African Literature and Lifestyle in One Pot
This is a portrait without an easel, a painting without a canvas, floating freely in the seat of memory, unfettered by the constraints of reality. It is emblazoned in my mind, a haunting creation of an artist’s craving. It sits in the seat of my consciousness, this portrait…
Where had things gone so wrong? Where was that fork in the road that he had taken a wrong turn on? How did it all come to this? Segun thought about these questions as he drove to the office.
“So… you came…” my father said to me. I shrugged. “They called. I answered,” was my curt reply. My father—dead father looked at me from his casket, his once ebony skin the colour of faded parchment… no doubt thanks to the cool temperature from the mortuary…
Belie *sniff* *sniff* Do you smell that? *sniiiiiff* That… that metallic ting in the air. It’s a little coppery, isn’t it? Oh you smell it now, don’t you? Good. It’s your handiwork. You did it. You should be proud, you know. What, you aren’t proud? Oh… you’re actually terrified? Hahaha, you’re kidding…
Did you hear about Becky? What? No no no. Not Becky Lady Long Legs, although BL3 was definitely something right? Hehe, yeah. Those legs could wrap around anyone and take them hostage, didn’t matter the sex. Oh you didn’t know? Yeah, L3 swung both ways. I know, right? She…
He handed you a gun, “Shoot anyone that comes through that door, reserve one bullet for yourself, just in case.” Shoving the black pistol into your grip he grabbed you by the neck and kissed your forehead first, before your nose and then your lips. The kiss barely lasted a minute,…
