Creative Writing Group: Featured Entries- Blessed Abraham Drills

Blessed Abraham hosted this prose in the CFW writing group, here are the instructions: Take a close look at the picture, feel it, now live in it.

Write a 50 word story purely about the particular scene. Describe the scene, make us live in it. Just 50 words.

Employ everything; sound, color, feel.

Let’s go!

entries in creative writing group, drill

This list features the anthology of exceptional entries

Mbanefo Chibuike

Sixth night, when the moon watched over us; before darkness bleached our eyes, our fathers had fought to the last resisting the white man’s guns. Once his guns finally broke our fathers; half sunk, we mourned at the feet of fresh graves. The owl cried – the land is filled with spirits.

Luci Fer

Darkness.

Whoossshhh. The moon moved out of the shadows. The Crow stood quietly on the tombstone. Eyes darting back and forth. At a distance, a church bell chimed.

An hour past midnight. Anytime now.

Creak… creak…creak

The chants got louder. The fire crackled. A bony hand popped up.

Darkness again.

Ifemeni Christian Derrick White

Dead Skeleton

The night creeps under the moistened filthy brown skins buried in the graveyard. Our souls, our fights, the 99warlords, all died fighting for freedom. We all died and ended up being darkness’ meal.

Olanrewaju Mobolaji

Darkest Night
In the dream, she watched with dark fascination as the moon cast a weird shadow over the standing tombstone and the Crow stood still as if waiting… The cover moves slowly but surely and the bony body rose out of the ground.

Duru Chinenye Lilian

The owl screeched. He winced in pain as a pine tore through his shirt and cut him. The cloud, dark and hideous threatened his sight. Fumbling still, he retrieved the phone, dialed the number, ‘The job’s done. I expect my balance. NOW!’ He nearly screamed but held back- remembering where he is. Graveyards always gave him the chill.

Nande Tersoo

It felt like always. Being in the company of heroes was his making, a veteran. Yet all the bravery his medal symbolized seemed like an echo in this solitude! The hooting of the owl forced him out of his reverie. The moonlight shone just like the day of victory except for the graves, his grief was born!

Thekkman Oke

‘We shouldn’t be here’ Nimo whispers
‘Be cool, it’s just a dare’ I say
With bated breaths, we walk amongst the graves basking in the moonlight.
A voice suddenly rings. ‘ begone!!!’.

Luqman Isa Morrison 

Aro, the ghost messenger, sits screeching on the tombstone, a thousand-year-old midnight routine. Tonight, however, no ghost answers it’s call. As the full moon emerges and mist envelopes the cemetery, A cold muddy hand grips it’s feet and before it could wonder how a corpse can touch a ghost it grinds in an icy mouth.

Nimo breaks into a wild run as I claw at the cold hands sinking

Iniobong Umana

The coming of dawn dispels darkness.
Dawn reveals God’s greatest light.
Darkness is for a moment!
The sun blurs the light of the moon to show hidden things at dawn to us.
Man, O man; beware of the burst of the sun at dawn.

Oyelami Deji  ENSCONCE IN PURE ARCHTERURAL SPACE IN THE HEAVENLY COLOR OF BLACK AND WHITE, HERE IS THE WONDER TOUCH OF THE CREATOR FOR MERE MORTALS TO FEEL THE ESSENCE AND RADIATES THE FACT OF OUR BEING.
COLOR DEPICTS LIFE VIBRANCY AND EXISTENCE OF US MORTALS IN THE WORLD, I SALUTE THE COSMOS MACHINATOR.
It brings awareness to our detritus.into my innards.

Charles Kadib

My Heart Bleeds

The night is the best part of his day. It falls bleak as always. Light flees and life flees with it. There is nothing left but darkness, that stuffy blanket of gloom. The shocking whisper of an ill-omened bird, the desperation of ghosts, now passengers in what was once home…

Adejumoke Okunola Omobayo

On a dark stormy night, cloudy and cold. The tombstones sitting quietly waiting with rotting bodies in their belly. The Crow skips from tombstone to tombstone then perches on one to sing. I watch it awhile then walk away from the deadness of it all.

Misan Ogbe

She liked death. It was a morbid fascination, she knew. But it never tainted her love for the putrid scent of decaying flesh, the rattling of dry bones rolling in their graves. Tonight she will sit, on a moss-covered tombstone, watching the night slowly devour the milky moon, relishing the darkness, the finality of death. After all, it seemed that she and death were cut from the same cloth.

Jermaine A. Wall The sun is bright no more. The Phoenix fire withers just as Cinderella at midnight. Clear skies become chemically trailed while life dies in the atmosphere of beautiful darkness. The sound of frozen dew crunching against every footstep of unseen souls that walk amongst the mist create fear.

Nathaniel Osaghae

your flimsy love turned into solid hate, studded now my heart lies cold like a studded estate, where love is buried, the stench of hate wrapped in the moon of love made to illuminate my broken heart left the whistling of the night bird to sing a dirge for love

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COMMENTS (1)

  • Lois Chinwe

    Hush!
    The moon gestures the crow as it watched from its curtains of clouds.
    He slipped back, the green grass welcoming as the wind came suddenly, brushing satisfaction across his face. Bouncing leaves across the yard, clapping maybe!
    Vergence served chilled. For an eye for an eye, a soul for a soul.

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