He said,
go to Hell!
She replied,
‘I am already in Hell,’
and I’m taking you with me.
©
Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
image credit – Pinterest
Tag: Anger
Turmoil – Friday Fiction in Five Sentences
Her heart thumped in nervous apprehension once she heard his Ford pickup pull into their drive.
What mood would he be in today? Belligerent? Happy? Drunk?
She just never knew what to expect from one moment to the next…explosive anger or a bouquet of flowers.
Of late, living with him was like constantly walking on eggshells.
On second thoughts and in no mood for any confrontation, she quickly turned off the television and tiptoed off to bed.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
When the feelings are down…
Having spent two scores on Earth, I know from experience that life’s manual is not built to be easy by default. Yes, some may get more free rides than others now and again, but all of us have issues that we are battling with which does seem overwhelming at times.
For days, waves of anger and depression have lurked under the surface of my emotions and I have found myself snapping and breathing fire like a Dragon over minor issues at my family; as a matter of fact, after tossing and turning at night over the issues behind my mood, this morning during our quick prayer session, I had to apologise to my children for my snarling and snapping at them unnecessarily, because I not only have to be accountable for any bad behaviour on my part and the possibility that I hurt their feelings through my expressions, I equally have to teach them by example.
I could list loads of reasons behind my poor thoughts and depressed feelings at present and choose to marinate in them as well, but going down that track only creates more chaos, ill-feelings within me and most likely won’t resolve my challenges.
Would I wish that everything is in perfect shape? Yes! Of course. Is it ever going to be perfect? NO! The lesson that I have learnt over time is that by focusing on the small things that are not going as well as one wants, takes away the focus on all the blessings that we’ve received.
Sometimes we have to pull ourselves up by the bootstraps and jumpstart our gratefulness. I had to start praising and expressing my gratefulness and not only did I feel a shift in my soul but calming answers dropped into my heart.
The power of praise uplifts and opens up the spirit while the spirit of gratitude takes little and turns into a lot. I enjoy listening to the renditions of “Women of Faith.”
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
There are several gratitude/thankful platforms in the blogosphere that you can tune into and get your ithankful going on. I can’t express in words the enormity of Joy and fulfilment that comes from having a heart of gratitude. Please check out Maria’s blog, Colline’s blog and Bernadette’s for thankful/gratitude challenges.
Sleek Tongue – Ronovan writes weekly haiku challenge.
What an interesting pair of words we are given this week for Ronovan’s haiku. Sleek & Sizzle makes me want to say, shizzle ma nizzle 😉
Inciting words rolled off his sleek tongue
that my nerves sizzled in annoyance
at his attempt to sell his snake-oil.
I’m amazed at the sleek salesman audacity
even with a reputation that sizzles
he convinces people with his wicked intentions.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
I hear the reverberations of the magic that’s hidden within.
Heartache…Friday fiction in five sentences.
![1457668922602[1]](https://acookingpotandtwistedtales.files.wordpress.com/2016/03/14576689226021.jpg)
Bowed down, she sobbed in pain as his words cut through her heart and ripped it into little bits.
I am sorry, but it’s over he said.
Was it something I did she asked brokenly.
No, it’s not you. It’s just that I need some space to sort out stuff and I am just not feeling it anymore. He chose the location because he knew that she did not like confrontation and he wanted a quick way out.
The anger surged in her like a fiery ball of fire. All the wasted years of empty promises and he now decides he’s not feeling it. Well, it’s not going to be a quick sprint in the park. She rose like a maddened Tigress, picked up the vase on the table and emptied it’s watery content over his head. She gave him a resounding thwack with her bag and marched off in fury.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Blood On Her Hands…
She sat rocking herself in the corner.
She knew that soon they would come to take her away, but she could hardly find the nerves to run and hide. She was too tired and just wanted to sleep for ages.
For years and years, she had withstood it.
At first she told herself that she had to stay for the children.
Then she grew afraid to go anywhere.
Then she became a nervous wreck, got sick and disgusted with her life.
Then she lost her job and had no money.
Then she lost all her friends.
Then she became totally dependent on him.
Then the berating, the beatings, the cycle of maltreatment got more vicious.
He made the mistake of pointing the gun at her head but failing to shoot.
That was his weapon of choice. To scare her out of her wits with the gun amused him a lot.
