Abigail Airuedomwinya

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2019

Stories (14)

14 Stories

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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...

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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...

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“Aesthetics ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

It didn't feel right at first to join him in the dining hall but as Elaine got dressed, she forgot right from wrong. Outside the cottage, the rain danced and made fast strokes against the windows. Elaine tiptoed closer and placed her forehead against the glass. With her tongue sticking out, Elaine felt the coldness of the glass and almost wanted to run away.  For one, Elaine did not know the man who'd ask...

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“the writer's design” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

I wrote a story about shoelaces and city skylines where the protagonist loved a boy and the boy died. None of that was important or rightly belonged in my heart but I titled it Oblivion and asked my sister to read. There was a fear in my heart as she took the book to read. I was afraid, as most writers would, of how she would perceive the story. Would she understand the gravity of the story or the dilemma which I'd creat...

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“The Eight-year Cycle ” by Abigail Airuedomwinya

"Pa, let me make your tea." He looks at her as she weaves her hands into her hair. He likes how she reminds him of snowfalls. He doesn't know who she is except that in eight years, the police would find her in her kitchen, an empty packet of cigarettes beside her bloodied form. He's seen that before and it doesn't scare him anymore."Of course. Add a lot of milk." He tells her."But..." She stops herself and begins to walk away."What?" He asks.The morning is purple as if someone has drowned...

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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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“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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Author bio

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

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Contest #103
THIS IS THE DAY WE DIE – read story