Friday Fiction in Five Sentences

Treachery…Friday Fiction in Five Sentences

Fiction, Creative Writing, Houses, Martha Stewart


Stumbling across details of his secret family – a mistress and two sons, twelve and seven-year-old boys ensconced in a nice town house downtown, whilst she played Martha Stewart at home – had been beyond a rude shock.

Cecilia was still dumbfounded at the turn of things.

How did she not see the tell-tale signs, a consistent barrage of questions raced back and forth in her mind.

Her emotions were all over the place as she struggled to reconcile with the enormity of Tom’s treachery and how he had managed to live a lie for so long.

Their twenty-five-year-old marriage was now confined to a file in a divorce lawyers office.

© Jacqueline

Rononvan's Weekly Haiku Challenge


This week’s prompt ‘top and light’ from Ronovan gave me an opportunity to try different story lines and I settled for these two eventually.

She knows he’s at home.
Light streams out of his apartment window
that’s on the top floor

Looking up as she dials
she sees his silhouette in the light
and another without her top

Thoughts race through her mind
like light, they flit by so fast
who’s the other topless lady?


I crawled to the top

of the dark, dingy and scary pit

into the brightest of lights.

Below is my first just published Poetry Book “Out of the silent breath” which is available on Amazon and Smashwords.

When you buy my book, you support me in an invaluable manner.


From the very first poem, “Dreams,” this book captivates with passionate and perceptive words. Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha captures a broad expanse of the human experience in this book of richly layered poems.

Out of the silent breath

Fiction · Short Stories · Uncategorized

Dear Andrew…

Sybil’s fingers trembles and as she sends the text message to Andy. It’s better this way, because she couldn’t stand to look him in the face and break the news to him.

Hopefully, he would be so mad that he won’t want to see her when he gets into town.

For weeks he talked of how they would get married, so she would return to Pennsylvania with him and she had been joyful.

Now, those dreams are never going to be. It all seems so surreal as she stares into the distance.

She’s loved Andy forever and everyone thought that they would end up together.

How she had ended sleeping with Jason still puzzles her. All she remembers was cuddling up to him as he helped her to the truck. A night out in town, several drinks and she was out like light.

Jason was a good friend to both of them and now this.

She wonders how he would take the news that he is to become a father. There will be ripples in town.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha


In response to the FFAW photo prompt above. Thank you TJ for the photo and Priceless Joy for this enchanting platform

A link to my neighbours/Community · Creative Writing · Fiction · Humor - Bellyful of laughter · Love · Short Stories Series

Dating Debacle…Bridegroom Wanted Urgently!

Romantic couple

Tess tried not to feel upset and anxious.

45 minutes

She has been waiting for 45 minutes and the small sips of her drink had dwindled to the last remaining drop.

”After this drink, I am just going to leave,” she muttered.

”It’s not as if I needed this drink that badly, but I couldn’t very well sit and twiddle my thumbs while waiting for a dude who obviously has no plans of turning up.”

The Goose and Berry was not really her kind of place.

It’s a testosterone filled pub where men stared unabashedly at her, which made her throat tighten in discomfort.

”My mistake not to have taken Kate’s advise to heart.” She chided herself.

As the queen of online dates Kate has quite some experience under her belt.

”Always breeze in 10-15 minutes after the agreed time and if the dude is not seated and waiting, walk out quietly.” ”Never set off on the footing of sitting around and waiting for the guy to turn up.” A very bad trend! Kate advised.

Just as she signaled the waiter for her bill with her lovely manicured fingers, her late date came breezing in and as he ambled over, her internally wired male data appreciation did a quick scan.

He’s not bad looking.

”Tall” – Check

”Attractive” – Check very attractive.

Nicely turned out in his fitted deep blue jeans and light blue checkered shirt with rolled sleeves, which showed off appropriately muscled and brawny arms.

Not bad by half an inch, her inner goddess muttered but he obviously sucked at time keeping.

With a wry smile of apology he drawled an excuse of a meeting running late and battery running low.

He is easy on the eye like Sunday morning and she was willing to take his excuse.

”Who knows? We might hit it off.” She thought.

She felt the stirrings of attraction – on her side at least, and as she ran her appreciative eyes once again from his face downwards, her zoom lens zeroed in on a well placed hickey by his left ear.

