Up My Alley [Blogversary Edition]

copyright – Kent Bonham

Banteke loves my hands on approach on his jobs. I left his yacht with a new mission; looking around for a ride option, I went for a bike down the lot.

My mission was to meet an Asian chef at the alley behind the Avenue’s drugstore.

The FX Stealth fighter bike stole in on him as he talked on his mobile.

“Give it up dude, ya phone?”

“I ain’t no nagger and you’d have to make me”

A jab on the scrotum, the mobile flew into my hands.

Mounting the bike I rode through the course of the alley, I love this job!

GTA Vice City

The prompt brings to mind a scene in the Grand Theft Auto [GTA 4], which I just described above.

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Today is the combination of my birthday as well as my blogversary [blog became two years old] and I wish to roll my gratitude to some really wonderful readers

Readinpleasure

For being that BIG sister to me and the highest commenter on this blog your kind devotion is flattering and appreciated thank you.

SusieLindu

Well, the freshly pressed led me to your blog. I am still amazed at the attention I get from you despite your many followers you still give up time to peek into my world. My gratitude is here recorded.

dmmacilroy

If Susie is the godmother of my blog, Doug is the godfather. He has a way of reading more meaning to a flashfiction and getting right into the soul of the writer. He has done this for me, even called me out on not a few occasions and gave his correction, suggestions et al with love. Thank you dear Doug!

Boomie Bol

My first Nigerian follower…Thank you for those days of encouragement and love. I’ve missed your frequent posting though, and I pray life smiles at you and the family.

Sandra Crook

Sandra is that one person that surprises you with reviews least on your mind and makes your works glow even in your own eyes. Dear ma, thanks for your generosity.

Rocehelle Wisoff-Fields

Our anchor who has taken charge of the bus since Madison, she also took up new relationships and maintained same as genuinely as she can.

Timi Yeseibo

My own sister! In a twist of irony you are only next to Celestone [readinpleasure] on my comments log in just a few months of acquaintance. Just when I thought my blog is not for the Nigerian audience, well you’re not strictly Nigerian in that sense. Your kind devotion is appreciated, thank you!

A word goes to Madison Wood the originator of Friday Fictioneers, whose birthday is 15th November and Russel, that I called the clown on our bus, 16th November…Long life and happy endings!

Still in the spirit of the celebration, some of my finest flash fictions here you should click on…They are my gift to you. You may drop comments on anywhere else as your present to me. I appreciate you all!

STUCK: the other side of Valour

SCORCHED

ABUSED- the story of a good Girl

The Routine Man [Friday Fictioneers]

The Alarm went off with a thud movement on a bed, in a dark room. An outstretched arm tapped a bedside switch, the room was illuminated.

The figure sat up in bed, cupped his head in his hands. He entered the bathroom. He stepped out into the room. He wore his clothes perfunctorily: briefs, singlet, pants, shirt and a tie.

6:30am he went to his front yard to empty his trashcan, a neighbour shouted greetings from across the yard.

“Good morning, Mr Grey!”

“Morning, Maloney”

Maloney is an amateur gymnast who has for 3 year set his regimen by the time Grey wakes up and when he goes to empty his trashcan.

Grey went back inside, sniffed at a hot cup of coffee. Sipped gingerly and looked on at the grandfather’s clock that chimed away above the bookshelf adjacent to the dinner table.

 

This is a contribution to the Household of FridayFictioneers. It’s a joy to be among you folks again. All comments are appreciated. Thanks to rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com for hosting us as usual.

Rites of Passage [Historical Fiction]

I have heard about the journey. I have doubted its existence. I had pondered why a brother would take his own captive.

But here, it’s happening to me.

The Arochukwu priest chants cleansing incantations as we go through the last place to be called home, the corridor to the after-life as we know it.

“Is this all to the initiation rites?” a teenager asked, looking back at me.

The Passage

I pondered where such thoughts came from…

“Yes, hope you’ve had a time of your life?”

“Times have changed; Papa told me different stories from this”

Sure. We are captives of our own clan. We tugged on to a waiting ship.

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This is an account of the slave trade era. The much taunted Atlantic Slave Trade, Where African were as culpable [if not much more] as their European counterparts. The story sets in an Eastern Nigerian village, where the Arochukwu Priests (Custodians of Customs and Religion) witch-hunted ordinary men to sell as slaves.

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This has been made possible by the goodwill and fervent addiction of Rochellewisofffields and her creative gang of writers who converge weekly as the Friday Fictioneers. Click on the Linky Icon to read greater stories…