All posts by Mee

32 yr old male, started writing in 2012 for the 1st time. Hoping to enter as many competitions in 2013 and get my writing out there. Who knows what could happen, if I try

True Love…… Well Sort Of – Part 2

Okeke, the Mother of Obanjes and the new wife Dewdrops had always marveled Okeke. He believed his forefather’s spirits lived in them, protecting him from the evil that seemed to follow him. But not today, today he felt they had abandoned him. He couldn’t believe he was making this journey again. The drums of the … Continue reading True Love…… Well Sort Of – Part 2

TRUE LOVE……. well sort of

TRUE LOVE……. well sort of

Kelechi, The White Woman and Emeka the Village Idiot Kelechi refused to be part of the party that betrayed the beliefs of his homeland. How could he, a titled elder, be turned around by such sacrilege? That there was another God. One that was stronger and greater than Amadioha. Never! Never! Not in his lifetime … Continue reading TRUE LOVE……. well sort of

Fatima’s Decisions

Fatima’s Decisions

Fatima was eight when she decided it would never happen to her again: She didn’t notice when he sat beside her, didn’t see him until his hand touched between her legs. She had been engrossed in her favourite book, a book she had read repeatedly, “The Joys of Motherhood by Ebuchi Emecheta.” The fact she … Continue reading Fatima’s Decisions

The Stolen Heart

‘He is the one, he is the one, he can’t leave me not like her, not like the woman that calls herself my mother. He loves me, I’m his princess, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t leave me. …………………………… After being single for years, she had finally met her dream man. He was just the … Continue reading The Stolen Heart

One Sunday Morning

Melinda loved Sunday mornings, not because it was a sacred day or because it was God’s command to keep it holy. She loved Sundays because that was the day she got to see Pastor Dave. She was in love with him even though he was married both to God and to the woman he had … Continue reading One Sunday Morning

He that invades the house ………..

My Father once told me a story about a herbalist that had a spare parts shop in the middle of the market square, shadowed underneath the big Iroko tree. In the crime ridden Nkwo market, his shop was the only one missing the thick metal criss-cross bars and Yale padlocks that decorated the others. In … Continue reading He that invades the house ………..