by KREATIVE DIADEM | Sep 19, 2015 | FLASH FICTION
THE CALL OF THE CROW
I did not know what to write, I had always searched for the right story everywhere in mind. Then my mother woke me up. It was midnight and the whole village was sleeping.
“Listen…” she whispered to my ear, and I waited for her to talk; she did not.
I thought my ear was not cleaned enough, so I cleaned it again and I waited, and still my mother said no word. I used to be impatient when it came about listening, but my mother’s smile could turn a burning heart into an enchanted garden. Yes, my mother’s smile could.
“Keep calm…” she whispered with that same smile.
I tried but there was that thought; my girlfriend would come for a visit tomorrow, so I kept picturing the lovely day we would spend together. My paper was still white and empty, and the night would end.
“Keep calmer…” again did she whispered.
I thought of a mighty sun that would wipe out the face of my girlfriend and leave an empty room. The room got emptied, and the sun was so mighty that no other image could set a foot in. I was sweating, because of the effort I had to make to fight the first word that would make my story.
“Calmer and calmer…” tenderly she whispered.
I was getting too tired, for the right word was not coming. Then I heard a crow from a distance. “A crow… I thought, what is a crow doing there at this time of the night?” The lonely crow kept calling, no fellow replied. “Is the crow calling?” I asked myself, without thinking of it; I was still waiting for my mother to talk to me. She did not, only the voice of the crow flew in the darkness.
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Then I saw the sunlight growing weaker. A little wind caressed my body and dried it and relaxed my mind, I felt a warm hand touching my wrist; when everything go in a deep darkness in my mind, I heard the voice of the crow closer, no longer calling with that dreadful voice, but telling a story with sweetness and harmony.
“I’m inspired!” I screamed with my heart, and my softened wrist started to write the words that where silently coming along.
I knew I had the right story, and that is how I got inspired. It was not the most beautiful story on earth, but it was a perfect one. I looked for my mother in the bed, and I could find her nowhere. My mother was out, not trying to manage a sleepless night; my mother was in her grave managing a sleepless life. And only my writings would take her to Peace.
RAY NDEBI
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
My name is Théodore René Ndebi, born in Cameroon. I graduated in Banking Management. But what really makes me proud and happy is WRITING !!!!! I started writing around 1990. I write the most I can.
I mostly write for children’s future. As a child, I had always dreamt of a world where poor children and orphans could be happy as well. I have many unpublished collections in French: Chaque Jour Un Poème, Rêve D’un Soir, La Missive Du Petit Prince, Suis-Je Assez Bien Pour Toi… I’m also author of unpublished novels in French (Cierge Noir, Plus Violent Que L’amour, Les Fruits De La Tempête…). My first published novel; THE LAST GHOST/Son Of Struggle got published in 2013 by AuthorhouseUK; it appears in the LOS Angeles Times Festival Of Books Catalogue 2014 Page 8. Available online @ Amazon, Kindle, AuthorhouseUK, Barnes & Noble, Indie. I wrote numerous award winning texts. I am a Book Reviewer and Translator. I am a member of OneAfricanChild since 2013 and Co-Founder of Le Salon Du Livre Yaounde-Cameroon. You can check my works on: authorrayndebi.wordpress.com.Ray Ndebi on Facebook, @RTNdebi on Twitter, Facebook Page My Soul & Mon Ame.
by KREATIVE DIADEM | May 5, 2015 | FLASH FICTION
On Chat. Christmas Eve.
Me: Hey Darling. I just got off the phone with your Dad.
Him: LOL. And how did it go?
Me: Surprisingly, ’twas easier than I thought. Was a lil’ scared at first, you know, talking to him for the first time.
Him: Told you you’d be fine. He wouldn’t bite.
Me: Hehehe. Thanks, Dear.
Him: Pleasure. So what do you want for yuletide, Baby?
Me: Hmm… dunno. Honestly, I feel it isn’t so much the gift as the gesture. Anything would do fine, Honey.
PS: Lest I forget, please send me your Mom’s digits.
Him: Uhm… *shrugs* Anything for you, Baby.
Me: *smiles*
The Digits
Boxing Day
A knock on my door. It is a parcel. With a note on the box.
“As you requested. Sorry about the ice, wanted it to remain fresh. Merry Xmas. xoxo.”
I unwrap.
It is his mom’s digits—all twenty of them.
© Bunmi Oke
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A short attention span and a slow reading pace make Bunmi Oke’s helpless affair with micro fiction less of a surprise. His works can be found on Microbookends, 81words, Drablr, 101words etc, while a tiny piece comes out in print in Boston Literary Magazine June 15, 2015.
