‘Though our slippery bodies dripped of post-coital sweat, my father dug her fingers in Osa’s jugular notch and flung him off me. She woozed him. The slap was so charged, so heavy, that it cracked Osa’s nose and sent an ounce of his blood, enough to fill a bottle seal, seeking refuge on my white bed sheet.’ // ‘There is Something to be Said About Wifeoma’, a story by Kasimma with art by Dante Luiz
