Abigail Airuedomwinya

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2019

Stories (20)

20 Stories

22294 karma pts

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“The art of growing” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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 laughte...

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“Selcouth” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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 mos...

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“Koffee ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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 wh...

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“Flowers in gravity” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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...

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“Too close for comfort ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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 her...

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“So it ends this way” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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 whi...

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“THIS IS THE DAY WE DIE” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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...

192 comments 192 WINNER 🏆

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“Nothingness” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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 becau...

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“episode six” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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...

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“Blue” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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...

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“hope you don't mind” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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 ...

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“two women ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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 leade...

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“The Art of Staying Awake” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

"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 t...

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“It is what it is” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

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 wan...

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“Adieu” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

I find out, quite early, that scrubbing spilled wine off the carpet is a waste of time. I find this out not by myself but from the mouth of Olive. She's still talking, carefully putting away the disposable cups and plates in a bag."They don't know what it feels like," she says. She's been repeating the same line whenever her hands touch a cup or a leftover pizza. It's somehow become an anthem for cleaning and I have since come to appreciate the way her lips signal words to come out, to tear the silence away.I am k...

47 comments 47 SHORTLIST ⭐️

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Author bio

Hopefully, when we meet, I'll tell you about the stories I adore and you'll tell me about the idea burning in your head. And we'll both be glad we didn't give up. I hope you don't stop writing! I am a music freak and judge at Reedsy Prompts. I'm a writer... A Netflix fan Lover of sad, emotional stories or stories with strong characters. An introvert. A liar. Happiness will find us. abbywrites76@gmail.com (If you want to send a message, don't hesitate!)

Winning 1 story 🏆

Contest #103

THIS IS THE DAY WE DIE – read story

Shortlisted 5 stories ⭐️

Contest #93

Adieu – read story

Contest #78

the writer's design – read story

Contest #62

The Eight-year Cycle – read story

Contest #31

The Practice of Half Memories – read story

Contest #30

Like I'm Tired – read story