But Captain wasn’t done. The dog gave chase, its paws barely kissing the ground as it streaked after them like a demon released. The men glanced back again and again, hearts pounding, as though their gaze alone might keep the animal at bay.
Owuro’s Hunter | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by Michael Olugbenga Olobadola
Owuro was a place rooted deep in doctrine. Here, witches weren’t figures of myth but threats prayed against from the pulpits and minarets. If the truth broke the surface, there would be blood.
Red Flag | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by Haské Madabe
The kiss came slowly at first, exploratory, then deeper. Her hand slid up the side of his neck, drawing him in. The warmth between them swelled
Saving Adanna | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by Amira Abdul-Azeez
It all comes trickling back in slides. All you see is red – there is blood everywhere, lots of blood. Your blood. There is pain. Obliterating pain that rips your insides open. The type of torment that leaves you writhing and begging to die because the agony of death is far more honourable than this torture.
The In-Between | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by Gloria Ogo
I remember the weight of the odikro’s hand on my shoulder, how I flinched when he squeezed and said, ‘Your life is ours.’ I thought he meant, ‘You’re a part of us.’ I felt I belonged. But five seasons later, I understood the true meaning of his words.
Bestie, Bestie | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by Ehighocho Ruth James
I was happy she broke up with you. You came back to me and I thought the sadness would at least make you notice me. But you still didn’t.
I Do | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by Sesugh Iorliam
‘It’s too early to get divorce papers! The next time you see me, it would be about time.’
Through Thick And Thin | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by MaryAnn Ifeanacho
But that is his job as a father, isn’t it? To see me as perfect despite the apparent alarm in his eyes when the car genuflects as I climb in.
Neneh | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by Ekweremadu Uchenna
When Neneh has gazed at the photo for up to two or three minutes, her left hand will rise to caress the long scar that stretches from her hairline to her left cheekbone. And then, the events of that fateful day will start coming back to her in hazy flashes.
BEHIND THE PODIUM | a CỌ́N-SCÌÒ short story by Aminata Talawally
“My voice is pleading to be heard by a room crowded with people. It doesn’t care if their faces are frightening or happy. It just wants to engulf the room and be listened to.”
