Short Stories

Stretched Part 2 – Friday Fiction in Five Sentences

Church, Prayer, Story, Fiction

She was almost convinced that the Reverend’s sermon on giving up one’s sins was directed at her; a Church service had never left her literally feeling the heat of the brimstone.

Heaving a sigh of relief at the end of mass she rushed to the bus-stop and boarded the city bus back home, tussling in her mind whether to continue going to Church or to give it a break for a while.

As the bus wove its way through the city, the first message came in.

Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead, her heart accelerated and she developed an urgent need to use the toilet when she stared at the undeniable photo of her finagling money from the Church till.

Every hour that passed was a stab of fear; messages promptly came in from the unknown number at the turn of each hour.

Stretched Part 1

© Jacqueline

Featured Blogs · Share A Link

Featured Posts #74…Share your post links.



Today’s featured blogs posts are:

Do step in and show some love.

Just be happy: We truly need to be deeply happy and Chanty’s short post says a lot.

Confined: I have no words to explain how much I always enjoy Michelle’s positively inspiring posts. This leaves me with a blooming thought of hope and inspiration. Now it’s time to really break away from those confining walls.

Tween God and me guide: When the Lord is sending you somewhere, sometimes it might take an ambush or placing you in a whale’s stomach like Jonah, but he will keep hammering on that message until you get the message.

The reincarnation: A chilling nightmare and a thrilling dark read.

‘Do you want more eyes on your words?’

Well then, add your LINK INTO THIS LOOP.

P.S. Comments are disabled here to keep the loop tidy. Any comments or link you want to send can be added through the link in the post.

Thank you for your understanding and regards.

‘We create a cohesive community when we come together.’

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.

She is amazing at describing love and life in her poems. She creates such beautiful images with her words. Truly, she is a talented writer and I’m so excited to have her poetry book and to continue reading through it.

Out of the silent breath

Family · Humor - Bellyful of laughter · The Daily Post · This Is My Life

The Dear Diary Day’s…

Of course there was life before the computer and there will still be life after the computer.

It’s calledLiving and The Dear Diary Day’s1453819073144[1]

Before I started blogging, my dear diary took the brunt of my words and my dear Himself’s ears were perpetually hot from lending his ears to my nattering.

Now he can flip through the channels in peace while my gleaming eyes are dancing as I mumble and mutter over the clattering computer.

I still scribble a lot in dear diary, though not everything anymore and sometimes, I do get the feeling that she feels disenfranchised because at times, I feel her giving me the cold shoulder when I want to write those personal tidbits at the end of the day.

My typical day starts at 4.30 am on school days, when the alarm shrieks to wake me up. I groggily waddle to the bathroom to take care of business with eyes at half-mast so that the sleep can be retained for a little longer.

I then lie back for a few more minutes and just either read the Bible or pray quietly, going through things in my head. I enjoy that part of the morning when everywhere is quiet.

With school age kids, I prepare their breakfast and a meal that they take to school. On a lazy day, I slap a sandwich together. They have a canteen, but I am not particularly enthused with the offerings especially since my younger son has allergies.

We get ready for school and hopefully the morning goes sanely without looking for a missing sock, or pencil pouch or their glasses and what have you. It’s always a nice morning bustle.

After shooing them off to school, I try to get in some brisk exercise or lazy walk and just take in the fresh air.

Thankfully, for the past few months, I have not had to dash off to work like a headless chicken as well, but that might change anytime soon, when I get back to school myself.

The rest of my day follows with attending to Himself as well, planning the days meal, dashing out for xyz, homework’s, housework, personal business, reading, writing, listening to music and what have you.

Some days involve church work, charity work, this and that and those work, but life is usually full of odds and ends of things to do.

Now that I blog, I also fit it into my days schedule. Blog early. Switch off and get other things done, then come back to the blog later when the dust of the day has settled.

I keep pretty much busy without my computer, but please don’t get any ideas of coming to take it away.

I just got this new one when the old one gave up from exhaustion during Christmas, though I think my dear diary would be secretly pleased if you nick my computer.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

The Daily Post Life After Blogs.

Your life without a computer: what does it look like?

