Stories with many parts.
by Jennifer Nwanede
Chizaramekpere, which means God answered my prayer, as she was so named by her father, grew up to become a beautiful and intelligent young lady. In no distant time, she had become the topic of discussion in the midst of eligible bachelors in the village.
by Dexter Joseph
She replays in her mind the last memories of her papa. Hiding just behind a large vas of plants with her maid holding her mouth from screaming, she had watched Tanko take on her papa, cut his arm off and put his sword through his throat, leaving him to die. He torched their mansion, letting everything burn to the ground. Her mother in fright of this ran into her own death, at the tip of a mere soldier’s drawn sword.
by Tiana Akachi Ifenkwe
He had come to pick her just a few miles away from her house. She got into his car and greeted. He replied with a smile, that smile that always melted her. The smile she’d been drawn to in the first place. Oh God, she muttered. This wasn’t going to be an easy feat. What was she even thinking when she accepted the date?
by Tolulope Adeniyan
He was all shades of beauty. The beauty of an infant is believed to fade at a certain time to the normal level it will maintain through life. But Love’s beauty was maintained until he began to burn no other part that could easily be hidden but his head.
by Favour Ogbue
My name is Jude Afson. I am eight years old. I have two younger siblings: my six-year old brother, James, who was in nursery three before we stopped going to school two years ago and my baby sister, Maria, two months short of being three years. I was also in Primary Two just two years ago. We stopped going to school because Daddy and Mummy died.
by Ngozi Janet Akalonu
The legends had it that the original owner of the brothel was a spirit woman with inexplicable comeliness, one that drew many of its customers to their demise.
by Ngozi Janet Akalonu
