African Fable Novels & Stories

’ He said simply and like all good faery tales they all live happily ever after. The End.

At first, he thought of running to the source of the light for help but then all the stories his father, Tunde – had ever told him, came back in a flash. Stories on how evil and dubious men called ritual killers, wandered the forests and bushy areas at night in search of vulnerable humans whose body parts they could use for their inhumane activities. Stories that always put him in fear and prayers that he should not have the misfortune of running into them. Wole, having a rethink, decided that he won’t take any chances with whoever was wielding that light. “Emeka, person day here oh!!(Someone is there)” Ambrose said to his partner.

It's all a fantasy. Fable has been my escape. An unhealthy one. A safe pretend world where I could bury myself. Just like how Zee cried after she finished the final Harry Potter book, or how Jamie bases so much of her worth on the fictional version of herself that lives across a thousand Instagram pics, in the comments and likes of a thousand strangers. Just carefully constructed lies to comfort and lull. Dreams.

the Insurgents took over Kabul. Some of their troops would do exactly that but the majority would disappear into the crowds and seek out contacts to help them find the Leaders and bring them to justice. Pretty similar to our orders, ‘Hey guys, you know that British dog over there, he could be useful to us, the Afghans don’t like dogs, we could sure use a big fucker like him, look at the size of those teeth’ One of the Soldiers spoke up and his Commanding Officer looked across at me, his eyes narrowed as he assessed my worth,

Wolf King Nathan’s POV “If I were a wolf. This would be a nice night for a run, wouldn’t you say, Your Majesty?” Frederick says, sniffing the air. I don’t know why he did that. He’s not a wolf. His sense of smell can’t be that great. “It’s like there is something in the air tonight.” He continues. That piques my interest, and I follow suit and inhale through my nose.

“Long ago, nestled within the heart of a verdant tropical forest in West Africa, lay the secluded village of Marugbo. This unique enclave, the sole region in Africa graced by the majestic Iroko trees, was home to the serene and enigmatic tribe known as the Mahines. Despite their apparent primitiveness, the Mahines possessed a rich tapestry of traditions and rituals, a near-civilized culture that had flourished in isolation for over a millennium.

"When the French first made The Gambia a colony, the western world learned of us for the first time," Ajuma explained. "We had always been known in this part of Africa for our large cocks. Many a tribe would send their women to us for breeding, hoping that the resulting male babies would also have large cocks. The French women were fascinated by our big cocks and never saw the hypocrisy of using an essentially slave population as their personal sex toys, though we didn't mind. To us, the Gambians, every time we fucked a French woman, or man -- the French men like big cocks as much as their women -- we were also fucking them metaphorically. Then came the British as overlords and it was no dif

Now all eyes were on the African elder. “You can say all you want but I will not reveal what I know, not because it is a dangerous thing, but it is something that will be good for Africa and it will make all of you bow to us for a change.” The elder told them but was not specific as to what it is that will make them bow to Africa. “Did the Africans acquire a medical stone or something? Because I can’t think of anything else that can make African as powerful as you say.” Asked another elder.

He eased the flap open and peered in. All four of the young lads who had come along were seated on the fur in front of Eleanor, facing the canvas wall. Breagha was holding up a lantern behind Eleanor, just illuminating her hands. Eleanor was whispering a story to them and using her hands to make images on the canvas walls, as though they were pictures in a book of stories. Fann settled down on the outside of the tent to watch the story unfold. He had no sooner settled down than Eleanor looked over and caught his eyes on her. She smiled at him and went back to the story. It wasn’t one he had heard before, not that he knew many children’s tales. Something about a sick old lion and a wise young

This felt wrong. "Well, I guess not that far back. But almost." Zander stretched and gripped his neck. "I know it sounds weird to you. Our people's origin stories are different from your bible stories. Sethians believe the original races started with three brothers, Cain, Abel, and Seth. Similar to your bible, of course, but the sethian story shifts in a different direction. Like your story, Cain turned against his brother, Abel, and killed him. And like your story, Cain was cursed. How he was cursed is where the stories diverge. In our legend, the curse changed Cain into the first akharu. Because Cain spilled his brother's blood, blood became the most important thing in his life, his addict