Little rants · Social critic

The Minister’s Clay Feet…

going to church

He strutted and postured,
His fists pounding the podium from time to time,
In a bid to pontificate his points,
To give breadth to his enunciation’s.

His oily words rolled off his tongue,
Slick, cajoling and compelling,
To a crowd captivated by his glittering Italian shoes, which served in disguising his hideous clay feet,
His expensive shiny suit strained to contain his well rounded tub; fed fat by the grease of other hands,

His bugled eyes, beady, shrewd and greedy,
Stood out in his plump and shiny face,
With his wobbly rich jowls,
Bouncing with every step,

Amen; Shout Alleluia he bellowed,
Taking note of each and everyone of them,
Those whose envelopes bulged,
Those with the slimmer ones and those with none at all

He blessed the thieves, the roguery politicians,
And the lying tongue,
Nary a word of love or repentance was uttered at all,
Prosperity, Prosperity, Gain and more gain,
As his oily basket grew bigger by the second,

But the poor in their cast-offs,
A pity to behold, at odds with the glitterati,
Hardly a seat could they find in the pews nor warmth to enfold,
Whatever on Earth is happening to the Salt of the Earth?

What manner of pervasive erosion is leeching our hearts and our minds?
Robbing us blindly of our timeless essence and values;
And replacing them with decrepit morals,
Lack of conscience and loss of empathy,

Is it a wonder that the World is what it is today?
I guess not….,

The statement that says “you reap what you sow”, must indeed be true.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha


Musings · Social critic · Uncategorized

Dylann, why? I ask…

Dylann RoofI sit here staring at my laptop, trying to finish the story that I am writing but I simply can’t. It is not that I don’t want to, because I believe it will make an interesting read, but just that the sadness I feel at the moment almost makes it impossible for me to think of any other thing, other than the thought that consumes my mind.

I am perplexed at the senseless killing of nine people in Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, in Charleston, South Carolina. I do not know these victims in any way, but I hurt because they are humans just like me. I hurt at the way innocent lives were cut short. I hurt over the fact that a House of refuge and prayer was turned into a grizzly house of horror.

I pulled up the photo of the suspected perpetrator and spent quite some time looking at his young face, trying to decipher how one this young could bear such amount of hatred, bitterness and racism in his heart. Trying to decipher how he could have sat for an hour in the aura and midst of these people and still shot them in cold blood?

Was the preaching not to his liking? I questioned no one in particular.

What could have triggered  premeditated murder such as this? No answers yet.

Twenty one years ago was just 1994, so it is very logical to assume that neither did this young man participate or benefit from slave trade, nor did he fight in the civil war. He was not born during the time of heated racial movement, except for recent sporadic police killing; so what could be his vexation? I am struggling to deduce what could be in the crazed mind of this young fellow.

If my little knowledge of American history serves me right, it has been more than a century and half that the civil war and slavery ended on the soil of The United States of America, yet happenings in recent times makes one begin to question if the racism existing in this vibrant nation does not portend far more danger than it is being glossed over to portray. It does seem for all intents and purpose that the black race is an endangered species in The United States of America. Slavery ended ages ago, yet the ghosts of slavery and second hand citizenry lingers on, consistently raising its rancid and ugly head.

I question what precepts and perceptions he was indoctrinated with. What kind of nurturing did this young man have; what could have transpired in his life and heart to arrive at this juncture? Is love so dead to some people that cutting down lives of other people becomes a mere pastime?

He has not only shed innocent blood, but he has equally broken the hearts of so many; and I dare hope his families own too by his actions. He has injured even those who look on from afar.

Why is racism feeding fat in America?

Are there any scientific or biblical proof that one race is really superior to the other?

Does any human have other elements flowing through their veins other than red blood?

Are we not all mortals who live and die at some point in our lives; or are some privileged not to die in the way known to man?

Forgive my ramblings, but I ask these rhetoric questions in sad wonder at how we got it all wrong.

May perpetual light shine on the departed and may their souls rest in peace.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Hatred, ignorance and greed are killing nature and hatred always hurts the hater most“. Masanobu Fukuoka.