A Collection of Short Stories
Tales-from-the-Other-Side-2015 Tales-from-the-Other-Side-2015
TJ Benson Pretty Bird rang out in the still darkness, one she had first misunderstood to be a sign of danger. Then it had multiplied into a thousand joyous voices. Another nurse had stumbled into the foxhole, screaming hysterically, before passing out in her arms. She had laid the body down, then curled up in a foetal position on the ground and stared at the night sky till morning. That was the morning they brought him in. By the end of the first month of their cohabitation he was already halfway into preparations for their disconnect; he had found some salt, large pieces of scrap metal and a plastic bowl with which to perform electrolysis, that would generate electricity for them to cook with or just light up the place. He converted the latrine into a kitchen and when he discovered moisture on the walls of an abandoned behind the hut, he expanded the bottom of the well, using a large piece of blunt scrap metal as a spade, and planted the seeds he had gathered on his path of war around the world. Qat shrub from Yemen. Hazel nuts from America. She was terrified when he spilled them out of his pocket; she could not handle the unpredictable. Spontaneity used to be exciting, until the machines came hurtling out of the sky. He apologised for keeping his seeds a secret from her. He could understand her fear; the war had left everyone on the edge. She too came to understand this his way of doing things. As the weeks to deactivation drew nearer, the more desperate whatever it was they shared became. Then he brought up the ridiculous idea of marriage. She didn’t see the point of an apocalyptic union. She wanted them to move into a proper compound, one that had other people. He preferred the solitude. He talked too much, she said, for someone who cherished solitude. She was too cold, he said, for someone who cherished the company of others. For a moment, neither one spoke. He got the sensation of treading thin ice. Then she threw her head back and laughed. He chuckled a little, breaking sweat all over. He walked close to her 77
Pretty Bird TJ Benson to watch the wonder of a woman’s laugh. It was out of place in their world, this laughter. She followed him down the well that afternoon to see the growing plants. Every plant had germinated, the dwarf mango already producing fruits that would be ripe by the week of deactivation. The yam tendrils snaked up the well-wall, reaching for sunlight, while the peppers and tomatoes glowed a bright red. She fondled the leaves with the tips of her finger and smiled at him, then plucked a tomato and fed it to him. “I know you won’t taste it and it won’t do anything in your body,” she said when he resisted. “Just feel the flesh on your tongue.” That night for the first time, she showed him the rest of her flesh, after they both said a quick prayer to God, just in case he was still there. The next morning, she woke up to find him with a sharpened blade in his hand, poised to strike a bird perched at the mouth of the well. He wasn’t even wearing his clothes. She came from behind and embraced his taut body, truly happy. She felt his muscles tense, then relax. “Do you even know what day it is? Leave the bird alone.” “But it’s a vulture,” he said without looking back. “We can have it for dinner. You know how rare meat is.” “It’s a pretty bird,” she said, turning him to her. The look on her face melted him. “For you,” he said and walked to the door. She laughed, picking up his jacket from the ground. A black box the size of a palm, with a face of glass fell out from one of the pockets. He knew the rules. No human was allowed to use any electronic device. The machines had found them easy to hack and with mobile phones, televisions, personal computers and home appliances, they had wiped out millions. 78 Tales from the Other Side
- Page 36 and 37: Cracks Sibbyl Whyte
- Page 38 and 39: Sibbyl Whyte Cracks customary famil
- Page 40: Sibbyl Whyte Cracks baby-snake and
- Page 43 and 44: Double Promotion Shittu Fowora Spre
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- Page 47 and 48: Double Promotion Shittu Fowora week
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- Page 52 and 53: Fourteen Years Bankole Banjo
- Page 54 and 55: Bankole Banjo Fourteen Years speak
- Page 56 and 57: Bankole Banjo Fourteen Years But he
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- Page 68 and 69: Open Your Eyes Su’eddie Agema
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- Page 75 and 76: Passenger 13E Aideyan Daniel
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- Page 84 and 85: TJ Benson Pretty Bird The war had j
- Page 88 and 89: TJ Benson Pretty Bird She pushed as
- Page 91 and 92: Sour Kisses Jennifer Emelife
- Page 93 and 94: Sour Kisses Jennifer Chinenye Emeli
- Page 95 and 96: Sour Kisses Jennifer Chinenye Emeli
- Page 98 and 99: The Indomie Man Michael Ogah
- Page 100 and 101: Michael Ogah The Indomie Man with m
- Page 102 and 103: Michael Ogah The Indomie Man “I
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- Page 107 and 108: Wanted: For fear Study Raymond Elen
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- Page 130 and 131: to the ‘writer’s block’ myth.
- Page 133 and 134: This anthology is a product of a th
TJ Benson<br />
Pretty Bird<br />
rang out in the still darkness, one she had first misunderstood to be a sign <strong>of</strong> danger. Then it<br />
had multiplied into a thousand joyous voices. Another nurse had stumbled into the foxhole,<br />
screaming hysterically, before passing out in her arms. She had laid the body down, then<br />
curled up in a foetal position on the ground and stared at the night sky till morning. That was<br />
the morning they brought him in.<br />
By the end <strong>of</strong> the first month <strong>of</strong> their cohabitation he was already halfway into preparations for<br />
their disconnect; he had found some salt, large pieces <strong>of</strong> scrap metal and a plastic bowl with<br />
which to perform electrolysis, that would generate electricity for them to cook with or just light<br />
up the place. He converted the latrine into a kitchen and when he discovered moisture on<br />
the walls <strong>of</strong> an abandoned behind the hut, he expanded the bottom <strong>of</strong> the well, using a large<br />
piece <strong>of</strong> blunt scrap metal as a spade, and planted the seeds he had gathered on his path<br />
<strong>of</strong> war around the world. Qat shrub from Yemen. Hazel nuts from America. She was terrified<br />
when he spilled them out <strong>of</strong> his pocket; she could not handle the unpredictable. Spontaneity<br />
used to be exciting, until the machines came hurtling out <strong>of</strong> the sky. He apologised for keeping<br />
his seeds a secret from her. He could understand her fear; the war had left everyone on the<br />
edge. She too came to understand this his way <strong>of</strong> doing things.<br />
As the weeks to deactivation drew nearer, the more desperate whatever it was they shared<br />
became. Then he brought up the ridiculous idea <strong>of</strong> marriage. She didn’t see the point <strong>of</strong> an<br />
apocalyptic union. She wanted them to move into a proper compound, one that had other<br />
people. He preferred the solitude. He talked too much, she said, for someone who cherished<br />
solitude. She was too cold, he said, for someone who cherished the company <strong>of</strong> others. For<br />
a moment, neither one spoke. He got the sensation <strong>of</strong> treading thin ice. Then she threw her<br />
head back and laughed. He chuckled a little, breaking sweat all over. He walked close to her<br />
77