She blinked and stared. Yes indeed, its a hickey and even a faint trace of lipstick and powder on his collar.

Maybe it’s an enthusiastic colleague, she excused the hickey.

”My apologies once again,” Tim said. ”So what would you like to eat, have you had something?”

”Hmm!” She thought ”Ah! A guy who likes to take charge of things.”

They ordered and got comfortable in getting better acquainted beyond the online basics and everything seemed to rhyme well, but Tess’s eyes couldn’t stay away from straying to the hickey and powdered collar now and again.

He had her laughing in no time, sending the right vibes up and down her spine.

”He’s worth several more dates.” Her inner goddess sighed in agreement.

”Good sense of humour” – check.

”Seems confident in himself” – check.

She tried to rein in her runaway thoughts, but he stood up suddenly and before she could say Linda, a buxom fireball of a lady descended on them, fireballs stance all taut and poised for a showdown.

”Tim, what a surprise.” Uttered fireball in a voice that dripped with lethal anger and not too surprised.

”This must be your illustrious business partner.” Fireball gave Tess a disdainful look.

Tess was quick to deduce that fireball must be the hickey planter and lipstick owner.

”Close your mouth darling. I am sure you thought I was too stupid not to know that something didn’t add up with your sudden flux of meetings in recent times. I had to confirm my suspicions for myself.”

Tess quickly gathered her wits and her handbag and made a quick exit. She didn’t want to get caught in the flak of an angry woman’s tirade.

”What a philandering Tomcat!” She shook her head as she tried to process the entire scene.

”Why on Earth do I always manage to find the dodgy, cheating characters?” She muttered in resigned sadness.

To be continued…Part 1Part 2, Part 3 

The links to other parts are attached in case you haven’t read the previous series.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

As you know, I always like to excavate other neighbours treasures and I offer some to you today 🙂

Nutstrok always has me howling in laughter.

This quote by Deb put a smile on my face.

A new cooking discovery at Chez Gharkepakwan.

Lovely pictures of beautiful libraries to visit from Noirfifre.

I am not old by Non smoking lady bug.

Best song for grammar police found in Deb’s backyard.

Helpful tips for those who experience allergic, reactions from Smiling away allergies.

Today’s inspiration from Etta.

Some vibrant Christmas cheer from Lucid Gypsy.

One Love Many Names from Blabberwockying.

Creative Writing · Fiction · Short story

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

Inlinkz code

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

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:

Creative Writing

Jungle Quarters….a short story

mushin bungalow

I woke up startled by a scraping, sharp and niggling sound. It was that kind of sound that pierced and annoyed your eardrums. It’s persistence had managed to penetrate my sleep cocooned brain and I was forced to crank my eyes open, lying in the dark to listen.

No, it was not a pesky mosquito – the can of fleet that I bought had taken care of them. I spent a fraction of my meager monthly income for the purchase of cans of fleets which I rationed consciously in order to get good mileage for my money.

Neither was it a furry friend scouting for something to nibble. My apartment was so pauperized that I am sure even the rats knew I was poor.

The night was balmy and as was the tradition, there was no power supply whatsoever. I was practically spending a small fortune on those mosquito coils and fleets because I hated mosquito nets – they made me feel claustrophobic.

I had to diligently keep the single window of my one room shut in order to keep out the buzzing nuisance and in the evenings when I got back from work, I took a double insurance of spraying my room, just in case one recalcitrant mosquito had managed to sneak in. Those things could make a life miserable at nights you know; I’d rather they bit me, than buzz in my ears.

Well, I was glad that my situation would take a turn for the better in a couple of days. With my pay check, I planned to buy a small I better pass my neighbor” TIGER generator. At least that would power my ceiling fan to keep me cool on steamy nights such as this, as well as disorientate the propellers of the mosquitoes. I had been saving for quite some time and the thought of progress was exciting.

What is that infernal noise? I wondered to myself. The niggling noise had gone up by several notches and was now accompanied by husky whispers of unknown voices.

My curiosity was piqued. In my state of semi-nudity, I tip-toed to my iron barred window to take a peek out of my window which faced the dirt road of our street. It was those neighborhood hooligans. Those bad boys spent their nights awake and robbing people of their hard-earned meager properties.

