Skip to main content

Featured Fiction: A Bang & The Vow - Fiction by Ude Ugo


We looked each other in the eye as the priest read from his missal. I blushed like a teenager when Clyde winked and I felt my legs wobble when he bit his lips, talk about liquid torture. I gave him my 'I'll- deal-with-you- later' look and he smiled. We were too engrossed in our reverie that the priest had to clear his throat to get our attention.


Clyde's vows made my eyes water and I could hear other sniffing too. It was my turn and I felt jittery. 

'I promise to...' 

I was cut in mid-sentence by the loud report of a gun. I fell and sank into complete darkness

***

The children read the piece their mother had left on her reading table. 

'Why does mother never write of happy endings?' Taffy asked her twin. 

'Maybe it's because she's always sad inside', he replied. 

'It won't hurt if we change a teeny-weeny detail would it?' She asked again and he nodded as she picked her mother's fountain pen.

***

I was stirring my cup of tea in the kitchen when everything turned blue. I knew this sign too well. My world like a chocolate bar on heating melted before my eyes and spun rapidly. No, it had happened again. It had to be my children. If only they knew they were ink and not blood, they wouldn't have altered that story!

***

Ans then I stood at a makeshift altar again in my A-line dress I had inherited from mother. Hello Clyde, I said and nodded to the priest to continue.

I had heard Clyde repeat this same vow thrice (this was the third tome my story had been altered) but his vows made me cry. 

It was my turn and I waited for something bad to happen. I turned to look at my mother and she urged me on with her eyes. Clyde, I said. 

'I promise to...' 

And there was a bang. 

I jumped and turned to see my dramatic grandma make a grand entrance with a team of drummers. She blew air kisses and I breathed in to calm myself. 

Clyde chuckled.

'Clyde', I said again. 'I promise to never let us do this again. I guess happy-ever-afters never hurt anybody.' 

He looked confused and excited. Let him be, he'd never understand. I closed my eyes and felt our noses brush before his lips met mine.

Silently, I blessed Taffy in my heart.

- Ude Ugo

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.  "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies"  "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat"  After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"  "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....