The Coffin Maker’s Son. This is a story about love, marriage, death, and the difference between coffins and caskets. It is upcoming at Space & Time Magazine.
Excerpt: “…You see, there is a difference between coffins and caskets. Papa made coffins and that was it. Engraving the gods’ hideous faces on them or bathing them in a mix of resins and zogbo doesn’t rouse in them the appeal the rich find in caskets…”
The Worst Breed of Vultures. Most of the beta readers for this story classified it as gut-wrenching and brutal. The speculative elements in it are subjective and cultural. So unlike my other work, this isn’t a fantasy story. It’s mainstream, but dark. It’s upcoming at Bourbon Penn.
Excerpt: “…Have you ever been flogged with a gas hose? As I have discovered, it has two aspects, one ruthless and the other merciful, the former being that each lash etches a scar that spans a lifetime and incites soreness that lasts days if not weeks. As for the latter, a lash forces the nerves in your body to a seizure and, in that moment of numbness, spares you the pain the subsequent two or three lashes would have caused…”
The Soulless. This is a fantasy short story that blurs the line between science and magic. It is upcoming at Strangelet Journal.
Excerpt: “I opened my eyes. I was no longer inside the tube. Instead I found myself belted to the driver seat of my glider, and the vehicle was spinning uncontrollably in the air.”
Psychopathic is Good. This is a flash fiction that hints at those nasty childish habits we fail to outgrow, and it is upcoming at Stupeying Stories Showcase.
Excerpt: “…Nkiru loves killing things. The sight of blood and torn flesh drives her wild, and there is flair to the manner she creeps after her prey…”
Excerpt: “…It had been a fortnight since Ugo’s burial, and the vacuum I felt within me grew ever larger. I jumped out of bed most nights with screams that made mama down two cupfuls of Mazi Ike’s supposedly heart-mellowing concoction every day, and I couldn’t continue huddling under the avocado tree beside Ugo’s grave every other night weeping…”
Reprinted in Myriad Lands Anthology, Volume 1.
Excerpt: “…We put the fish in the drum of water on the backyard porch. And while papa bargains with one jujuist after another on the phone in the parlour, I rest my elbows on the rim of the drum with my jaw on my arms and shine a torch on the fish, begging it to forgive us and show me its beautiful light…”
Go here to see a list of my other work.