Welcome to the second round of league Day 3.
League Of Wordsmiths is an initiative of Whyke Anthology which began last year. Serving as a means of promoting poetry, story writing…and art as a whole, across Africa, whilst also serving as an aid for young, budding, aspiring…writers in the African diaspora.
This round is for the short story category, and would see Ahmad Amobi Adedimeji, Nwaezuoke Chisom Anastasia, & Samuel Victory
slugging things out for the prize.
Theme For This Round is: FILLING THE GAP
1) Judges Decision takes 80% of the total decision, while votes recorded from voters takes 20% of the total decision.
2) Under no circumstance should you guess the owner of the individual stories.
3) Voting lasts for 24hours.
4) Only Votes recorded in the comment section of this post remains valid.
5) Vote using “I Vote Story 1”, or “I Vote Story 2” or “I Vote Poem 3”…
6) A voter is allowed to vote maximum of 2 stories out of the 3 contesting stories.
7) The contestants are urged to invite friends to vote for them. No rule exempts you from canvassing for votes.
Let The Game Begin!… May the best story win.
Everyday, I do ask my father who my mother really is and he would point at my step mother. Though I didn’t believe him but I was young and everything I told him about the woman she called my mother were lies to him. This woman, when father is around would be caring for me and giving the best I request for. Just because my father was there. The sufferness I enjoy once my father left were unspeakable. If my father travels, she would make me hawk instead of going to school. She would send me to where she can’t send her children. I knew she wasn’t my mother but I was young, really young. I was just five years old.
At ten, I had grown enough well to challenge my father. Though, I was scared yet I swallowed the fear and vomited bravery the day I asked my father who mother truly was. That day, he wasn’t giving me audience as he kept walking out of me. And me, I was furious and I didn’t care whatever he would do. I really wanted to know my real mother.
“Your mother died when you were one”, he said. That was at night. I went to his room to ask him since he didn’t answer me during the day. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t sleep with it. I knew something had changed. I knew the woman wasn’t my mother.
“ I married her to fill the gap of your mother” he explained.
I didn’t bother to ask him anything more since I had gotten the truth. I walked out of his room and I went to sleep, without speaking out a single word. While on bed, I was thinking who my mother could be. How caring and loving she would be.
The gap of my mother, in my heart, can never filled.
FILLLING THE GAP
“I’m sorry. We did everything we could”.
Mariam stared at the doctor who had just said those words. Jeffery was dead. She turned to her husband who simply stood,staring into space; Paul had never been good with bad news. She swallowed hard and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Thank you” she croaked at the doctor who was looking at her with sad eyes. She sank into one of those hospital waiting chairs and held her head in her hands. Paul stood, staring while she sat, crying.
6 MONTHS AGO
Mariam and Paul walked hand in hand into the shelter for motherless babies. Her Psychiatrist while treating her for post traumatic stress disorder had told her that adopting a baby to fill the gap would help with her depression and loneliness. So she’d informed Paul and they’d come to this shelter to adopt a new child to call their own. Immediately they saw him, they knew he was the one. Paul and Mariam walked out of the home with a brand new bundle in their arms. His name, Jeffery .
1 YEAR AGO
Mariam was glowing. She had only a few months to go before giving birth to her first baby. She had been married for only 1 year when she became pregnant. The news was received well as family members described their union as now ‘fruitful’. Being only two months away from delivery, her mother had arrived at their home for ‘Omugwo’. She smiled to herself as she turned over a page of her favorite novel.
Suddenly she she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen and her vision became blurry. “Paul!” She yelled before she blacked out.
When she opened her eyes, she was in a strange bed and her gynaecologist hovered. He smiled sadly and said “I see you’re awake”. She didn’t reply but put her hands to her stomach. She knew immediately that her baby was not there.
“Where’s my baby? “ she croaked
He placed a hand gently on her hair
“I’m sorry. We did everything we could”.
A story for my daughter
The wedding picture hung on the wall of our well-furnished living room always bring me the fresh memory of our wedding day. It was IfeDayo ’08, he’s Temidayo and I’m Ifeoluwa. I had thought that the compatibility of our names would automatically guarantee that of the union, but I was wrong. I realised I married the wrong man on our wedding night.
I met Temidayo during my undergraduate days, he was working then. Things happened so fast, and we got married a few months after my service year. The courtship was about 2 years – I thought I knew everything about him, another wrong assumption. He came from a wealthy background, so money was not a challenge. Our wedding was done in a grand style, guests still tell the story. Unfortunately, the marriage itself was dissolved on the wedding day.
I received the first slap on my face from Dayo on our wedding night. There was a little argument on what we would order for dinner – we had lodged in a five star hotel for our honeymoon. He gave me a resounding slap that sent chills down my spine. This was a man that never shouted on me during courtship. He made realize outrightly then that he’s now the husband and he has the final say. He reiterated that I must never question his authority. The remaining part of the one-week honeymoon was spent in tears, as memories of warnings against the marriage flooded my mind. My mother tried talking me out of the relationship, but I was adamant. I thought money answers all things, what a costly assumption!
I have spent five years in his house, and as you can foretell, they’ve been years of pains and regrets. I have two kids for me, while he has several others outside our marriage – ‘my marriage’ should be the best term. I have no option than to keep enduring and praying for a change. Divorce is no option for me. I keep hope alive by training my children. I would surely have a story to tell my daughter.