Abigail Airuedomwinya

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2019

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https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/author/abigail-airuedomwinya/
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47 stories

“Diary: Halfway” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

October 21,1:58amThis is perhaps going to sound crazy. Like crazy with extra toppings. But when I am sixty and weary and halfway through my third divorce, I want to look back at this point in time and chuckle. I am writing this more because I want to read it again so that it gets stuck in my head when I am seventy and tired and waiting for my daughter to call.So here it is:I am in love with the boy from the other street. He is the boy who slept late at night on a Monday, scared to look out the window because he...

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“Common Ground ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

April 2Dear diary,Hey, this is me. Not the typical kind of awkward teen with glasses on her face. Just me.Am I getting this all wrong? I hope not. This is my first time writing and it appears I'm already going about it all wrong. Let me start again.Hey, this is me. Frances Harrold. I am twenty years old, a college student and a part-time worker for an art lover. We work at her apartment. She works, painting out of date stuff while I prepare dinner and clean the house. Last week, while cleaning her house, I foun...

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“Black Lemonade” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

I laugh even though it's not funny; giggling as good children run past me with delight. They are excited in the way good children who will grow up to yell at their parents are. At least that's what I think. And it's really funny the way the stories almost nearly end in hospital beds or churches with stained glasses.The children are happy in a kind of contagious way, hair picking up the dusty air. One wears the kind of sweater I mostly forget I own. I see it in the back of my closet and I ask myself questions that sink my heart. I n...

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“Origami” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

She said she wanted, no, needed to be happy and be free. She could define her impeccably subtle need as something carved out of life and the will to live and hopefully, there was nothing to pull it away. She was life itself, the very meaning of calculating unity and yet there was something off about her on that very day.For one she forgot to smile. Her number one rule as always was to smile or laugh depending on one's actual mood but never, ever cry or frown. But on Friday, August 1966 Annabelle did not smile or laugh. ...

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“Stolen Lights” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

"I could tell she was happy, you know?""How? You know her, George, she isn't so easy to read. Not like the rest of us."The laptop stares back at you, half-aware that you are nibbling at your lower lip. You reach over for a glass of milk but hate the warm feeling as it reminds you of Sundays and open remarks about her dress and her weight. You get up from your chair and take your bottle of Jack Daniels from the top shelf in the kitchen; behind the steel plates and can of salt. You walk back to your chair. You see a new messag...

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“Oil Stains Like Rainbow ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Reece tapped into the keys of his computer, watching as the rain fell past his windows. It sounded more like a thousand applause reverberate in his head but as insane as that actually sounded, it was quite true. He could still smell the suffocating stench of betrayal but it wasn't making him nauseous, thank God, and he wasn't crying anymore. He watched the slow drip of the rain and he smiled at himself. Looking back now he seemed like a new person, reborn with a kind of urgency that it made it difficult to become anything else.He t...

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“To Be Nothing But Colors” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

I still think, after all these weeks of the quiet survey, your lawyer should have had the least bit decency to tell the entire family that the old farmhouse, along with the saloon with the peeling paint was going to his new lover as instructed by your overly optimistic father. He should have held his files under the crook of an elbow as he told all of you that your father had left nothing except the house you all lived in now. He should have batted an eyelid as he said the words so that you could have enough time to distrust the verdict.

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“Deer In The Headlights ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

I saw him again in the night. I was holding a glass of water and talking to the stars in the night sky when I saw him. Or he came before me. I did not see the color of his hair or the look in his eyes but I could feel the hidden pain in-between the soaked lines. He looked hidden in the way he bent his back and turned his face away at each turn. I did not know what to say to him to ease the pain or to clarify matters as to why he was here in my home in the middle of the night, listening to a half-drunk man talking to the stars.Soon ...

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“ Parts Of Someone Else ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

We died before she pronounced us dead. At first, we thought she was joking in the way she clenched her fists and laughed at the soft sound of his snores. But soon we accepted our gloomy fates for she was our creator and we were her subjects. She wrote uncertain words about flowers and fluorescent lights and told us about Joshua.She created us, first as lovers, then as friends, and kept us separated in different layers of her books because she couldn't find enough happiness to hold her down. She was inexplicably free even though she...

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“The Practice of Half Memories” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

She puts a pot on the stove and watches as the flames burn their orange and blue flames through it. She has a half-empty cup of tea beside the kitchen table. Tea, already cold and tasteless as it struggles being caged in the unwashed cup. She puts it in her lips again and lets the brown liquid slip into her sore throat. The flames keep flaring up as the empty pot sits calmly on it. She stares at the smoke already rising up from the pot. In her mind, she tells herself she isn't ready to do this yet and then she pours water into...

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“Man and Black Cats” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

I went to see him again with a box of chocolates and flowers. He was seated on a low stool while his cat clung to him. There seemed to be a foul smell around the little apartment but then again, I couldn't worry about trivial matters such as these. My job was simple, really. All I had to do, as told by Miss. Sara was to help with Mr. Dan's exercises and bring in fresh flowers every day. Sometimes when I stare at Dan's youngest daughter, I try to picture a time in her young life wherein she had been truly happy. And yet I still can't.&nbsp...

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“Like I'm Tired” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

Some man in blue oversized coat starts to laugh as he spins another horrendous tale about something we all will probably forget before the night shift. He is sitting on a stool by a careless couple, holding a glass of foamy beer in one hand and laughing. The drunken men are all listening to his tales of a far off country with no name - only that the women are pretty- and about the necklace on his pudgy neck.I am listening too because he amuses me in a kind of desolate way. I know he is lying and he knows it too but we all sit or st...

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“Our Version Of Friendship” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

We started out just fine:We were two geeky friends with freckles on our cheeks. You lived in a house that forever smelt of sunshine and scurrying feet. You used to say you wanted a cat you could call Roxy and I think I used to find it funny. Your mother worked as a cleaner for all those rich fancy workers so her hands were always so rough. But she was a good mother, you said so yourself.I came from a home where father was always traveling and my mother was too religious. She was always at the church with the...

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“Small and Big” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

You grew up asking questions that no one actually answered. It started with your mother when you were six. You asked her about father and how he never showed up for any of your birthdays except buying expensive gifts and your mother shrugged and told you, later, that your father was a good man who loved you. As though you needed some reassurance.Then at ten, you came home with bruises and tears in your eyes. She was painting her nails to a fine shade of pink when you walked in and you knelt by her feet and told her to tell you who ...

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“Operation Crocodile Tears” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

"I don't think love is real anymore." She says after a while of total silence. Her bald head sparkles as the sun hits its mark and her hands shake so much it begins to freeze."What do you mean?" Her friend asks. He is standing behind her, watching as the sea weaves it's way back to land. He knows little of the sea, like why it comes forth and then drags back to its own climax. He doesn't know, as all humans do, why we really are humans. He thinks about it sometimes, wonders why his best friend will die somehow. Somehow.She s...

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Author bio

I am a book lover; yeah I am. I read books but what I do love most are sad ones. The ones that break your heart and piece them back. I especially want to get to know a lot of you by your comments and maybe form a bond. Cheers to all book lovers!!