Flash Fiction: Evil Genius

Flash Fiction: Evil Genius

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Randy was the new kid in class, so he didn’t get to see Bradshaw hills with us during last term’s excursion. For this term’s, we had formulated a plan to trick him. Bradshaw hills was unique for its cave markings. The class as a whole decided to pretend we couldn’t see the markings on the cave, to make Randy think he’s going nuts when he points at them.

It was funny when we planned it. What began as a joke ended up with Randy screaming his head off and throwing a tantrum to the teacher, declaring that he was losing it. It resulted in his parents being called to take him home and “we” all scared and getting a week of punishment.

That night, I got a call from Randy, thanking me for getting him 2 days off school to rest. Turns out, he had been to Bradshaw hills before and knew of its markings. He only played along because he could use it to his advantage.

Oh the little evil genius.


Word count:171. The above story is jn response to Flash Fiction for aspiring writers photo prompt challenge. Thank you @Any1Mark66 for this week’s picture.

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Writer’s Quote: Children

Writer’s Quote: Children

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Something unexpected happened today. I awoke to the news that we had a 25 hour day, yesterday and the time has shifted from +3gmt to +2 gmt. I was messed up in the head this morning when I found out.

In my 21 years, this is the first time its happened. I had to sit down for about 30 minutes to get my bearing straight. It was confusing trying to decipher if the 11 am lecture I was having today meant 11 am old time or new time.

But then again, thats one of the great things about living in a different country; you get to experience new things. I sure wouldn’t be experiencing any time changes if I was back home.

That being said (I just had to air it out), welcome to another Writer’s Quote/Poem Wednesday. I do hope the poem i’ll be sharing today doesn’t put a damper in your mood. I found it beautiful and melancholic.

Middle Age by Pat Schneider

The child you think you don’t want
is the one who will make you laugh.
She will break your heart
when she loses the sight in one eye
and tells the doctor she wants to be
an apple tree when she grows up.

It will be this child who forgives you again and again
for believing you don’t want her to be born,
for resisting the rising tide of your body,
for wishing for the red flow of her dismissal.
She will even forgive you for all the breakfasts
you failed to make exceptional.

Someday this child will sit beside you.
When you are old and too tired of war
to want to watch the evening news,
she will tell you stories
like the one about her teenaged brother,
your son, and his friends
taking her out in a canoe when she was
five years old. How they left her alone
on an island in the river
while they jumped off the railroad bridge.

Writer’s Quote: The Mother

Writer’s Quote: The Mother

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Welcome to another writer’s quote/poem Wednesday where I share some of my favourite poems written by other authors. Today’s poet is one I have shared recently- Gwendolyn Brooks. I guess, there is no hiding the fact that she is one of my favourite poets.

The poem I am sharing today is one close to my heart- it is about a woman who has previously had an abortion, and is now filled with remorse and regret. It is a narrative and reads as a message to, in her own words, “the child she got that she didn’t get”. She wants the child to know that she is sorry for what she had done and she loves him/her.
Below is the poem, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

The mother by Gwendolyn Brooks

Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
You will never neglect or beat
Them, or silence or buy with a sweet.
You will never wind up the sucking-thumb
Or scuttle off ghosts that come.
You will never leave them, controlling your luscious sigh,
Return for a snack of them, with gobbling mother-eye.

I have heard in the voices of the wind the voices of my dim killed
children.
I have contracted. I have eased
My dim dears at the breasts they could never suck.
I have said, Sweets, if I sinned, if I seized
Your luck
And your lives from your unfinished reach,
If I stole your births and your names,
Your straight baby tears and your games,
Your stilted or lovely loves, your tumults, your marriages, aches,
and your deaths,
If I poisoned the beginnings of your breaths,
Believe that even in my deliberateness I was not deliberate.
Though why should I whine,
Whine that the crime was other than mine?–
Since anyhow you are dead.
Or rather, or instead,
You were never made.
But that too, I am afraid,
Is faulty: oh, what shall I say, how is the truth to be said?
You were born, you had body, you died.
It is just that you never giggled or planned or cried.