This time around the object of their attraction was my neighbor’s newly acquired old Golf GTI. It was not even qualified to be called a Tokunbo and Bob was probably the 22nd owner of that vehicle. It looked as if it had survived some shifty and dodgy Colombian drug runs before making its way to my neck of the woods in Mushin, Lagos.

I knew how proud Bob was of his new possession. We had ”washed it’‘ with some goat meat pepper soup and  swirls of beer at Iya Bose’s beer parlour, whilst listening to Bob regale us with tales of his escapades with the small, small girls in the vicinity. He could hardly wait to wow them with his ride.

In all fairness to him, he had tried to tush the ride up a bit. He had put in a fairly used car stereo which he purchased at a mechanic’s workshop, blasting music to the high heavens to announce his pompous entrance. The reams of the cars misaligned tires were covered by shiny wheel covers; I presumed that he bought them from the man under the junction bridge who sold a bit of every piece of nuts and bolts imaginable – I always wondered how he obtained such a stash. Rumors had it that if your car parts were missing, you simply had to go to him and buy them back bit by bit.

Bob said he was going to spray paint his car pretty soon and it will turn into a new car. By no means was I jealous of his success. I also had my own plans. After buying my generator, I planned to buy a small television, then a table top refrigerator before looking for my own four wheels.

By my projections, if I eliminated too many visits to the local bukka’s around and prepared my own meals on my kerosene stove, maybe, I would save faster. My savings coupled with my winnings from Baba Ijebu by the way, I was so close to winning handsomely last week – would see better things flowing my way.

After observing the hoodlums for a bit, I decided to be neighborly about things. After all, I just couldn’t lie down cowardly and watch those crooked boys strip Bob’s car down to its bare bones. I decided to raise some alarm, using the hard end of my umbrella, which was the only weapon that I had, to rap against the iron bars and at least let them know that they were being observed, hoping that would deter them.

They were simply unfazed and they carried on with their business. I crept out of my room to Bob’s room which was just two doors away from mine, in the face me, I face you housing block that we occupied. I rapped urgently on his door, whispering “Bob, Bob, na thief o!” ”They wan comot your motor o”. I repeated this severally and eventually, after much shuffling and groaned complaints, he asked me to go away that I was disturbing his sleep.

Mouth agape, I went back to my room but I couldn’t sleep again. At the very break of dawn, I got up to fetch water from the shared tap  to take my shower at the common washroom in order to avoid the morning rush and squabbles of neighbors who would want to use the facility all at the same time.

I had just passed Bob’s door and was almost at the end of the lengthy corridor, when I heard the squeaky creak of a door opening. Out of reflex, I turned to see who it was, and it was the live-in partner or wife – I never seemed to know who was what; at the rate girlfriends, wives and baby-mama’s came and went in the neighborhood – of Rasheed, sneaking out of Bob’s room.

Rasheed was one of the neighborhoods baddest boy. He was known for his famous thievery, but everyone seemed afraid of him. A popular belief was that he was in cahoots with some bad apples amongst the police, who were willing to lend their firearms for nefarious activities for handsome rewards from the stolen booty.

It was a confusing moment for me, because I was so sure that I heard his raspy smoke cracked voice amongst those decapitating Bob’s car last night. So it did seem that when he goes moonlighting, his partner/girlfriend/wife got engaged in her own private forays.

Half an hour later or so, Bob’s bellow was heard down the corridors. The enlightenment of his reversed status had just dawned on him. They had stripped his car down, taking everything including the brain box.

I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for him or not, but I listened patiently to his repeated curses and complaints for several days non-stop.

It was pay day. I happily purchased my generator. I couldn’t wait to hear the umm’s and aah’s that would float my way. I finally had something to gloat about. For days, I felt like a champion. My ceiling fan worked. My single light bulb glowed in the perennial darkness of the area. I had a new spring in my steps, sure that the young chicks I saw putting heads together and whispering when I passed were talking about me. About how eligible I was becoming. I puffed up some more – if I was a rooster, I would have crowed in delight.generator

My friend Bob was back to trekking and cursing. He needed a lot of money to rebuild his ride. After a lot of yabs and prodding from him, I agreed to give him a treat at our popular neighborhood hangout, in order ‘to wash my generator.

We boozed into the night and eventually, half tipsily made our way back to our rooms to crash. My door was ajar. That surprised me. I blinked a couple of times to clear my vision, but my door still stood ajar.

