Tag Archive: Short Stories


We had this old picture in the hallway, reminding us of what Daddy said to us time and again.

He was an Arts History major and would tell us, “Creativity is every bit a part of our culture as a heartbeat to a living soul. Every brushstroke, every rhyme and rhythm, quaver or semi-quaver, the first chapter of every prose, begins with a single step. We dare to take this step knowing that in the long run, it will birth the next chapter of existential evolution.”

Art, he said, was an irrevocable manifestation of God, our creator’s likeness, in us.

[100 words]

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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The bond we shared was stronger than most because we dared to be different. While other couples fought and got divorces, we made fun of each other.

We would break out a bottle of wine, order in some pizza and talk for hours. And the one thing we knew best was how to have a good laugh. What made it a good laugh was having someone to share it with. It didn’t matter what it was about.

We grew old together laughing away each other’s troubles and pain.

Now my laughs are fewer because there’s nobody to have them with.

[100 words]

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“But I go to church every Sunday,” they tell me. “I pay my tithes and offerings religiously. I even give to the poor.”

“What makes you a Christian?” I would ask them again.

“I was born into a Christian family. My grandparents, parents, aunties, uncles and cousins are all Christians. I was baptized as an infant and have always been active in church. I sing in the choir, you know.”

“All these things are good, but they make you a Christian no more than parking a bicycle in a garage makes it a car.”

So… what makes YOU a Christian?

[100 words]

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“You idiot! How did you get yourself in this mess?” Ama fumed.

“Dear wife,” Kofi wheezed as blood spilled from his wound. “I need to confess before I join our ancestors. I’ve been sleeping with your sister for the past six months.”

“That’s alright Kofi,” replied Ama nonchalantly. “I’ve been sleeping with your brother since before we got married.”

“That’s fine, my love. I have a child with Esi.”

“My best friend?”

“Yes.”

“Haha! Our son is not yours.”

“You wicked woman,” Kofi gasped.

“Philanderer!”

“Hell is waiting for you.”

“But you see my dear husband, you’ll get there first.”

[100 words]

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

When he came into our lives, we never expected such a flood of joy into our family.

Hopper was no ordinary traveler. He had been to every continent and, oh, how he made us laugh.

“They call me Hopper because I just can’t place my butt in one place,” he said, comically. “After all, I was born in a moving taxi. I just popped out of my mom. She didn’t even have to push.”

He spoke of his sojourn in the West Indies, Australia, Europe and Latin America.

It’s a shame I can only write a hundred words about him.

[100 words]

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 lengai_summit_from_crater-danny-bowman

“The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.”

My father first read these words to me when I was five. Surprisingly, I was somewhat enchanted by these big words I didn’t understand. “Please read the great men to me again,” I would beg him, much to his astonishment. By the time I was six, I knew the quote by heart.

I worked hard to be top of my class from first grade till I completed university because of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s words.

[100 words]

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 david-stewart

I knew he was the one the moment I met him. We were freshmen in college, making our way to the library when someone bumped into me. My books and research papers were scattered all over the steps. My chivalrous Kwame stopped in his tracks, bent down and helped me to pick them up.

Our eyes met and there was magic as they melded into each other, our lips longing to meet in passionate embrace, our hearts beating as one. Wedding bells chimed in my head as I peered into his soft hazel eyes.

I knew he was my man.

[100 words]

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 100_7320-1

In the wilderness of my mind, I am conflicted as to what course to take. Door one will take me through the Swamps of Sickness, past the Valley of Terror into the Caves of Confusion. Door two will take me up the Mountain of Doom, through the Path of Pain and down the Waterfall of Tears. The last door will lead to the Plains of Woe, a ride down the River of Sorrow and into the Tributary of Tribulation.

The journey to Eutopia has claimed many a life, but I am determined to keep moving forward. No turning back.

[100 Words]

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

 the_second_hand_shop-1

Granny’s wedding dress was passed on to my mum and now to me. I have only seen photos of the wedding, but it never beats the way Grumps tells the story.

“We were barely twenty when we got married. She was my high school sweetheart,” Grumps would say affectionately, staring into space, completely oblivious to the rest of us. “We exchanged our vows in front of family and friends. When it was her turn to say her vow, your Granny said, ‘I will love you till the end of time’.  And she did so until the Lord called her home.”

[100 Words]

Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

Ermilia’s Picture it & Write.

man-sitting-on-a-cloud

Peter took in the scenery with much amazement. Things had really changed since his last visit. He swooped down from the clouds to get a closer look. His clothes of intricately woven leaves would not do. He had to blend in. Then he remembered that on one of his previous visits, he came across a home for lost boys just like his gang back home. Perhaps, he could get some clothes that looked like what everyone else was wearing. With much difficulty, he snooped around until he finally found the place. Yes! It was still a home for lost boys. All he had to do was to sneak in through a window and get some modern clothes. Within a couple of minutes, he was in and out, looking like a boy who belonged to this new age. With keen interest, he walked along the road and watched as people whisked by in automobiles that looked quite different than he last remembered. He walked by what looked like a window with an invisible wall showcasing stiff people wearing clothes like a spell had been cast on them. He saw many people in trains that looked longer and moved much faster. Several people walked past him without so much as a glance at him. Everyone and everything moved in a hurry. And the buildings were now much, much taller than he recalled. If only Tinkerbell was here to see this.

He would have loved to visit many places, but it was time to fulfill the reason why he came. He had to see her once more. He wondered if she or any of her brothers would remember him. It had been so long since their adventure and he had not come by since then. Despite how much things had changed, he knew exactly where the house was. With a leap and a bound, he was in the air again. As he approached the house, he felt excited. The little boy inside him wanted to play again, but he knew better than that. Regular people stopped playing as they grew older and she must be much older now.

All the windows were shut and the curtains drawn. This had never happened before. He usually swooped in through the children’s window each time he came. He was puzzled for a while until it occurred to him that these were people who couldn’t fly so they walked into their houses through the front door. He glided down gently in front of the house and knocked. An elderly man answered the door.

“Hello. Who are you?”

“My name is Peter. Is Wendy in, please?”

“Yes. How are you acquainted with her?”

“She’s an old friend.”

“An old friend? Boy, you’re hardly fourteen years old. How long has it been since you’ve known her?”

“I meant she’s a friend of my family,” Peter recovered quickly.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Come in. Wendy! There’s a boy looking for you!”

A wrinkled face greeted Peter with a smile.

“I wondered if I’d ever see you again, Peter”

“You remember!” he shouted with joy.

“How could I ever forget you? After all the adventures we had.”

“Wheeee!” Peter lifted off the carpet and sailed around the room.

“You can’t do that in here. Thomas doesn’t know anything about you or magic.”

“Who’s Thomas?”

“The man you met at the door. He’s my husband.”

“What’s a husband?”

“I’ll tell you all about it later.”

Later that day, Peter sat on a cloud while looking down at Wendy’s house. He thought about the long conversation he had had with her. She had told him about the interesting life she had lived in this world; about her brothers, her husband and her children. He wondered about may things – if they would have had a more bedazzling life if they had stayed with him to have more adventures, and if Wendy would ever visit him again; if he should have returned to live with Wendy after he defeated Hook; if he could have become her husband and if he would have looked as old as Thomas by now; if they would have had children of their own.

No! He would never trade his life in Neverland for any other.

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