My Short Fables

There’s a stillness about them that makes the world feel too quiet, like everyone has someone except you. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in the familiar ache of my own solitude, when my phone vibrated. “Lonely introvert , what’s up?” Esther ’s voice burst through the speaker—dramatic, chaotic, and full of life, the exact opposite of the heaviness weighing me down. She always knew how to pull me out of my thoughts. “Please, Esther, I’m not lonely. I’m writing,” I said, rolling my eyes even though she couldn’t see me. “Besides, you know I’m an introvert. My social battery is—” She didn’t even let me finish. “I’m coming over. Dress up. We’re going out.” “Esther,  biko  (please). I have work tomorrow morning. I can’t afford that club—” The line went dead. Ten minutes later, I heard that unmistakable voice outside my door. “Introvert! Open this door o!” She kept knocking like she was auditioning for a percussion band. I dragged myself out of bed and opened the door....

I remember when I was homeless and slept on the streets of Port Harcourt for a week. One of my male friends I called that week—I asked him if I could just spend the night at his place to bathe and sleep. Instead, he sent me to a location and told his friend that I was an "OS" (commercial sex worker) and that he should sleep with me. It was in Iwofe . At first, I thought it was his house. Poor me—thinking I had a true friend. When I got to the place, it wasn’t him that picked me up, but his friend. He told me the guy wasn’t around. But it wasn’t even the main friend’s friend who picked me up. It was another guy entirely who later brought me to meet them. I was quiet, just observing the situation. It was already late—around 10 p.m. I asked where I could sleep, and they gave me a bed. I lay down and quickly fell asleep. About 10 minutes into my sleep, the guy started tapping me, holding a condom in his hand, saying I should get up so we could have sex. I asked him if he was mad...

I woke up the next morning, disgusted. Not just at what happened the night before, but at myself. Louis seemed like a good guy, but for some reason, the whole experience unsettled me to my core. This wasn’t how I wanted my first time to be. I had kept my virginity for twenty-five years, thinking I’d give it away with pride, not regret. Yet here I was, stripped of what I once called my virtue, and I couldn’t stop replaying it in my mind. I could blame ovulation . I could say my body betrayed me. But the truth was heavier: I had betrayed myself. Louis and I met at the park. He was short—5’6 at most—while I towered at 6’1. Normally, I might have let height cloud my judgment, but something about him pulled me in. I loved his ideas, his dreams, the way he made me feel seen. Maybe, I thought, we could work. We kept meeting. And slowly, I convinced myself he felt the same way. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. His signals were confusing, green lights that flickered into red. But I stayed. I car...

After they had sex, she felt a storm inside her. It was her first time—her body ached, and a dull, deep pain settled in her lower belly. But that wasn’t what hurt the most. It was the shame that crept in quietly, the embarrassment that made her skin crawl, and the guilt that swelled in her chest like a tide threatening to drown her. She lay there, still for a moment, then slipped out of bed and walked to the bathroom. She turned on the tap, watching the water run as if it could wash away what she felt. She cleaned herself slowly, carefully—tears sneaking down her cheeks. A few minutes later, he joined her. He didn’t say a word. He washed himself too, avoiding her eyes like they were poison. The silence between them grew louder. Was it over? Had she been deceived all along? He went back to the room, changed the sheets, and lay down, facing the wall like she no longer existed. She followed him quietly and sat beside him, the weight in her chest making it hard to breathe. “So… what’s next...

  Art by Anthony Azekwoh , The bride’s maid short story competition: “Oh my God, he is not breathing, what are we going to do?” I said in a terrified tone. “I don’t know, but let’s try and dispose of his body, and clean up the blood. I don’t want to go to jail,” she replied in a shaky voice. “Dispose of the body? How? This is not how I planned my life,” I said in deep regret. “I know, but remember—he was trying to kill you. Let’s just get the body out of the room first, then we’ll figure out everything later,” she replied, trying to convince me. “I’m not sure we are able to do anything now…” I paused for a minute, then exhaled. “Okay, I’ll lock the room. We’ll go out together, and I’ll come back later and fix the mess. Come on, go dress.” Shit. I’m in a deep mess. I know you’re probably wondering— what happened? Let me explain. I’m Vurale , a bridesmaid who just got involved in the attempted murder of the bride’s ex. Yes, my friend’s ex—the one who snuck in and tried to kill her wh...