All in Fiction

Wedding Ops (Fiction Micro-series) Entry 3

The key to a friendly robbery is stealth. Mayokun watched as the bride, groom and their bridal party gyrated to a familiar  tune from the 90s. Obesere—yes, that was the sound. The singer’s quick tempo had set the room on fire—bank notes flew like confetti, soft wisps of  dry ice covered the floor, giving the dance floor an ethereal, celestial look. The bridesmaids had broken up into dancing pairs, throwing their shoulders forward and back, and leaping around, straining their restless legs against the shiny fabric of their dainty dresses. Mayokun pretended to take photos of the dancers from her seat; through her phone camera lenses, she scouted…

Wedding Ops (Fiction Micro series) Entry 2

Previously on Wedding Ops

Entry 2 (Yawa)

“I still stand by it that Wiz Kid is not dating her!” Mayokun said, as Fali pulled over along the side of the unpainted outer wall of their apartment building. Mr. Kazeem, their landlord had started charging a parking fee within his walls and collected all keys to the gate— it was a flimsy black gate which hung nonchalantly between two unpainted posts, its weathered metal blistered orange with rust bubbles and wounds. Mayokun searched her purse for her keys to the pedestrian gate.

​​"He is!”Fali chuckled, “We can’t all be wrong. What’s the big deal if he is?”

​​“Publicity stunt aye. These celebrities have y’all on puppet strings,”Mayokun hissed, her keys jingled as she fetched it out…

Ìyágànkú : Fiction By Ike Adegboye

Ishola can not be dead, they all whisper. I whisper it too. It can not be. I dig. I retie my wrapper across my breasts. My palms are damp. My strength wanes. I dig. It can not be. No one but a god could kill him. Ishola can not be dead, but I know he is because I killed him...

Twice Dead: A Short Story by Ike Adegboye

 Twice Dead

1832

Ede, Osun State,  Nigeria

On this bright and sunny day— the day of my daughter’s wedding— we dance. Out in the soft morning light they stood, a sea of livestock. More gifts from Alao. A dowry fit for three queens. Yet, the dead watch us. Yes, they whisper dark secrets...