Tag Archives: short story



This assignment here is to write a story that is centred around an object. Any object. 


You never lock your wardrobe door, hell, you don’t even close the damn thing. One of the hinges is coming loose so there is now a method to closing the door- lift gently, swing slowly from right to left, wait for the click, release- but this is not why you won’t close it. You want to see that which hangs from the yellow plastic hanger in the corner when you lie on the bed; that which has hung limply there since February 18, 2008. You never forget the date you hung it there; you remember it, mark it more religiously than your birthday or the day that wretch of a husband did you the favour of dying in his own vomit- the rumours don’t bother you- that his many drinks were poisoned by the women from the Madam Kosoko’s brothel to teach men who like to ‘fuck and run’ a lesson. Though you would never say it, you thought it was a brilliant thing those women did, for you did not know how much more you could take- the sermons from your mother and his mother on how a good Christian Nigerian women never brings shame by leaving. But this day in February is more important- it is real date of your emancipation.

Read the rest of this entry