I have been kinda scarce, I know.
Writer’s block, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
This is a collection of an edited version of the short (very short) One Tweet One Story i did for the African Short Story Day.
All I have done is expand some of stories.
Do enjoy.

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Her Long Neck

She had a graceful neck. Naturally slim, her neck tapered smoothly, melding to her jaw line. Sometimes, he would stand to the side and talk to her, just to watch her turn her neck gracefully, to watch the mucles beneath her skin ripple and glide smoothly to guide her head towards his direction.
He knew he had to marry her.
He loved her; her neck anyway. It made no difference to him.
He courted her and he was glad to see how much she loved him stroking her neck.
She would purr most delicately when his lips gently left wet trails of kisses on her ebony neck. It was a match made in heaven.
That is, until after they got married.
She was too demanding.
She was a nag.
How had he never noticed how awful her banga soup tasted?
He had been deceived and it was her neck’s fault.
He still loved her; her neck anyway.
A different kind of love perhaps.
Because one day, he discovered how deliciously good it felt, wrapping his thick callused hands around that lovely neck he admired so much and squeezing till its owner died.
He had no remorse.
She didn’t deserve the neck anyway.
It was too beautiful for her.

Baptism of the Heart

Biodun was a man who loved his life.
He loved his family; his wife and his precious daughter.
What devil drove him to do what he did then?
“Daddy! What are you doing?”
“Giving mummy a baptism”
“But mummy’s shaking. Stop Daddy”
“No Princess, she’s enjoying it. See? She’s stopped shaking”
“Ohh. Daddy I want one too.”
“I know Princess. You’re next.”
“Yay!”

Her Precious

Don’t touch it.
She had warned him several times.
Her gilded mirror was the only thing she had left of her husband.
He took her husband away from her, her son did.
He was driving too fast to get to the hospital at his delivery.
Her husband died just as she brought his son-his image- into the world.
You cannot blame a baby for your husband’s death.
She knew it but did it matter?
Her husband’s people took everything.
All she had left of her love was the gilded mirror he gifted her.
Her Precious.
Her only link to him.
Don’t touch my glass, she warned him.
He probably didn’t understand her.
He was smiling at her, drooling from his toothless mouth.
He was a baby, afterall.
He couldn’t understand speech.
He smeared his food on her glass.
He was learning how to crawl.
He used his tiny hands to leave prints on her Precious.
Now she has to clean it.
Clean his food off her glass.
Clean his blood off it too.
She has no idea what to do with his body yet.

The Industrious Woman

Aunty come and taste my boli!
Yes, i give samples o!
No one can refuse samples of my boli.
We all like free thing abi no be so?
Taste my prowess in handling plantain and fire, with my fan to stoke the heat to just the right temperature.
My boli is succulent.
I even have a secret ingredient.
It’s sweet abi?
You will soon know my secret ingredient.
Ah! You’r shaking. You’re falling.
Are you sleepy?
“Baba Sule come! Come and carry this fine Aunty inside. Put her with the rest of the other long throat people.”
Business is booming today.
Body parts sells more than my boli.
Business is booming because nobody can resist.
Everybody loves free boli.

The Son that Mother forgot

“Mummy do i have a brother?”
“Ayo where is this question coming from”
“Well, my friend said you’re his mother too”
“Your friend? What’s your friend’s name?”
“He said you didn’t give him a name before you sent him away”
“Ayo are you ok? Where is this talk coming from? Who is this your friend? School?”
“Not school. He came two weeks ago. He said he had been looking for you”
“Came? Where??”
“In my room when I was sleeping mummy. He tapped me and said he was your son.”
“Come here. You’re running a temperature. I think you’re having a fever.”
“Mummy. I’m fine. He said i should tell you he’s back. He said you removed him from your belly when you were young at a bad hospital but he loves you so much. He wants to come back to you”
“Heh!”
“He says you must bring him back o. Mummy please bring him back”
“HEH!”
“Oh mummy. He’s behind you. Say Hello”

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That’s it for now.
Two things
1. I would appreciate it if you all could nominate this blog, Phantom Pages to be shortlisted at the Nigerian Blog Awards under the Best Book, Poetry or Writing blog and Best New Blog.
All you have to do is this:
Go to http://www.nigerianblogawards.com/register.php

1. Your name and email
2. Beside the Best Book, Poetry or Writing Blog and Best New Blog,  type in my blog address http://www.phantompages.wordpress.com
3. Fill up the rest to suit your reading taste. (Please consider voting www.passthesaltband.wordpress.com for Best Group blog,  http://tscng.wordpress.com for Best Humour blog, www.omogemura.com for Best Fashion or Style blog, www.olatoxic.wordpress.com for Best Topical Blog, www.afrosays.com for Best Designed Blog, www.rootsdontlie.blogspot.com for Best Tutorial Blog, and www.ekwemartin.wordpress.com   for Nigerian Blog of the Year)

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE VOTE!
I am not asking too much am I?
Well maybe a little but on the bright side, I am not asking you to marry me.
😀

Thank you in advance!
I love you all…

Psyche!
-_-

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