Fiction Author: Omobola Osamor

Voyeur

The square lattice lights up. I dart off my bed to the window, parallel and opposite hers, cloaked in darkness. She comes into view and stands before the window, face and open palms pressed against the transparent glass. Simultaneously shrugging off the rectangular leather cross bag and the oversized grey flannel sweater, head cocked to …

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My Left Hand

Favoring my left hand wasn’t something I thought about. It certainly wasn’t something I did to cause discord between my parents. But it did. Like taking a breath was instinctive, I reached for anything I wanted with my left hand. When I started to doodle on the brown earth, I held the broken twig with …

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