Believe me, I loved you all.
Believe me, I knew you, though faintly, and I loved, I loved you
All.

By the graveyard-

By the graveyard-

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We passed by the graveyard.
An emotion- not unlike
The December weather,
Engulfed us.

The sun rays beamed on,
A piece of glass,
At the head of a sand lump-
A child’s.

Is his mother grieving?
Wishing the world,
Takes time out of its schedule,
To grieve with her,

Does she have other young ones,
Who fill her heart,
With a softening emotion,
Or does she,

look to his siblings,
And feel the overwhelming,
Feeling of his pass,
Engulf her,

Has it been long since His,
Or her pious soul,
Found its self among the,
Non-living.

Does the ache get easier?
For Mine still feels like,
a minute ago,
Since I lost him.

This Random is now on Facebook. Here’s the link to my page: Words of a random looking forward to connecting with y’all there. 

On being dark-

On being dark-

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She was told as a kid,
To be fair is beautiful,
So she looked down her skin,
When she sighted a mirror,
And they pointed at others,
Saying- that girl is pretty.
And she withered inside for,
She didn’t look like those “pretties”.

8 year old and she’s taught,
To be dark is a sin,
For no man would approach,
A pigmented melanin,
And she’ll grow old and wilt,
In her lone parents home,
Well except, well except,
She did something about it.

And she did, yes she did,
More than something about it,
Now her skin is much lighter,
But she didn’t stop at her skin,
And her nose is a bit Pointer,
And her lips are much fuller,
And they point- see this fake thing,
Forgetting that they made her,
By the words they had implanted,
As a kid of eight years old.

Flash Fiction: The hike

Flash Fiction: The hike

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Are we there yet?”, Jamie’s voice shot up.
Not yet honey, we only just began like five minutes ago”. His mother replied.

A few steps up the rocky hill, Andrea’s voice shot up,
We there yet?”
“No love, still got some way to climb, okay?” The mother replied as patiently as she could get her voice to sound.

Five minutes passed in peace with only their crunching footsteps disturbing the sound of Mother Nature when Aaliyah spoke up,
Mum?”

Their mother paused in her tracks and faced Aaliyah with such an intense look, little Aaliyah cowered, her gaze downwards and muttered,
“I only wanted to know if I may have some water please.”

Laughter erupted from both Andrea and Jamie because they were pretty sure that wasn’t reason. But as long as mama was consoled, they kept their mouth shut.

Their mother sighed, beginning to regret ever offering to take them on a hiking trip. She placed her hands on her barely visible bump and said,
You, better behave once you come out.”


Word count: 173. The above story is in response to flash fiction for aspiring writers  photo prompt challenge, where each week we are provided with an image and are to write a 75-175 word story in it. Thank you @Pamela S. Canepa for this week’s photo.

Flash Fiction: Gone

Flash Fiction: Gone

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D.S Fenworthy looked at the images rolling on the screen and sure enough, the little girl wearing a pink hoodie was Sarah. Her hair was much darker now but that was definitely her- a girl who had gone missing two months ago at a supermarket whilst her mother was shopping. One minute she was there and the next, gone.

boss! Boss!“, Fenworthy yelled across the office.
D.I Lucy hurried to his cubicle, unhappy to have her lunch break uninterrupted.
This better be worth it..”, she began when Fenworthy interjected by pointing at a screenshot of Sarah.
Isn’t that?”

Fenworthy nodded and D.I Lucy dumped her half eaten sandwich into the trash. He played the tape in slow motion which showed Sarah standing on the platform as the train approached, but the moment it passed, she was gone, again.

We can’t lose her again” Lucy declared, “Gather everyone together, fast. A little girl is missing and this is our first real clue. Time is ticking. We need to get Sarah back home.”


