Short Story - Call Center Proposal [It is the Will of God]

By Nnandez.

“Good morning. Welcome to to Prytel Wireless. My name is Tunji Lekan. How may I help you?….”

Yes, this is me, back at my job at 2:30 am, a time other normal people would be asleep. Honestly, I must admit that if, say, my father were Bill Gates, meaning I wouldn’t have to work a day in my life (C’mon, seriously, how many of us would bother working if our father was the richest man in the world?), I would probably be awake at this time of the day, making sure that all the clubs in Lagos knew my father has plenty, plenty money. And more money than that.

Short Story - No Other Woman

Ironically, James only went to the party because his wife had insisted that he honour Tony’s invitation. Tony was celebrating his latest promotion at work.  So he’d gone. And joked around with Tony and the guys. And had a couple of beers.

The Wife Diaries - Episode Six

I watched Nkem in agony, day in, day out. The cloud of shame that hung over her head was so thick it was hard to miss anytime she stepped into a room. She started coming to church with us on sundays though and really started to get involved. Of course I know that just because a person was physically stepping into church every sunday, that didn’t make them born again over night but I was encouraged because she had taken a step at least.

Shakara Ologe Ni - A Funny Short Story

By Tofarati,

As Sharon walked into the lobby of the lecture theatre, arrogance oozed out of every pore of her being as if she had dipped herself in a pool of it before coming to school. She didn’t bother to greet any of her colleagues who stood chatting in different groups around the room. She brought out her phone (a Blackberry Torch1) and began to dial nosily.

Get the Romance Back in your Marriage

By Mimi Adebayo

Okay men, have you ever thought of doing something that’ll make your spouse blush for the next seven days? You know, give her that special feeling and make her remember the days when you first met. I call it the ‘Once in a lifetime’ treatment. Trust me; it’ll improve your love life and definitely the bedroom life too.

Short Story - You Forgot Us by Daniel Okoli

They took their Val’s Day celebration to the Vignette restaurant.

This was the day he would propose, this was the day he would ask her to be his wife.

The table had been booked three weeks ahead of time, the wine pre-ordered about the same time.

They sat close to each other, arms touching lightly, before a table softly lit by four fragrant white candles that cast a glow on two serving plates, embroidered napkins and silverware.

She ordered chicken soup for first course and he said “Make that two.”

They waited. She smiled a lop-sided smile at him. “Let me show you something.”

She placed an iPad on the table, a gift he’d given her three months ago, on an ordinary Monday evening. She powered it up.

Bring Back My Husband To Me By Bubblinna

I wake slowly to the strains of ’Marry You’ by Bruno Mars set off by the alarm. As I search for the offending machine, a clear thought penetrates my sleep-fogged mind; Wedding! Just then my hand connects with the phone. I hit the stop button and break out in a wide grin.

Today is March 16th 2016 and it is my wedding day. I am going to be married to my sweetheart, Lionel. The thought of him makes me blush, ahh; the things we did in dreamland not so long ago. There is a throbbing at the apex of my thighs and I feel heat spread through me; this usually happens when I think of the things I want to do to and with him.

”Patience, girl. You’ll have him for the rest of your life to do with as you please starting tonight.” I tell myself. That is enough to reassure me.

Smiling, I lean over to turn on the bedside lamp at the far end of the bed and my hand touches a wet patch. Quickly, I turn on the light and a puzzled look steals across my face. There on the undisturbed part of the bed is a wet patch which looks as though one sat on it with wet shorts. I throw a glance at the door; the bolt is still drawn across. My hand goes to my butt which feels really dry.

Best Friends Forever - Featured on BN Prose

From askmissa.com

I prefer writing long form, novels and novellas are more my forte, but recently, the writing spring has been coming in bursts and trickles and when this story of a pregnant woman in need of a friend came to me, I was able to finish it in a few thousand words. I sent it to BN and they liked it and published it. However, they preferred a shorter version, so those who read it there, read the summary or the concluding part. The original title was Best Friends Forever, and below is how it all began...

Though I get by, I’m not very good at making friends. In university, I only had two close friends. My girlfriend, Nkechi, left the country after her youth service and we lost contact. As the years went by, I remained close to Chudi, and after we had settled into our jobs, he ended up becoming my husband. Chudi was the gregarious one, and I was the quiet one. We complimented each other. He made the friends and I cooked when they came over. Because of him, I never lacked company, women I could natter with when I needed to, and men to debate politics and football with. I liked that my husband remained my true friend, but sometimes I missed having a close female confidant.

Several months after we had our first child, we moved into a new apartment and somehow I drifted away from the few single friends I had. Chudi’s bachelor buddies also stayed away. Around the same time, one of his colleagues at the office moved in not far from us. He'd recently gotten married and he and his wife needed the space provided by the new apartment block. Tade did not have a car and often walked over so he could ride to work with Chudi in the mornings. At first he was reserved, but with time we relaxed around each other and would talk as I waited for them to leave before locking up and taking my son to daycare on my way to work.

Never Rob a Woman in Pajamas by Afronuts

‘Wetin dis girl wear so? No be pinjamas be dat?’ Wasiu whispered harshly, his hemp smelling breath fanning across Rasaq’s cheeks.

Rasaq squinted and furrowed his nose. Though he had spent majority of his lifetime living amongst weed smokers who tried to buy his interest by exaggerating its purported ‘benefits’, he still could not generate an iota of affinity for the infamous herb.

