Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Fugue - Short Story by Thelma Nwogbo

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She woke up with a start. Where was she? How long had she been this way? She didn't know.
No one could tell her. It was dark outside. Where was Mark?

He should be home by now. They had fellowship that evening, she was to lead the choir, Mark was to do the Bible readings. Where was Mark?

Lazily she dragged her lithe body off the bed, she was parched, her head hurt. Some aspirin and warm water would do the trick. Walking to the kitchen she passed the guest room. Music. There was slow music playing. How come? They lived alone, Mark wasn't home. Where was Mark?

On tiptoes she walked to the door and took a peek. The beating of her heart was like battle drums. Mark laid on the bed, with him was Maggy, her younger sister. Why were they in bed together? And why were they both so still with eyes cast up?

She made to grab the door handle and it was then she saw it; her slender hands were covered in blood! In shock she dropped the knife she didn't know she had been holding.
                                                                 The End.

Read more of Thelma Nwogbo at her blog -

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