Oftentimes, he is seen furiously typing away on a smartphone—often mistaken for an addiction to chat. If only folks knew what muse does to you unless you give it expression.
by KREATIVE DIADEM | Apr 30, 2015 | FLASH FICTION
THE DATE
So, we’re returning from our third date. Telling each other how much of a good night out we had, we hug. She asks that I call her. I nod, ecstatic. How I like this lady! So much I loathe to leave. But I have to.
Turning around, heading to flag down a taxi, I hear her door click shut. That is my prompt—run up to her window to steal one final gaze for today. Yeah, I know it’s creepy, but what will a brother do?
The date!
I see a pair of legs on the wall, then I hear a much deeper voice—no, that can’t be hers—reciting some mantra. Hearing my full name with ‘blood,’ ‘donation,’ and ‘tonight’ as immediate neighbours in the same sentence, my legs need no telling what to do. Just then she vanishes from the bed! I turn around to flee only to see her right there. And all goes black.
White walls, white gowns; and white bandage wrapped around my intensely aching head. Must have been a concussion. Trying to adjust to the light, a face wafts into my view, inches away.
“Hey you,” a broad smile on her face.
I re-faint.
© Bunmi Oke
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A short attention span and a slow reading pace make Bunmi Oke’s helpless affair with micro fiction less of a surprise. His works can be found on Microbookends, 81words, Drablr, 101words etc, while a tiny piece comes out in print in Boston Literary Magazine June 15, 2015.
Oftentimes, he is seen furiously typing away on a smartphone—often mistaken for an addiction to chat. If only folks knew what muse does to you unless you give it expression.
by KREATIVE DIADEM | Apr 15, 2015 | FLASH FICTION, SHORT STORIES
DIG DEEP
As the Christmas bells rang with euphoria in the valleys of Arizona, the whole city was agog with the celebration. The squawking chickens were slaughtered without mercy as they were roasted for meals. It was time for all and sundry to feast on their favorite meals.
Despite the wild celebrations in the city, the house of the Williams was drenched in utter gloom as the Father of the house, Dr. Drake Williams was lying seriously ill, close to the point of death on his sick bed. It was dead into the night on the Boxing Day, the room of Drake was well lit with the incandescent bulb hanging above and the refreshing breeze flooded the room from the windows.
Keep digging!
Sitting at the bedside of Drake was his only son, Dennis. Dennis held on to his father with all his being since he had lost his mother to cervical cancer at the age of ten. The only memory of his mother left with him were the fragments of care and kindness she offered him while she was alive.
At this time when Dennis was about to get married to his beautiful fiancee, Yvonne, these were really trying times for him. He was really hoping for the support of his father as regards his wedding. All his father could boast of was a bungalow built on a plot of land with a beautiful garden at the backyard. Dr. Drake had spent most of his time working on the garden during his lifetime especially after his compulsory retirement.
The searing pain which came from the fangs of death gripped Drake as he gasped for air. Dennis’ face was red and swollen after sleepless nights full of crying. Dennis knew that this was the time for his Father to leave for the great beyond. As Dr. Drake was about to breath his last he kept pointing towards his brown velvet suit hanging in a corner, he pointed like one who wanted to say something. All of a sudden, Drake was gone as his heart stopped. Grief and weariness overcame Dennis but he managed to get to the suit.
He searched all the pockets of the suit like one searching for a precious pearl. He found a small paper folded as a pocket square. He unwrapped it and exposed what was written in it. It was in big bold capital letters: “CULTIVATE THE GARDEN”.
After the funeral rites, Dennis started tilling the garden with his energy and vigor. After weeks of cultivating the garden, he was getting frustrated. Two weeks to his wedding, on this fateful day; Dennis was tilling the soil and his hoe struck something strange, he struck a sack of sand. He brought it out, opened it and lo and behold, there were stacks of MONEY!!!
Dennis was wowed and that was the beginning of an overturn of his fortunes. He later became one of the richest men of Arizona and was happily married to Yvonne as they raised a happy family.
P.S.: This purely fictional and the creative thoughts of the writer. Please note that TREASURES ARE KEPT IN CHESTS,
GOLD DEPOSITS ARE FOUND IN THE DEPTHS,
VALUABLE MATERIALS ARE KEPT IN SECRET CHAMBERS,
DIG DEEP INTO YOURSELF AND DISCOVER WHO YOU ARE.
© 2015 Osho Samuel Adetunji
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Osho Samuel Adetunji is a graduate of Mechanical Engineering from Nigeria’s premier University, University of Ibadan. He is a poet, a blogger, a Public Speaker, an on air personality with a knack for short stories, inspirational articles and poems. He is a great thinker, creative and dexterous young man who does not only believe in excellence but also extols the tenets of discipline, hard work and effectiveness.
