Flash Fiction

A kiosk sits atop a stagnant drainage. Ribadu sneaks in with unsettled eyes, his body releases sweat and fluids in between frustration and fear as his heart pounds rapidly, yet his thought drifts back to his hire purchase vehicle he just got last week. Inside this empty lotto kiosk owned by his friend, he contemplates returning to the bridge three bus stops away, where the incident happened, not minding the risk involved, yet he is afraid of being arrested or beaten by the colleagues of the victim who witnessed his weighty punch landing on the short LASTMA’s chest during their disagreement. He feels safe again.

Suddenly, he hears a loud siren, blaring from a moving van approaching in the direction of the kiosk, he swiftly lifts from the bench where he sits, and bends into a dark corner, not minding the acrid smell that evaporates from the stagnant gutter slapping his face, “safety first,” he says silently. Ribadu crams himself like a troubled warthog into the small space. Every day is a baggage of trouble for commercial drivers, troubles they caused and the ones that came to them.

“Why these bastards still dey follow me?”

This silent thought mixed with the beaded sweat dotted on his bald head and fuming face, as he remains static. Yet he murmurs in fear  “Safety first.”

THE LAST LETTER

Elliot Dawson had been dead for seventy-two years when his letter arrived.

Margaret Reed, now eighty-four, sat in her quiet farmhouse when the postman handed her the yellowed envelope. Her name, written in neat cursive, sent a tremor through her fingers. She knew tha

aret,” it began. “If you’re reading this, then somehow, against all odds, my letter found its way to you. I need you to know—I fought to come home. I carried your love with me through every battle. And when the time came, when the end was near, I thought only of you. If I never make it back, please don’t cry for me. Know that you were my happiest thought, my greatest joy. I love you, now and always.”

The signature was smudged, as if touched by rain—or tears.

Margaret pressed the letter to her chest. She had loved and lost. She had lived a full life. But in this moment, she was seventeen again, standing by the train station, watching him wave goodbye.

Somewhere beyond time, she hoped he knew—she had never forgotten him. And now, finally, his words had come home.

THEY TOO ARE HUMAN

They who conduct their affairs in the dead of the night. They who are neither the rulers nor the subject but put their hands in every sour pie served in the secret places of darkness. They who pride in altering destinies and destruction of the great.

They too are human.

They who preach heartache and grief only to manipulate. They who snare only the kind in heart. They who seek out good wherever it may exist in a bid to destroying it.

They too are human.

They who suck out nectar of sweetness from blooming flowers only to fill them with venom and vile. They who show no remorse but gang up against the innocent.

They too are human.

They who take the form of night birds. Those harbingers that announce nothing but doom.

They are humans too.

What are mothers made of?

Now that I think of it, I want to laugh. Children do stupid things. One hot afternoon, I said that my mother didn’t love me enough and that I would jump off our balcony. Even though I was red and my spirit had reached an alcoholic height, it was still clear enough in my head to disagree with my foolishness.

My brothers were pitiless. They laughed so hard and swore in the name of everything they knew that I was an unpaid actor. Ifeanyi pushed the door open, and Ike removed the things in my way. But before I could get to the door, there was someone there.

‘Mummy, hapu! Leave Chino; he won’t jump.’

‘Mummy, puta! Leave the door; he is playing.’

She stood firmly, her hands spread like Christ on the cross, and she didn’t know that one of her wrappers had fallen. She begged me, ndo nwam, ndo nwam. I was too shocked that she was invested in my foolish drama, and yet, for the whole day, she was all over me, telling me: Chibuzo, emekwena m ihe a ozo. Don’t do this to me again. The fear in her eyes pierced my soul.

What are mothers made of? 

RELIEF

Madam, I will pass this NG tube through your nose into your stomach.” Deathly horror grips me. “Must you do this, Doctor?” I ask. “Yes, I must, you would feel a lot better, trust me.”

The tube creeps stealthily under my overly sensitive nostrils as they twitch in agitation. I cringe and pull my head back in terror but he holds it and gently restrains it from going further away from the tube. His eyes urge me to let him. I do. The tube enters my nose like an unwelcome invader. My nostrils contract and recoil from the determined intruder of a tube.

Discomfort issues from the tube shoot up my nostrils into my brain. “Swallow, Madam, swallow, keep swallowing, please don’t stop.” I swallow like one willing to drown in one instant. The swallowing continues until a dam breaks, releasing a reservoir of warm, dark green gastric fluid that gushes through my mouth to wash ashore on my chin, neck, breast, and stomach. 

Relief at last!  

MAMA PUT WAHALA

The aroma of steaming jollof rice and peppered goat meat filled the air at mama put’s roadside Buka. Chike wiped the sweat off his forehead as he settled on the wooden bench. “Mama, one plate, better meat abeg”. As he made his order, a rough road thug entered the shop and sat at the chair opposite chike’s table. As mama brought  chike’s food and the thug’s food an argument ensued between two other customers in the shop.The first was a gambler called Ayo, while the other person is an hardworking Igbo guy named Emeka who has a phone shop where he sells phones and also repairs them.

 The argument between Ayo and Emeka was between the Igbos and the Yoruba’s tribe, which tribe is more hardworking. Emeka claimed that the Igbos are more hardworking. Ayo claimed that the Igbos are not hardworking at all.He claimed that the Igbos are cunning and use cunning methods to get their wealth, while the Yoruba’s prefer to get their  money In the legit way and they are more hardworking than the Igbos. The argument did not go well between the two of them and they both started exchanging punches.

Ayo the violent gambler broke  a bottle  on Emeka’s head and the bottle  broke to pieces.Emeka used a piece of the broken bottle to cut Ayo on his face and arm.They both injured themselves badly and they were bleeding profusely before people could separate the fight. The mama put, supported Ayo because she is a Yoruba woman. After the separation, the mama put woman was tired from the shout and confusion that just happened in her shop. 

As Chike was about to eat,as he could not because he was watching the fight that took place there just as chike dug his spoon into his food, a deep voice boomed behind him.

“So na here you dey?”.chike froze. His spoon dropped on the floor, his body was shaking as a result of fear. He turned slowly and saw Wale, the street hustler he had borrowed money from last month. “Chike my money?” Wale dragged his arms. Chike swallowed hard. He hadn’t even chewed the rice yet. He scanned the buka. No back exit. He looked at his plate too hot to carry and run.

   Mama put cleared her throat. She noticed what was transpiring between Chike and wale. She was already tired of the drama that just happened in her shop and the damages it cost her so she does not want anymore fight inside her shop.she asked them to go out of her shop if they want to fight.

  Wale and Chike went out of the shop to settle matters. Wale did not have patience to listen to chike’s plead. All his pleas fell on deaf ears .wale said “you no get money to pay me yet you go dey buy food abi?. Today, I go show you say why Dem dey call me wale”.

 Wale beat Chike to the pulp, he beat him black and blue. Chike could barely walk after the beating. He regretted coming there to eat.

He remembered how his wife was calling him to eat earlier that afternoon yet he did not listen to her. He rejected the food she gave him.This was not the only time he rejected her food. He had also rejected it countless times. The money he borrowed, he did not use it to do or start a meaningful business rather he used it to buy food always at mama put’s shop.

  He was just full with regrets for his actions. His body was also swollen from the beating he reduced, he also broke his two front teeth, and a broken arm.