In trepidation, I stepped into my humble abode, only to find that my beloved generator and all the wires had been kidnapped – it was small enough to fit into an big overnight bag. Unbelievable, I thought. It was all gone. I raised a hue and cry, searching for my possession in nooks and crannies but no one knew what had happened.

I gazed into the darkness which had only a few bulbs dotting the night shaking my head in sorrow and dismay. I knew that I would have to save for many more months to buy it back from the man under the bridge.

Maybe? I am not sure.

It’s a jungle our here!

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

P.S.: To aid understanding, please check below for meanings of words which have been written in pidgin English.

Glossary of words.

Pidgin: This is an English-based pidgin and creole language commonly spoken across Nigeria.

Mushin: A suburb located in Lagos State, Nigeria. It is a largely congested residential area with inadequate sanitation and low-quality housing.

I better pass my neighbor, generator:  Refers to the small generator (tiger) that is below 2kva.

Tokunbo: This has multiple meanings, but the predominant meaning here refers to used cars.

Wash it: To celebrate something good, like a house warming for a new home, a new job etc

Goat meat pepper soup: Goat meat made in a hot and spicy broth

Iya Bose: Bose is a shortened Yoruba name, and Iya Bose means Bose’s mother

Beer parlour: A tavern where beer is served

Bukka: Local food canteens

Baba Ijebu: Indigenous Lotto

Face me, I face you: A term used to describe a type of residential building in Nigeria, where a group of one or two room apartments have their doors facing each other along a walkway that leads to the main entrance of the building which consists the apartments.

Na thief: It is a criminal

Comot your motor: Remove your vehicle


Creative Writing · Fiction · Short story

If the dead could talk…

rosary beadsI am not crazy. Just mad. Yes mad!

Mad as mad can be, that I allowed this to be me.

You cheated on me, playing hanky panky, with all the fancy ladies.

I took it with stoicism, and a whole bunch of Catholicism.

You walloped me up, and pummeled me down.

I tried to run, but never got far.

I turned to you, yes you, you, all of you.

Y’all said to return, have faith and pray some more.

I fretted, I pleaded, but deaf ears could not hearken.

I prayed, I cried, I fasted and I called on all the Gods.

But it seemed neither Heaven nor Hell cared to hear my call.

Now I am here, trapped in this bubble.

My soul is anguished, raging with fury.

Do the dead talk? Who knows?

Soon enough you will know!

My name is Nnedimma and I have a lot to say. I would however, like to ask you a question: How do you fix something that has been so broken? I tried to do so. Hanging on with bare tentacles to a union that had gone down the slope faster than a flash flood.

I was a starry eyed bride, full of hope and anticipation of forever after. It was a splendid wedding ceremony, with all the required glitz and glamor. The honeymoon at Obudu Cattle Ranch was filled with raunchy moments as was anticipated, but we soon touched down to planet Earth several months thereafter.

Let me take you down memory lane just a little bit. I met Fidelis one Saturday afternoon at a gas station. The petroleum product scarcity in Lagos was as impossible as ever and I was scared of purchasing black market fuel that was sometimes adulterated. I had just bought my car through a loan scheme that was offered by my bank and did not want to take the chance of buying road-side product that might lead to the breakdown of my newly acquired ride. I therefore preferred to queue up at an impossibly long and rowdy fuel line. I was practically the only female in a maze of rowdy men who were struggling and maneuvering to secure their own purchase.

After what seemed like hours of sitting in the car under the sweltering sun, the Manager of the station decided that they were closing sales after a few more vehicles, and everywhere just became a mad house. The men rushed to the pump, jostling each other for vantage point, and even passing a few bucks as bribe to the attendant so that he would fill their jerrycans. I tried to jostle along with the bunch of men who were a mixture of the good, the bad and the downright dirty. Unable to make any headway, I was tired of being pushed back and forth, I dishearteningly turned to go back to my car and drive away; resigning myself to the use of public transportation until things eased off, when this good looking guy approached me and asked if he could be of assistance.

I emptied my tale of fuel woes and frustration to his interested ears without really expecting much help. He asked me if I could be patient for just a little while and assured me that once the cars thinned out a bit, he would help me procure some fuel, since the station manager was a friend of his. I happily complied and got the promised assistance in exchange of my phone number – I felt grateful enough for the help to graciously give him my number.

