Wednesday, November 9, 2016

VOTE 'SNUFFBOX' For Etisalat Flash-Fiction Prize!

Hello guys, I entered for the Etisalat flash fiction and my story was approved. Please click on this link to vote. Highest number of votes wins. God bless you as you do so.
How to vote:
1. Copy and paste the link in any browser of your choice apart from opera mini
2. The story SNUFFBOX by OKPARA EMEKA would open on your screen. Look for the like icon directly above the share icon and click one. The current number would change if successful
3. Share the above link and encourage your friends to like. Remember, the highest number of likes wins.
NB: If you encounter security issues, kindly click advance to bypass. If you're required to login to your Facebook account, please do.

read the story below

Clifford was confused; and because he hated being confused, he was angry with himself. How could he have misplaced it?
He remembered vividly: upon arrival to the farm, he’d sat at the foot of the palm tree and produced it from the right pocket of his white shorts, which had turned different shades of brown from the last three farming seasons. He’d poured a portion from it into his left palm from where he fed his nostrils generously with the tobacco powder – scooped with his bronzed right thumbnail – in preparation for the day’s job…
He walked to the foot of the palm tree – the exact spot he last used it – but there was no sign of it. He moved round the palm tree in a frenzy squeezing the pockets of his shorts simultaneously. It wasn’t there.
He scanned through the many mounds of earth he’d just made – for yam planting – on the plot of land, but he still couldn’t find it.
“Hian!” he let out in frustration, “what is this? Where is my snuffbox, bikonu?”
He was sweating profusely under the blazing Enugu sun.
The corner of his eyes caught a stupid fowl scattering a mound in search of insects at one end of the farm. For want of a murder weapon, he automatically grabbed his legendary hoe, lunged after the foul, and fell pitiably in his tracks. The startled foul cried loudly and fled.
Clifford’s fury soared as though a nut loosened in his brain, and he began to destroy the beautiful mounds he’d made, in search of his snuffbox. Before he could stop himself, half of them were levelled.
He sat down in resignation on tilled earth; the white snuffbox was right there staring back at him from a leave-scar on the palm tree!

1 comment:

  1. Pls my good pple help a single mother. I'm able to kick start my hair training after selling off my valuables. Pls I'm begging you for anything to sustain me and my daughter during the period of learning, nothing is too small. God bless u all. Esther Orhoro. GTB 0013079434


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