Flash Fiction: Falling

“Temisan.” Mother whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Temisan wake up.”
I reluctantly opened my eyes and saw she was out of the bed, looking out through the window.
“My God.” She said.
“Mama what is it?”
She came over to my side.
“Remember son, you must be strong at all times.”
“Mama what’s going on?”
She pushed me under the bed and told me to stay quiet. I heard footsteps coming slowly towards our room and the door was flung open. Someone came in but I couldn’t see who as the light was off in Mama’s room.
“Agatha!” A raspy male voice called.
“Why are you here?” I heard her say.
“My son. I am here for him. He has been away from me for too long.”
“Never! I won’t let you take him. He won’t become irresponsible like you.”
I heard a slow chuckle coming from the stranger. He advanced towards her and grabbed her by her neck.
“Temisan run!” Mama called out.

As if pushed by some force, I sprinted from underneath the bed and found myself running towards the open front door. A gun shot sounded behind me and I hesitated.
Mama!
But run she had said. So I ran towards the main road.
“Temisan!” The street seemed to echo.
Exhausted, I crouched on a path by the side of the road. In a blink of an eye I was falling, down into the dark. Falling into the unknown. My feet landed with a splash and I became aware of the walls around me. I was in a well.
“Mama!” I screamed.

“Mama!” I muttered.
“Were you talking to me?” Ik asked.
“Not at all.”
“I thought you said something.”
I shook my head and turned my attention back to the control panel of the aircraft I was flying in front of me. The blue sky seemed a bit dull today and it was probably because of the harmattan weather. It made it easy to manipulate the aircraft though.

Then my eyes saw it. My heart skipped a beat.
“Ik!” I shouted.
My co-pilot Ikeoghene turned towards me.
“What?”
“Was this aircraft refueled yesterday?”
“I don’t know. I’m not in charge of that.”
“Oh my God! Ik this craft has hardly any fuel in it!”
The body of water underneath us was almost making me hyperventilate.
“Chimo!” He exclaimed.
“What do we do now?” I wondered, my heart starting to beat fast.
“There should be parachutes in the supply trunk.”
“So we jump out?”
“There’s no other choice. We can’t make it.” He gestured towards the red light blinking under the fuel meter.
I put the craft on autopilot, my heart racing now. Oh my God. I’m going to die.

“Temisan have it.” Ik handed me a parachute. The red light was blinking faster now and the plane was starting to swerve.
“Temisan let’s go!”
“I can’t do this. I’m hydrophobic.”
“What?”
“I can’t stand water.”
“You be officer like this?”
Ik pulled open the emergency exit open.
“We have less than 10 seconds.”
“Ik I can’t do this.”

Then came flashes of memories.
Mama.
The gunshot resounding.
Temisan run!
The walls of the well closing in.
Mama! I’m drowning.
Is anybody there?
It’s that boy from the house down the street. His father shot his mother and himself you know.
A missionary is adopting you.
I want to be in the air force.
Mama! I’m drowning.

“Temisan let’s do this. The plane is on fire!”
“I can’t. I’ll fall to my death.”
“Come on. I’ve got your back.”
“You’ll leave. Just like Mama did.”
“Oh boy I’m not going to leave you.”
He grabbed my hand and counting to three, we jumped out.
In the free fall, the wind hit my face and I could feel freedom and a faint voice like Mama’s
“Temisan face your fears.”
But I was falling.
Falling.
Falling but free.

©Dammy

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Personality we admire: Black Pro Writer

the black pro writer

In my quest for creative minded people like myself, I found Black Pro Writer last year. I did a guest post on her blog here about broadway. Who is she? Susanah Omohuola Ajiboye is The Black Pro Writer. The big eyed, introverted but curious girl from Oshogbo, Osun State. She is a writer and blogger. A student of Ladoke Akintola University of Technology, Ogbomoso, Oyo State. She has a progressive view about every human being and believes we can change for the better and also for the worst. Sue blogs about art, culture and Afro hair. A quite interesting one is the curly girl method.

Writing is perhaps the easiest thing that comes to Susanah naturally and she didn’t learn professionally. Whenever she feels the need to tell a story, she sits and starts scribbling words down (pretty much like me). It could be on her phone but mostly her journal. According to her, she gets better at writing every time but there is no prior learning.

susanah ajiboye

She is inspired by Chimamanda Adichie when it comes to literary writing but asides fiction writing, she finds inspiration in anyone and anything. The Black Pro Writer gets scared of answering long projection questions because she is a bit superstitious and when she says her plans out loud, they don’t happen. But in the next five years, she hopes to be in a place where she is doing things she has always loved to do like being in a book signing and speaking about her passionate causes publicly.

black pro writer

Africans are the most beautiful people in the world and also the most hilarious according to Susanah. In any situation, we are capable of still pulling a joke out of it. She thinks modern day writing is actually necessary. Things are changing rapidly especially in this age of social media and it also affects the style affects the style of writing. Also the need to tell stories in a simple and unconventional method should be embraced rather than taken unseriously because there no big words used while writing this stories. Her favorite issue to write about are realistic fiction, issues that showcase the humanity in humans and issues humans can relate to.