Gradually, he warmed his way into my life. He would call to ask if I was in need of fuel or just to say hello. I was not in any relationship and my life seemed to revolve around my banking work, attending social engagements, church activities and more work. I sometimes felt lonely and was looking forward to having my own man. My long standing relationship had fizzled out when he left for Malaysia in pursuance of greener pastures and I was not eager to pursue an affair that was on the road to nowhere.

Our relationship blossomed very quickly and soon after he was hinting on tying the knot. As far as I knew, he was working as a Real estate agent cum business man who brought in cars to sell and lived in a nice two bedroom bungalow in Abraham Adesanya. That was enough for me. We would pool our resources together, I told him, besides I thought that as a team we could achieve a whole lot. Seven months following courtship, we walked down the aisle. In retrospect, I now realize that he had stylishly coerced me into footing the bill for our marriage.

Fast forward to six months after wedding: He claimed Realty business was not moving so well, he claimed that his business partner that sent the vehicles was cheating him and that he was no longer interested in dealing with him. I totally believed him and empathized with him. I did not mind using my income to support both of us hoping that the flow of the tide would change soon enough. I would leave early for work as usual, whilst husband dear would occupy himself getting his groove on with the neighborhood chicks and the tide continued to ebb as the days trickled by and I began to get worried.

I cajoled him to seek a paid job and that earned me the first beating. The first slap seemed like a joke as shocking as it was for me. I excused his beatings, penciling them down as frustration. I tried not to nag; he said I did not care. I tried to encourage him; he said I was talking to him in a condescending and arrogant manner. There seemed to be no right way, and the beatings continued. I tried to hide my misery and predicament until I could no longer hold back.

Turning to close friends and family for support, I got asked a lot of questions and a sack full of advice. Stop nagging him. Pray harder. Fast for him. Are you giving him enough sex? Does he like your cooking? Why not hand over your salary to him, so that he can feel in charge? Have you tried to stop getting home so late? What of a baby? When are you guys planning to start a family? On and on it went; but the most common advise was that marriage was for better for worse; to just stick it out and it will get better over time.

I chose to stick it out and finally got pregnant. Feeling as sick as a dog, I excused myself from work to go home and rest. Yours truly was very busy engaging the neighbors nanny in a torrid afternoon sexual session and I became privy to the distasteful scene. We had a bad fight, and the early pregnancy came down. I took off home to my sisters house, distressed and broken.

Weeks following, he came begging cap in hand, promising change and every possible promise. Tired of feeling like a failure for not making my marriage work and with advices ringing in my ears, I chose to try again. I obtained loan with his constant cajoling to assist him start a new venture and he simply applied the loan on ventures unknown. Months passed down the line and when there was nothing to show for the venture, I decided to play detective to get to the root of the matter, my trust in him had wavered badly.

My discoveries were very discomfiting. The neighbors nanny was fully expectant and my money was financing an apartment for her. I lost my cool, in total fury, embarrassment and bitterness, I fought. I fought with all my might, biting, scratching, screaming, crying until the lights went out and here I am.

Yes, I am alive but motionless. I can hear from a deep void, the consistent repetition of the Holy rosary from my mother as she petitions Heaven to wake me up from my deep slumber. I can hear the whoosh sounds made by the strange machine close to my narrow bed. Sometimes, I feel myself float out and come back to roost, searching for dear Fidelis to teach him a lesson or two. I cannot wait to burst loose from my motionless state of nothingness.

I blamed myself for my ignorance and naivety. For falling in love with the notion of love, that I failed to identify badly damaged goods. Filled with the confidence that I could influence my man to positive change through the mere force of my love, little did I know that it took far more than loving a man, far more than looking good, far more than satisfying all his sexual cravings as much as is humanly possible and far more than cooking delight-some meals to keep his roving eyes, his furious punches and his profligate manners at bay.

Little did I know that I was not the one that could bring a change within him if he was unwilling to change.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Foot note: The Obudu Cattle Ranch known presently as the Obudu Mountain Resort is found on the Obudu Plateau close to the Cameroon Border in the northeastern part of Cross River State of Nigeria, approximately 110 kilometres (68 mi) east of the town of Ogoja and 65 kilometres (40 mi) from the town of Obudu in Obanliku Local Government.