Now, he could do it no more. She shot him with the gun that had taunted her for ages right in the back of his head.
It was point blank Bulls Eye. The beginners luck.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
A betrayal in the offing…Husband wanted urgently!
What the @@@&&&? Tess stared in dumbfounded shock at the image that unfolded before her eyes.
Unbelievable! She stepped back, a burning sinking sensation hitting the pits of her stomach as the scene registered in her brain.
‘Is that not Humphrey that I see?’
She stared through the clear glass of the jewelry store. Watching as he attentively hooked a necklace around the slender neck of the pretty lady with him.
‘No! Her mind silently screamed.’
But his drop of a tender kiss on the cheek of the exquisite looking face and their intimate looking tête à tête was enough confirmation.
The anger pooled inside her as she hurried away. She didn’t just have the stomach for a confrontation.
‘No wonder he has been behaving like a cat on hot coals these past few weeks.’ Goddess’s voice muttered. ‘I have always been suspicious that he is too good to be true.’
‘He has obviously been tom-catting around town and here you are eating your heart out and driving yourself crazy trying to pick the perfect birthday gift for him.’
Tess gazed in annoyance at the gifts in her hands.
She had spent all afternoon and a little fortune picking out the lovely presents to give him for his birthday.
‘You better take back the presents advised Goddess.’ ‘He can’t make a fool out of you and still get your money as a thank you. No Sireee’ She continued.
‘Wait a minute, Cautious chipped in. ‘Don’t be in a haste Tess.’ There’s probably a reasonable excuse, Cautious rationalized.
‘You’ve been together for over nine months now and he hasn’t given you any reason to suspect him, has he?’ Cautious sagely reminded her.
‘Well, it starts one day and for all you know, he has just been smart about things’ argued Goddess.
The warring voices in her head gave her a headache and for several hours after she felt totally demoralized, mooning around her apartment.
Several hours later, the happy tune of her phone rang and she stared at it in uncertainty. Humphrey’s caller ID face stares at her through the phone screen.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to speak to him but she eventually decided to answer at the third round of ringing.
‘Hey Bae’, his warm tenor pulled at her.
Her curt reply of ‘Hello Humphrey’ wasn’t as warm as usual.
‘I missed you.’ He said. ‘How was your day?’
‘Really? *you lying cheat, go on, sell me another one, she muttered silently in her head* but her lips uttered a very curt and polite ‘Fine, thank you.’
‘Are you busy?’ ‘You sound distracted,’ he asked.
‘No am here.’
‘Good. You sound tired though. Just called to kiss you goodnight. Be seeing you tomorrow at the party.’ He hung up.
Tess barely slept well. Half of her night was spent tossing thoughts around in her head, wondering if she should bother going to the party or not.
She hated confrontations but she needed to get to the bottom things. The lying cheat.
To be continued…Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
I have been busy digging. Enjoy
Some posts like Claremary’s Auld Lang Syne, truly make you appreciate the gift of life
Follow Chape and maybe, just maybe, you can do this.
Sound advise from Success Inspirer.
This post from Diane made me chuckle. Yeah right!
Put yourself in the shoes of a Syrian refugee from Skinny and Single.
The poem New wind blowing from Joy gave me joy and much thought.
I agree with Rose about defining our goals.
Change succinctly said by Koko.
Oh Yes! I Told Her Off And I Am Not Sorry I Did!…
There are loads of shopping malls over here in Dubai. Huge Ones, Medium Ones, Small Ones and with them come hordes of humans from all walks of life.
We went shopping for a no-frills plain white shirt for my daughter, which is required for a school programme (last week it was a red one, for flag day, I wonder what it will be next week) and mid-way trawling the shops she needed to use the ladies.
We duly went to the ladies and I felt it was also better to do a little tinkle just in case, luckily like every standard up-to-date mall, rest-room convenience is easily accessible and over here, they do a very good job at keeping it spick and span.
As usual, the ladies-room is filled with women; young and old, re-doing their scarves, patting and brushing their hair, dusting their noses, powdering their faces, pouting their lips and squinting their eyes as they apply the required make-up mask. It is really a bee-hive of femaleness.
My daughter came out and I observed that her skirt was somewhat askew, so I had tried to adjust it a bit and that required a little lifting to straighten the lining.
