Tag Archive | Creative writing

The Rainbow Chaser…Flash Fiction

Helena loves chasing rainbows even when everyone thinks that she’s cuckoo.

They remind her of her dad and the stories that he shared with her throughout his life.

He was particularly fond of rainbows and his last words to her before he passed were ‘anytime you see a rainbow, I am somewhere there riding it.’

 

Written in response to the FFAW photo prompt above. Thank you, Mark, for the photo and PJ for hosting. 

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Chasing A Dream…

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In chase of a dream, he kept funnelling their money into his bogus projects and his wife thought he had simply gone mad.

The Daily Post prompt – funnel

Fishing Hour…Flash Fiction

The Heron stared longingly at the water and the other side. There was barely a nibble in his line of sight, yet across the lake, the tangled webs of deceit from the greedy humans brimmed with fish.

Through the ripples, he could see his own reflection as clear as the day. He noticed his neck had grown thinner and longer from rationed portions of fish and he croaked in annoyance.

His fishing hours grew longer by the day but each new day brought more boats and humans to the quay and the water grew darker with oil from all manner of engines.

In response to the FFAW photo prompt above. Thank you J.S for the photo and PJ for hosting. 

Tomorrow…

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Mama counted the coins carefully and tied them in the old handkerchief which she always tucked into her thick cotton half-slip hidden under several layers of wrapper to keep them safe.

I sprinkled water on the freshly harvested pepper and pumpkin leaves, arranging them in the basket; their luscious healthy colour would attract the eyes of good buyers.

With ease, mama balanced the basket on her head, her headscarf formed a cradle and she set off to Orie Ozuda; she would walk tirelessly for miles and that basket would stay put.

‘Nwamaka my daughter, I hope today’s market day will be a good one and if I sell all my goods, tomorrow I will buy you that shoe for running that you’ve been asking for.’

Thank you, mama,‘ I replied with happiness ringing in my voice. I imagined my feet encased in the white canvas and I could hear the voices of my schoolmates cheering me on as I raced to the finish line; they always say that I run like 440.

Tomorrow never came. Mama never made it back. Her crushed body was brought back to the compound with her coins still carefully tucked under her half-slip. Nwamadi’s 440 car killed mama. I never ran again.

© Jacqueline

Quick Glossary

Run like 440 – a term used to emphasize how fast she ran.

Orie Ozuda – a market day

Nwamaka – an Igbo name for a girl. It means beautiful child.

 

The Charlatan…

She is called many names; the wandering woman, mystery lady, the medicine woman, the mad woman of Katoke or the nuisance.

She always appeared in the neighbourhoods for a couple of weeks before the start of each season bearing numerous pots and bags of exotic plants. Each boiling pot served broths that cured various ailments and all that was required for any to work is faith.

Whenever she visited the poorer quarters, the inhabitant’s welcomed her presence. They would come bearing little gifts in exchange for helpings from her healing condiments, but the experience was the opposite at the more prestigious parts of town where the policing guards did their best to discourage the charlatan ‘as she was called.’

On various occasions, they ran her off the premises with a stern warning of arrest if she kept visiting but at dusk, these uppity members of high society went to the poor side of town to see her secretly.

© Jacqueline

Thank you Yarnspinner for the interesting photo prompt and PJ for hosting.

Field of Souls…Scene 2

 

Terror, Poetry

He heard them.
They were coming
but he couldn’t run.

The Earth spurted blood
black birds circled in foreboding,
this farm is a prison and he’s its convict.

In a bright panorama,
he saw horrific things,
things that jarred his senses in an unspeakable way

The beaten and the burnt,
the hung and the torn,
the shackled and the maimed.

The tears, the gore,
and the stench of death filled his nostrils,
it clung to his skin and seeped into his bones.

©

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

For Scene 1 – check this link

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