picked up different smells in the air, from the fragrance of the burgeoning flowers to the fishy smell of the seafront not too far from him – Richard smiled in pleasure .

It has taken lots of therapy to get to this level of acceptance and to begin to find little pleasures in life again After the accident, adapting to his limp and the sudden loss of his eyesight after 50 years of perfect vision has been a tough call, but for once, he felt happy to be alive again.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

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Thank you, Louise, for the photo and Priceless Joy for hosting this charming platform where we unleash our stories:-)

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Short Stories

Slow Poison

jacquelineobyikocha22 Comments

Agatha went around the house and rearranged everything in a haphazard and rebellious manner.

She went to the pantry rack and deliberately disorganised its contents, placing them in a manner that she knew would annoy Harvey; even though he would never come back to see it.

Carefully, she poured the lethal drops of the arsenic-tainted drinks down the drain.

It had taken longer than she expected for the poison to take effect, but she would never forget the last look of surprise on Harvey’s face when he learnt that she had poisoned his drinks.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

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I’ve certainly missed writing Flash Fiction. Welcome back Priceless Joy and thank you to Maria for the photo prompt.

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Short Stories

The Hospice…

jacquelineobyikocha27 Comments

Celia bawled her eyes out and snot dripped down her nose . She’s never been one to sob softly into a handkerchief.

She had known that the end was close, but the news still hurt badly and tears swam in her eyes as she read the letter.

“Dear Celia, thank you for these years of love and care. For bringing warmth to the heart of an old lady. I’ve come to see you as the daughter I never had and would like to bequeath these items to you. Please accept them with all my love.”  Celia Oldham.

As usual, she had come for her visit at the hospice where she spent time keeping the old folks’ company; listening to their stories, reading to them and sneaking in an occasional toffee.

Over time the deceased became her favourite. Mrs. Oldham took to her when she learnt that they shared the same name and looked forward to the visits. She always took the pains to dress nicely in a frock, cardigan, pearl set and a gemstone ring that she wore on her third finger. Mrs. Oldham had no surviving family. Her sweetheart died during the war and she never remarried.

Inside the little box was a battered, old diary, the pearl set, the ring, a purple scarf, a bank draft for $200,000 raised in her name and the last book they had been reading – Jane Eyre.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

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Thank you, Jade for the photo and Priceless Joy for hosting this charming platform where we unleash our stories:-)

Note: PJ please, I crave your indulgence for having overshot the word limit. I chopped and snipped the story here and there yet it refused to get shorter.

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Short Stories

The Wise One…

jacquelineobyikocha40 Comments

Nature wore her splendour in golden tones and everywhere looked so pretty even though our thoughts were heavy at the moment and our demeanours were sombre.

It was Ms. Maisie’s funeral and I simply knew within me that things would never be the same again because no one could be like Ms. Maisie our Sunday school teacher.

Every citizen in our little township had felt the warmth of her neighbourly love and almost everyone turned up to pay their last respects. She taught us more than the beautiful stories of the Bible in this little prefabricated structure  built by the joint effort of the community and for a few minutes, my senses conjured up the delicious whiff of her melt-in-the-mouth butter cookies that she always had in a tin and shared generously.

My eyes drifted out to stare at the yellowing leaves of the Dogwood she had planted years ago and I saw a beautiful, brown Owl perched on the wire fence looking back at me. I’d never seen an Owl in my life and wondered if there was a reason behind this. I knew everyone said that an Owl is the wise one and Ms. Maisie was certainly a wise lady.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

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Thank you, Phylor, for the photo and Priceless Joy for hosting this charming platform where we unleash our stories:-)

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