From the corner of my eye, the not so young lady stood in front of the mirror directly in front of our view (we were caught in her reflection) after all her primping, she started pouting her lips in all manners of contortions and NO! you don’t say, went clicking happily on her phone, taking pictures in the TOILET.
I counted to 10, telling myself to just go, but the little imp in me refused to let go of the bone.
I told her “my dear lady, I don’t think that taking photo shots in the restroom where other ladies are milling around is a proper thing to do!”
She stared at me in disdain. I don’t know if she understood English or not.
I proceeded to explain better in sign language gesticulating all over the place, asking her to check if her pictures had caught people in the rest-room and to delete it.
She simply went into a tirade of Arabic and left in a huff.
I also went into a tirade of Igbo (my native language) and left in her wake in a huff.
These selfie absorbed moments can get ridiculous at times.
How smart is a human who takes pictures in a public rest-room where you have so many other users? Why not wait until you get to your private bathroom and then you can say all the cheese and contort all the pouts required? 
I don’t get it! I think rest-rooms should come with big signs of ”No Photography Allowed.”
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Love In A Hopeless Place….a short story
The scented candles are down to a nub. His favorite casserole is cold and the soufflé has fallen flat.
She looks at the phone for the umpteenth time. Not a buzz. As the minutes tick slowly, the wait becomes unbearable. She knows that it would be another no-show. Another empty promise broken, another lie told and a birthday ruined.
She feels angry frustration for falling in love in a hopeless place. He has been stringing her along all these past year with his sweet tongue.
If she is honest to herself, she knows that he is a consummate liar.
He claims not be in love with his Missus any longer yet Fiorina’s recent findings is that Missus is heavy with the 3rd child.
Enough! I am worth more than this! Emptying the wine glass, she adjusts the zip of the gorgeous red evening gown; a gift from him.
NO more! She said as she slashed it into jagged strips!
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to the FFfAW photo prompt above. Thank you Priceless Joy for this challenge platform.
Rivals…
In response to the cue art Faces from Creativity Carnival :
It rankles! Yes it does. Maria sits mute at the dinner table, her roiling thoughts consumed with jealousy and anger. Mama, cracks a joke that maybe a widower with a dozen children would fall hopelessly in love with her homeliness but it is a struggle to plaster a smile on her face. She knows the icy look in her eyes must be as cold as the Arctic but no one notices.
She can’t seem to help her unbidden thoughts and distorted feelings for Ella. Ella, her identical twin but there are no two people who are more different. Maria’s distorted feelings of animosity, envy and sadness have accrued over the years.
Even her name is prettier for pity’s sake – Maria thinks. They saddle me with a staid, homely, sensible name “Maria” and “Ella” gets to be called a fairytaley, princessy, frilly name.
Ella the glitzy, charming one. The one that drew the boys like mindless bees to her honeysuckle petals. The one who got all the accolades, yet didn’t exert herself much to earn them.
Mama keeps saying that Ella will go places; our ballerina tutus are the same, yet mine always managed to look crumpled and my flats had a hole in the toe. I made that hole! In rebellion too, she recalls in remembered pleasure. She hated the ballet lessons and all that pirouetting made her dizzy. “No spotlights for you, my young lady” auntie Anna would say. That sounded like doom to the young lady’s ears.
She loves to draw and paint, but no one seems to notice. They noticed easily how unruly her hair is, how her skirts are always overrun with watercolor and how her finger nails are eaten to jagged bits, from nervous energy.
Ella is always immaculate. No hair is ever out of place. Her bubbly energy takes up the entire air meant for both of them and sometimes Maria feels like the evil step-sister waiting for the Sword of Damocles to fall and swish Ella’s head off her shoulders.
Maria prays. Every moment, she tries. Trying to staunch the flow of ill-feeling by saturating them in heartfelt prayers, but those moments of peaceful thoughts did not last.
Today she feels so petty and angry as she watches Ella weave her sticky charm, yet again on a beau. Our budding romance is dead on arrival, Jeremy has just bitten the dust, she thinks.
Debating all the painful, slow ways to eliminate her sibling rival and shaking with an itchy, ugly desire to slap Ella’s face, Maria slowly rises from the dinner table and leaves for her room. No one notices.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
a cooking pot and twisted tales 