Stories

Tag: time

  • Dead Again

    by Inegbenoise O. Osagie

    Everything was happening again, same births, same deaths, same events, like a rhythm playing for the second time, like walking through a path again. Mama Dayo died last week, and her son would die this week. The worst part was nothing could be done to stop it. If I told papa Dayo not to spend all of his money burying his wife because he would need some for his son’s funeral, he would probably spit on me and load upon me all kinds of curses, and when his son eventually died, his entire family would run to our house and shout out my name, drag me to the village square and beat me like a witch. They would ask questions like how did I know his son would die if I had no hand in it.

    Knowing what would happen before it did was nothing but torture—a torture that made me cry before everyone did or made me laugh before everyone else.

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  • The Backwards Man

    by Preston Dennett

    I remember quite distinctly the day I met him. One does not easily forget the strangest day in one’s life. It was a soggy morning, gray and overcast; fitting indeed I should think for what would soon take place. He stood at my doorstep, gripped my hand with unearned familiarity and smiling at me, attempted to enter my house.

    While he appeared vaguely familiar, I was quite certain I had never made his acquaintance. “Pardon, sir,” I said abruptly, blocking his path. “But I am not in the habit of allowing strangers into my home.”

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  • Long Now

    by T. Gene Davis

    Julie knocked, balancing a warm Crock-Pot on one knee. Lance answered, holding a 20-pound textbook in one hand. Julie smiled. That was his idea of light reading, but she planned to marry him anyway.

    “Come on in.”

    “Whoa!” Julie stopped mid-step, nearly dropping her pot. “I thought it was just me.”

    Lance escorted her gently through the door so that he could close it.

    “It’s just the two of us.”

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  • Frozen Heart

    by Esther Davis

    The snowfall muffled the distant highway, and frosted autumn leaves still clung to their branches. Cody perched on the bench’s edge. His pug flopped into the carpet of snow at his feet. He watched Rachel’s fingers molding the handful of snow—clumsy and awkward. So simple, so ordinary. Magicless.

    It was beautiful.

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