Word count: 171 words. this story is in response to Flash Fiction For Aspiring writers Photo prompt challenge. Each week we are provided with a picture and are to write a 75-175 word story on it. Thank you @Yinglan for providing us with this week’s picture.

Writer’s Quote- Gwen Harwood

Writer’s Quote- Gwen Harwood

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I have to confess. I look forward to Wednesdays on this blog, where I get to share some of my favourite poems written by other authors with you guys. Today’s poem is titled “in the park” by Gwen Harwood. It’s a powerful pessimistic poem about a woman who has sacrificed so much for her children, she has given up her life so that they can have theirs. And rather than the emotion of joy and pride in her children, the character in the poem, feels and weary and resentment which is manifested in the line where she says- “they have eaten me alive”.

In Nigeria, especially the northern part, many women stay in marriages which are sometimes volatile and abusive simply for the sake of their kids. They view they’d rather take on the torment than leave their kids in the hands of the abusive partner or raise their kids in a broken home. According to an analysis by U.K. Essays, the dominant reading of the poem is that, for certain women, motherhood can be a burden. Sometimes when a woman’s life predominantly revolves around looking after her children, her sense of worth is devalued.” I’ld like to add, the above quote is not my opinion, but solely an analysis of the poem.

In The park by Gwen Harwood

She sits in the park. Her clothes are out of date.
Two children whine and bicker, tug her skirt.
A third draws aimless patterns in the dirt
Someone she loved once passed by – too late

to feign indifference to that casual nod.
“How nice” et cetera. “Time holds great surprises.”
From his neat head unquestionably rises
a small balloon…”but for the grace of God…”

They stand a while in flickering light, rehearsing
the children’s names and birthdays. “It’s so sweet
to hear their chatter, watch them grow and thrive, ”
she says to his departing smile. Then, nursing
the youngest child, sits staring at her feet.
To the wind she says, “They have eaten me alive.”

Writer’s Quote: Nick Flynn

Writer’s Quote: Nick Flynn

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Something horrific happened recently. I hear you say, “which one?”, because sadly, every single day brings on a new horror story. The incident in question is the suicide by an 8 year old boy Gabriel Taye, after he was brutally assaulted in school by some students to the point of unconsciousness. A video released showed Gabriel lying unconscious on the floor being beaten and kicked by other students.
His mother had no idea about the incident, (which I believe the school should have called and explained the situation to the mother because, her kid was assaulted to the point of unconsciousness), and after Gabriel got back home, he killed himself.

I am saddened by his death and the incident surrounding it. It is stories like these which remind me that I cannot stop writing. Something needs to be done, kids with anger issues need to be taught ways to express themselves and an 8 year old kid should be playing with dolls and toy cars and not be tortured to the point of not wanting to spend another second on earth

It’s due to this I’m going to share a poem by Nick Flynn called Cartoon physics Part 1 as my writer’s quote/poem Wednesday submission. It Better expresses what I want to say than I can. Thank God for poetry.

Cartoon Physics, part 1 BY NICK FLYNN
Children under, say, ten, shouldn’t know
that the universe is ever-expanding,
inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies

swallowed by galaxies, whole

solar systems collapsing, all of it
acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning

the rules of cartoon animation,

that if a man draws a door on a rock
only he can pass through it.
Anyone else who tries

will crash into the rock. Ten-year-olds
should stick with burning houses, car wrecks,
ships going down—earthbound, tangible

disasters, arenas

where they can be heroes. You can run
back into a burning house, sinking ships

have lifeboats, the trucks will come
with their ladders, if you jump

you will be saved. A child

places her hand on the roof of a schoolbus,
& drives across a city of sand. She knows

the exact spot it will skid, at which point
the bridge will give, who will swim to safety
& who will be pulled under by sharks. She will learn

that if a man runs off the edge of a cliff
he will not fall

until he notices his mistake.

I apologise for my absence, will try to Get back on track with my writing and blogging ❤