He co-founded THE COURTROOM in 2012. He is the founder of KREATIVE DIADEM, a new initiative which kicked off on March 1, 2015.He is an inspirational young man who is addicted to going an extra mile in all facets of life. He is also a lover of football, tennis and boxing. You can follow him on Twitter with the handle: @inisamosho.
by KREATIVE DIADEM | Apr 14, 2015 | FLASH FICTION
H IS FOR HIV
Something has happened. She knew right away because she felt it once
she entered the room. It was in the doctor’s eye. Pity was dancing in
the mire behind the glasses that made his eyes look like two huge
white balls decorated with black. She sat down without removing her
eyes from the doctor’s lens.
“In the test for HIV, we do not say negative or positive initially.”
Why was he starting with the negative? She knew the reason.
Stop the Stigma
“We say reactive and non-reactive.” Just break the news and forget
about the formalities. Her mind raced through all the means she would
have gotten it. That needle that the hairdresser used at the hair-care
shop? The kiss with that strange man at the bar? Was it that one night
thing with Fred or whatever his name was?
“You have to come back in six months at most for a more conclusive
test. The virus might be on a window period.” She could feel her
throat tightening.
It must be the way that girl that she saw having an
asthma attack in their secondary school felt. It was single, heavy
breath that came out like a struggle. She felt her view of the doctor
getting misty.
“You are not reacting to the virus. .You can go now.”
And her lungs wanted to explode with joy as her mouth and nose open to
let in air.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Buike Onah is a poet, a writer and a blogger. His has appeared in many
publications like Naijastories, Black Boy Review, Bukrepublik,
Kalahari Review and on his blog buikewrites.blogspot.com
by KREATIVE DIADEM | Apr 9, 2015 | FLASH FICTION
FREEDOM
I had barely entered the huge gate when his large eyes pointed in my direction like the nozzle of a gun in search of its target, his gaze fastened to my figure like the canine of a lion holding its prey. As his eyes pierced through my whole being, I managed to returned the gaze and there was a divorce between his married lips and his gap-toothed dentition was revealed.
His reddish-brown colored teeth were glazed with plague and edges of the crown worn out like a blunt knife. As I walked in his direction, I could see his wrinkles like columns of ridges as they covered the smiles like a blanket. Midway into the walk for a handshake with him, the stench of his mouth almost dragged my legs backwards. I managed to let out a wry smile instead of a smirk as I stretched my hand to shake him. The furrows in his callused hand almost sapped strength from my tender skin as he held on to it like a trophy.
How much do you treasure your freedom?
He was a tall man in his late seventies with a sagged potbelly which looked like a deflated tyre. He was scantily dressed with just a red towel around his neck and a black faded boxer shorts. As we took a stroll, I could see his back with a nicely drawn map of scars spotted with flakes of eczema. I tried to steady my gaze looking into his eyes and I saw compassion plugged into the sockets of the eyeballs. He often scratched his bald head which looked like a valley of water surrounded by white ferns.
He was highly respected among his clan as they all gathered to look at me like a circus show. Some grinned while others beamed with smiles but all was from a considerable distance. As we approached the Chapel for a fellowship meeting, his deep weakened voice cried out to others, “It is time for fellowship, let us gather here for prayers”, he said. At the sound of his voice, they all gathered to arrange the Chapel for a fellowship meeting. While they were putting things in order, he took me aside to have a word with me,
“I have been here for the past 25 years, I am a lifer* and only what brought me here was an act of anger which went out of hand”.
He cleared his throat and continued,
“I caught my wife red-handed sleeping with my best friend, and without thinking twice, I strangulated my best friend and the fight paralyzed my wife till today”, he said.
My hands shuddered, my eyes blinked and my heart bled like a thumb in the midst of thorns as it raced faster than a FERRARI.
“My humble submission is that whenever you are angry, just pause for ten seconds before you take the next action and do something great with the freedom you have”. He advised with his gentle fierce look.
*Lifer: a prisoner sentenced to life in prison.
***Purely fictional and creative thoughts of the writer.
© 2015 by Osho Samuel
About the Author
Osho Samuel Adetunji is a graduate of Mechanical Engineering from Nigeria’s premier University, University of Ibadan. He is a poet, a blogger, a Public Speaker, an on air personality with a knack for short stories, inspirational articles and poems. He is a great thinker, creative and dexterous young man who does not only believe in excellence but also extols the tenets of discipline, hard work and effectiveness. He is an award-winning individual who is multifaceted and consistently measures success by effective impact.
He is a writer per excellence with articles published on VAVANE AFRICA, THE SCOOPNG, KONNECT AFRICA, Paarapo and Home zone media. He co-founded THE COURTROOM in 2012. He is the founder of KREATIVE DIADEM, a new initiative which kicked off on March 1, 2015.He is an inspirational young man who is addicted to going an extra mile in all facets of life. He is also a lover of football, tennis and boxing. You can follow him on Twitter with the handle: @inisamosho.
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