Category: Stories

The Heroine Kokofe

By Ife J. Ibitayo

My short story “The Heroine Kokofe” has been published and narrated in the 833 episode of Escape Pod! This is my first professional publication, and I especially enjoyed writing this story because it sits at the intersection of my two passions–faith and fiction:

Escape Pod 833: The Heroine Kokofe

Story Excerpt

Muhamolu clapped his hands together and said, “We have gathered here today for the Agba of Kokofe Lalarun. If she defeats her demon, she will be a full adult in our community when she returns. If she does not, she will be an outcast forever. It only remains for God’s Ori to provide her target. God’s will be done.

“Ori,” Muhamolu boomed, his voice echoing across the village square, “tell us your will!”

A faint, humanoid emanation appeared in front of the Kwanza’s head. It was the buggy remnants of the spacecraft’s AI, to Kokofe at least. But the villagers bowed as reverently to it as God Himself. Kokofe also sank to her knees. Of all days, today she’d need as many allies as she could get.

“For whom?” Ori said, in a deep, resonant voice. As it flickered in and out, it locked eyes on Muhamolu. The chief fixed his gaze on the dirt in somber respect.

Baba gently pushed Kokofe forward and whispered, “Say your name.”

Kokofe cleared her voice and said with as much confidence as she could muster, “Moyororokokofe Lalarun!”

“Processing,” Ori said, and it vanished for a minute. Kokofe had always wondered what it did when it disappeared. The strange cross-referencing associations it made between the colonists’ names and the colony’s animals was still very much beyond her. It returned and said, “Akata.” A hologram of a humongous hairless canine with savage fangs and the Devil’s eyes glared down at them.

An old woman shrieked, and someone muttered in their native tongue of Yoruhili, “The accursed have no luck.”

“God’s Ori has spoken!” Muhamolu boomed, but there was a quaver in his voice. “His will be done.”

https://open.spotify.com/episode/5Yrq3w1BkSmmaGZ9geXfk5?si=9aa812a50d5b4ee6

Fragile Kiyomi

By Ife J. Ibitayo

My short story “Fragile Kiyomi” has been published in Issue 1, Volume 2 of Free Bundle Magazine. This short story was one of the first pieces I finished and has gone through many iterations. The heart of the story lies in answering this question: Is programed perfection as valuable as messy humanity? A free copy of it and many other wonderful stories can be found by clicking here.

Story Excerpt

The iDoll cashier waved at them. Meiko waved back enthusiastically, almost like they were long-lost relatives. Contrary to what Kiyomi had said, Hottokōrudo was a wonderful place to shop. It had underpriced gems and overpriced trash. You just had to have an eye for which was which.

Shinji spent some time looking through flannel shirts. “Should I get cream or eggshell?” he asked himself. Something jabbed him in the rear. He grimaced and tried to transform it into a grin as he turned around to face Kiyomi. Her arms were overloaded with clothes.

“Can I buy this? What about this? Or, this?” Each skirt or dress she showed him was expensive and provocative, with windows and slits in places no adult, much less a child, should reveal.

“No,” Shinji said.

“To which one?”

“All of them.”

Kiyomi threw the clothes to the ground and stomped off. Shinji was about to follow her when a hand tugged at his sleeve. “Yes, Meiko?” he asked, turning around and smiling down at her.

“Can I get this, Uncle Shinji?” Meiko showed him a bright, polka-dot dress with little flowers on the shoulders. He checked the price tag and smiled wider. “Of course.”

He felt a sharp pain as two objects bounced off his back. He spun around, and Kiyomi was glaring at him. “That’s not fair!” she yelled and sprinted out of the store.

Shinji bent down and picked up the decorative chopsticks. He grinned sheepishly at the other customers who were gawking at him. He ran to the front of the store and asked the cashier, “Can you hold on to these?” She nodded, taking the chopsticks from his hands. Shinji turned to call Meiko, but she had followed him to the front of the store. He asked the cashier, “Can you watch her–it too?”

Precious Junk and Swift Riches

By Ife J. Ibitayo

My short story “Precious Junk and Swift Riches” has been published in issue #4 of tdotSpec’s Speculative North Magazine. I wrote this story to discuss the question: “Can life really go too fast?” A fast-paced life is not free. It’s an exchange many of us make, yet we all too often don’t consider the cost:

The kindle version of this issue is free for the next five days!

Story Excerpt

Time seemed to slow as I jerked the steering wheel to the left, stomped on the brakes, and adjusted my magnetic balancing. Lucky Larry 2 cartwheeled to the side, and I stepped on the gas, more tentatively this time. An opponent veered in front of me. I tried to maneuver around them, but they kept blocking my path.

A section of track in front of us dropped away. I pulsed my magnets and leapt over the gap but right where I was going to land, another wall materialized. The hovercraft in front of me was going to crash into it anyway, but I still mouthed “Sorry,” as I angled my hovercraft upward and pulsed my magnets off their roof. I leapfrogged over the hovercraft and smashed it into the ground in the process.

I was in second place as I looped around a large semicircular curve. As I neared the racer in first, I took the inside corner to inch ahead of them. I glanced to the left and saw the bottom of their hovercraft. Its powerful electromagnets were pointed at my mirror.

“As if!” I said, and as they activated his electromagnets, I rolled toward then and activated mine. I barely rocked in place, but the extra force of my magnets sent them flying off the course.

As I drove down the final straightaway, I relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. I lifted my hand to wipe sweat from my brow, but the track under me abruptly tilted like a seesaw. Because the rest of the track in front of me was level, the abrupt change in orientation flung my hovercraft onto its side.

In the millisecond I had to react, I tried to right the hovercraft with my hand that was still clutching the steering wheel, but it wasn’t enough. The hovercraft continued rolling, and I closed my eyes as the track rushed up to meet me. The roof crunched as it caved in, and I screamed as my hovercraft slid upside down across the track.

Untraditional

By Ife J. Ibitayo

My short story “Untraditional” has been published in issue #81 of Andromeda Spaceways Magazine. This is my first accepted publication. This is a story about identity and in some ways deals with how I’ve struggled with my own:

ASM #81

Story Excerpt

“Just play whatever,” C. Lynxis said. T. Kes plugged his ears with his fingers and winked. Michael plucked a few random notes. Then, a song his mother used to play came to him. It had been years since he had heard that song, but the notes came easily. As he began to pluck the lullaby, his blue wing began to twitch, producing a beautiful accompaniment. He almost stopped playing in surprise, but he managed to keep on going. The song took him back to the days when his mother used to hold him, cradling him in her arms, looking down in his face and cooing.

The memory was sweet, and he didn’t want it to end. But, after a few more minutes, he reached the dying note. He opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them. He wiped away the wetness from his cheeks.

C. Lynxis looked at T. Kes, who looked back at her, and they both looked back at Michael. The silence stretched for at least a minute or two before T. Kes said, “That was okay” just as C. Lynxis said, “You were amazing.” C. Lynxis glared at T. Kes and said, “I think what he meant to say was that was beautiful.”

He glared back at C. Lynxis and said, “I know what I said, and I meant it,” T. Kes got up and stomped into his bedroom, slamming the door.

Michael stared at his palms, not sure what to think. He felt a soft presence on his shoulders, warm and soothing. He looked up and saw C. Lynxis’ purple wings. She was smiling down at him, sadness in her eyes. “He’s been through a lot. He’ll come around.” She also went into the bedroom and closed the door.