Photography is Susanah’s second love. Actually, she doesn’t plan to drop writing before she pursue this form of art. Stories can be told with images and pictures she believes. She can’t sketch or paint or anything like that but really loves photography. It is a perfect way of teaching yourself to move of out of your comfort zone and travel and also learn, according to her. Her parents have been supportive in every way especially since they know writing is something she is truly passionate about. Susanah’s dad is a journalist and a writer too so he relates with her in every way.

the black pro writer

Her other hobbies include watching movies so much and talking it with people especially my friends. I enjoy reading novels too and I love obsessing about her hair lol. When it comes to style, she is a big fan of the phrase “less is more” so she loves to look comfortable. She basically frown any day she’s on heels and serious looking skirts. Susanah loves sneakers, jean and wearing her Afro up. Also, she can’t do without her bead choker but she doesn’t stick to one accessory as she gets bored and pick a new favorite.

the black pro writer

New writers out there, her advice is for you is to write deeply and widely. Believe in yourself and tell stories of your people. Especially if you’re African, people need to read more of us because we are so abundant in size, in culture in diversity. So why not?

Such a wonderful and creative lady you’d agree? That’s the basics of The Black Pro Writer. What detail about her do you find most interesting? Which can you relate to? The best part of posting here is getting your feedback and comments. What are your thoughts about this post?

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Poetry || Tale Of A Lover

Tale Of A Lover

I write of the one
The one my eyes caught
And my lips smiled back at
The one who had me daydreaming
Ridiculous and amusing dreams
The one that has me feeling like a fool
He knows not
My lover is a fool
For his eyes are elsewhere
His eyes are everywhere
Roaming for ladies to devour
To consume and dispose like a napkin
And he knows not that I know
But he is still my lover
And I love him yet
His beguiling smile
Honey-laced voice
And mouth used for sweet talking
For sweet talking me
Telling me things I know
Making me laugh
When he’s there and not
My lover is handsome
And I see why he gets the girls
My lover is not mine
Because he knows not
And I won’t be
One of those napkins he tosses away
He knows it not.

©Ajibike Oyinda

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Fiction || Letter To Nathan

image

Dear Nathan,
I’m sorry.

Sorry you didn’t get to choose
Being human, a duck or shoes.

Sorry daddy didn’t witness your birth
Didn’t see you take the first breath
I’m sorry mum didn’t feed you properly
Passing you around like another man’s property

No lullabies
Cause she couldn’t sing
Don’t blame her though
No love her mother had shown

I’m sorry the memories you have of dad
Are odd and sad
He couldn’t give up the bottle
And down the stairs he’d stumbled
The doctor had declared him a vegetable
And that night stays unforgettable

I’m sorry Mum didn’t stay home much
Didn’t have the homemaker’s touch
Sorry she couldn’t understand
And your esteem sank to the ground

The nanny she’d leave you with alone
Hanging out on your own
Apparently money meant more
Than her only son

I’m sorry puberty was heralded with abuse
The same maid who had her own
issue

Sorry wishes didn’t make it end
And in writing you found a friend
I’ve read your diary
The burden was more than you could carry

I’m sorry secondary school
Had some fools
Nobody should be a bully
Sorry for that folly

Your heart hardened the more
And understanding you yearned for

Later the girls thought you were cute
Their love on you profuse
I’m sorry love wasn’t a thing to you
And to every girl you’d claim you do
Leaving secondary school that year
You were the baddest guy they cheer

On and on till college
Inside was empty, no knowledge
Of how great things could be
The beauty of how life really seem

I’m sorry we never met
Because mum caused my death
Perhaps things would have been different
Fate might have been lenient

I’m sorry brother
In the next life perhaps we’d have a better mother

I watch you as you lie on the hospital bed
Random thoughts running through your head
Distorted with the drugs in your bloodstream
Perhaps this could have all been a dream

But no Nathan, and I’m sorry
Maybe sorry is not fit for your story

I’m sorry for a lot of things
But let’s see what tomorrow will bring

Yours sincerely,
Baby

©Ajibike Oyindamola

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