Abigail Airuedomwinya

“The relative weight of friendship” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Someone gunned down Ahmed in an alleyway.   "Give me all your money!"  Ahmed handed him his wallet with shaky hands. He wouldn't look his attacker in the eye because, well, there was a gun. And, the most important: he'd overstayed his visa.  "What's that you're holding?"  Ahmed glanced down at his left hand and noticed he still held the bag in a clenched fist. He choked down an argument and simply passed the bag. The attacker took it, shook it, and licked his lips. Beer. The good kind.  "Turn around," the man ...

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“The art of growing” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #139

Mallot's mother dies in March from cholera and the day after, she comes to class and tells me about her father who lives in a city far away. She doesn't know him that well but she can guess he is fine. As we walk home under the flaming sun, she elbows me and laughs and I think about losing my mother too; how each touch and exhale would cease at that moment. Sometimes I let my mind stray to that thought and how simple it would all be to lose a part of my soul. "Why aren't you crying?" I ask her later when her laughter has dipped low.She ...

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“Selcouth” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #132

SELCOUTH He said he was from France but there were a lot of French words he couldn’t quite pronounce. Take for example, on his first visit to the fancy restaurant down the street, he asked for le yaourt and cringed when the waitress frowned. He asked for tea instead, his voice low to the point of a whisper. To describe him would be to momentarily describe the afterlife: chimerical and dull. He had the most unremarkable face: a beard too rough to touch; lips, small and pink; green eyes like the lake Carezza and messy brown hair.  He ...

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“Koffee ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #120

CW: transphobiaWell, it turns out that I am hyper-fixated on background noises and want to feel them touching my skin and prickling my ears. I must have caught on to that thought or that realization while stuck in the rain one day but it does feel certain in a kind of morbid way. And, of course, I’d hate to admit that there has been a want in my heart for quite some time now; a want for something appealing like stranger’s hushed conversations on Friday nights. In admitting that thought, I become a vulnerable child and who’s to say vulnerabil...

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“Flowers in gravity” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #116

I was sixteen when I had my first boyfriend although boyfriend isn't quite the right word. We were like flies, nothing, wearing ourselves thin with cigarettes and stronger drugs and sex and broken record players. His name was Amac. He was one of those foreigner boys who fidgeted with their hairs when we went out for school excursions; those boys who were strong and yet so soft, so cowardly. Still, I loved him. Amac and I barely talked but when we did, it was mostly about his friends' skydiving and how much he too wanted that. He said we did ...

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“Too close for comfort ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #110

Just the first morning after he told her, "We have plenty of time," Suzan Mayweather adorned herself with a low hanging top and made her way across a wide expanse of land, unaccompanied. She did not take her umbrella or her hat or the sample sweater that usually smelt of patchouli. At some time, the cold would settle on her skin and drag her down the grass, screaming in her head. She was not to worry herself with the trivial knowledge that it was winter or maybe near winter and she could die from insomnia. What was important was that...

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“So it ends this way” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #107

It was midday when the police came to take Paul away. He did not fight them off or argue but he coiled his feet in the grass when I perched around the door. Our eyes met and he smiled, fleetingly. His smile was static, pressed against his face like an afterthought. It felt as though he wanted a show like the way curtains opened and closed. His eyes with their wicked glint were saying he would be back. For a short while, I broke my heart to believe the words he had so graciously allowed his eyes to whisper but after a while, I stopped believi...

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“THIS IS THE DAY WE DIE” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

🏆 Winner of Contest #103

THIS IS THE DAY WE DIEDepression sounded like a half-witted song, one that couldn’t be sung at home or school or the church. It was something so ephemeral that it seemed to have lost its meaning. It was unlikely that one of the children would somehow become infected with the virus. Life with the Bishop was simple: mornings with prayers and a plate of fried bananas; afternoons with Jesus and rosaries and seashells; evenings with stories and hymns. There was no way a child living with Bishop would end up being contaminated with the virus of de...

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“Nothingness” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #102

True love is a myth and I’ll tell you why: He called me at 2 am to ask if I could come over. He was drunk or at least I thought he was. I cradled the phone in my hands as he pleaded, hearing as his sloppy words pooled at my feet. The phone was cold against my ears, almost feeling like a prison and an addiction at the same time. He told me he would be leaving for Portland in a few days and that he wanted me to stop him. I loved him, had never stopped loving him. So I agreed. It was 2 in the morning but I agreed because I wanted to see hi...

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“episode six” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #101

A man has been murdered and we have a killer on the loose. The security footage from the magazine store is a little grainy but we see the man before he was murdered. We see how carefully he walks down the aisle, tracing his fingers along the rows. We see how his fingers look like claws, scratching the wooden aisle like a witch’s fingers. For a minute, he pauses and he looks over his shoulders. There is a woman behind him but she’s wearing a hoodie so we can’t see her face. The man turns back to the magazine he’d been checking out and the ...

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“Blue” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #101

I think there is a reason my father left us. No, I do not seek to justify his leaving. I think it was immature but I also think he left because he had seen what I had to offer and it was not good enough. I don’t suppose it was ever about mother and how she stopped going to her therapy sessions only to end up filthy drunk on the couch. I think he snapped the day I destroyed a bird’s nest. It was never quite the sure thing. I think I put the bird out of his misery but my father thought otherwise. He thought it was the beginning of a selfish li...

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“hope you don't mind” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #99

It is very early in the morning when Bush comes to wake me up."Get up quickly," he says, his voice barely a whisper. His eyes dart restlessly like he's afraid of the lemon-colored light filtering through the windows. "We've got a body."I sit up straight. Bush knows things but for the first time, I see fear and pain in his eyes. "Another foreigner?" I ask setting my feet on the floor. The ground is cold. My feet are wet. It's hardly comforting to think about. But still, the question drags in the silence. Is it a foreigner or not? A week ...

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“two women ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #97

The woman grunted and folded her hands on her laps. Then, she leaned in and she gave her piece of advice. "On the subject of love matters, stay away. No one of those men is good." The other woman smiled and shook her head. "I don't think so, Nora." Nora snorted and raised her hands. The group leader was still talking but Nora would not drop her hands. It was against the rules to talk when the leader was still by the window giving her speech but they knew Nora and they knew she would not give up. "Nora?" the leader closed her eyes for a m...

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“The Art of Staying Awake” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #96

"I'm going to send someone over," the voice is awfully calm, leaning towards treachery and meekness. He waits, silently for her small voice to slice through but she remains quiet. This, he believes, is called acceptance. "Just treat him like you would treat me, please."She presses the phone against her ears until she can feel the coldness of it. That way, she hopes she can hear his hesitation. When she hears nothing, she looks around at her small apartment and sighs. She can always tell him no, she knows, but she wants to please him. She und...

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“It is what it is” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Submitted to Contest #94

After the fire had gone down and the rain had become nothing but a drizzle, Ria said to him, "you should know me by now."He did not look at her but he knew she was smiling. "You're right. I should."And yet, here he was, straddled to a chair, knowing he would die and she would kill him. And perhaps he'd known all along that the fire in his eyes had burnt with a delicate tenderness for a woman who did not love him. By his feet, her cat lay curled up. He wanted to stroke the furry coat but she did not want to take any chances. "Tell m...

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