‘E be like so oh’, He replied frowning to focus as if his vision could zoom in.

They were poised to operate for the night; Wasiu with motorbike revving and ready, Rasaq seated behind with a locally fabricated pistol held tightly in his right hand positioned for action. Their target was a lone female figure strolling briskly along the dark edges of Ayanikoro neighborhood; the areas that the poorly lit streetlights failed to illuminate.

She actually was in a weird white outfit that looked pajamas with a pair of sandals. Though she wore a haircut, her gait, the presence of a full backside and pointed breasts was what assured them that she was female. She carried a rucksack on her back and a polythene bag in her right hand.

Giving Love A Second Chance - Short Story

“Eyamba?” He called.

I didn’t respond. I wanted to scream, hit him – anything to dispel the raging emotions I was feeling. How could he come back after all this time and ask this of me. Just when I was picking up the pieces of my broken heart, just as I was getting my life back on track. In that moment I considered all the hurtful things I could say to him – to give him a taste of how I felt and what I thought of him and his stupid request. In a flash my mind went over the course of events that had led us to this place- the threshold of divorce; the death of our beautiful baby boy.

The night he left, I remember sitting at the dining table thinking about how much he had changed. About how in the 3 years we’d been married or in the 2 years we’d dated I’d never seen this side of my husband. It’d been 8 months since we lost our son and I still didn’t know what my husband was thinking or how he was feeling; in all that time I’d tried to reach out to him, but he treated me like the enemy, like it was my fault our little boy was gone. I knew I couldn’t stop trying, so I walked up to where he sat on the couch and stroked his head, like I used to do when we first got married.

Sons, Girlfriends, and Prospective Mothers-in-Law

“I will kill you, kill you!” She screamed, as she tightened her grip on the knife.

It was a Saturday morning that started just like any other ordinary day but for Nike it was a special day – one that she did not look forward to. Will she like me? Won’t she think I’m too fat or too short? She thought to herself. She would have remained on the bed tossing and turning if not for the consistent vibration under her pillow. She tried to ignore it, but the vibration started to make her head buzz irritatingly. She gave up and reached for the phone under the pillow.

“Hallo.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still sleeping, I should be at your place in thirty minutes tops.” It was Niyi’s baritone.

Nike placed the phone down in a flash, without ending the call. She flew into the bathroom, grabbed her toothbrush and in between brushing her teeth and running her bath water – she brought out the prospective costumes for the day. The jeans and tank top was all wrong because she felt it would make her look unserious and the skirt suit was too severe, that will make her look too formal.

For Better, For Worse, Dies...

Walking on my toes, silently, from the bedroom into the kitchen; I cut into the big loaf of bread with the sharpest knife on the cabinet long before you wake. I want no sounds heard; this silence is my power and warm bed. Your food is served- ready to be dipped into when you awake. My mind doesn’t want the bother of words that hold no water, have bad taste and stink like a soiled bed wetter’s mattress. No words, just like it was yesterday.

I walk on my toes to the room, lie down beside you and pretend to sleep when I feel your weight move off the bed. You glance at me- idiot, I curse inside. What is left of me but the poundings of anger, neglect and disgrace? Two deaths and promises that fell into the thin air of nothingness. I stood by you when you had nothing, now too much money has stuffed your stomach with pride. Your lies, cheating and insults have shaved all hopes of new beginnings like the drums of bleakness beating in an average Nigerians heart.

I have resigned to fate, I will be the maid you never let me have, the whore that opens her legs as easily as you roll your roll-on under your arms, and a fashionista that smiles as we take the perfect picture. I am the first lady that feels like the last. My death acceptance is my Nigerian norm.

Tell me, where does a Governor’s wife run when her husband is the law of the land? She dies to the travails of living without rules and laws, yet baptised in political lies and unrestrained power.

What do Women Really Want from Men?”

A fellow blogger (male) recently asked me the ancient question no one has found an answer to, viz:

“What do women want from men?”

I want to believe he asked me this because he sees me as this all-knowing feminine oracle, but I know better. I don’t know what ALL women want from men, but I know what I want. And I know what my friends say they want, so here goes…

I, woman, want…

- To lounge around the house sans makeup, in my ratty t-shirt, flip flops and jeans shorts if I feel like it to enjoy the feeling of my own skin.

- To wake up late on Saturday morning and find that you’ve done all the chores.

- To wake up on any morning with your arms around me.

Who To Marry - Follow my Heart or my Head?

You know, I’d love to go on. I’d love to damn the consequences, and go for what my heart wants. I’d love to fight for my love, because that’s what people always do. And each time they did, they won. Yes! Those people in the mushy love movies I’ve watched, like, ‘Kuch Kuch Hota Hai’.. Where Rahul fought for Anjali at the latest hour, and still somehow won. But you know, all of a sudden, somehow, the reality dawns on me.. ‘M not Anjali, or Rahul,.. ‘M real, in the real world, no cameras, or casts.. So I must not be deceived!

I know what I need, I know what I want.. These two things stand so far apart, yet they coincide. God had always known there’d be conflicts between needs and wants, that’s why he gave us the brain to act as an arbitrator, or mildly put, a mediator. But what if it doesn’t suffice? If it adds more to the turmoil, who takes it from there?

I guess that’s where YOU come in. Here’s the case.