September marked the end of the holiday. It marked the end of waking up to
It was a cool evening; the cloud was so moody that you wondered whether it
The sharp ringing of the bell jarred Chiamaka’s thoughts, snapping her back to reality even
Kirikiri prison. The popular crime hub of Lagos, with its usual stale smell of rust,
Mercy had never been in such a sterile environment all her life. The unpainted walls
Mother died when I was four. All I can remember of her is the smile
It happened again during the late-night dinner. Hungry fingers dipped the plate as my mother
The Muse Board is proud to celebrate it’s immediate past editor, Chetachi Igbokwe, who has
The dogs can’t take pictures, so I quickly ask: “Is there anyone in the house, ma’am? I want pictures taken.” She laughs and gets up. “No, she says. But I can help you. No one can live with me. I am a mad woman. She returns with her phone and says, “Let’s take a picture. What do you call it? Selfie?”
I laugh and say, “Yes, selfie!”
I stretch out on my bed, a bed that was his that semester. Funny how life plays us farther than we can endure. I ended up getting this bed space this semester of my second year. Every night I lay face up and cry. I ponder on why he did it and I feel like the worst person that could ever be. Why was I so blind to see that his depression had eaten so much into him?