Short Story Sample: Closed Door by C.M. Okonkwo

closed doorIf you love short stories like I do, then checkout C.M. Okonkwo’s brilliant piece “Closed Door.” Brief Description: Frustrated because of a constantly locked door in her house, Angela eventually opened it and the heart-wrenching discovery left her speechless. Available at for $1.99. Here is a short sample to read, but go support this beautiful Nigerian writer who I believe is poised to be the next great storyteller from Nigeria. To learn more about her, visit her blog here:

Closed Door by C.M. Okonkwo

“Aggie! Open the fucking door and get out of there right now,” I yelled, as I banged on the grey door that separated my room from hers. “I need to use the bathroom.” I banged a few more times, but she didn’t open it, or make an attempt to.

Honestly, it wasn’t surprisingly that Agnes refused to open the door. She always spent an eternity in the bathroom doing heaven-knows-what. You would bang and bang repeatedly, and she wouldn’t even have the courtesy to say, “Yes?” or even “Give me a minute.” Perhaps “Give me one hundred minutes,” as it was always the case with her.

I would always go to our older brother, Samuel to knock the door down, and we would see Agnes standing in front of the full mirror, either singing or acting. She would hiss, roll her eyes at us, and stomp out in anger. “There’s a fucking mirror in your bedroom.” I always said to her, reminding her that she could lock herself in her room and look in the mirror as long as she wanted. No one would bother her, or even care.

If my brother wasn’t home, I would go to my mom. But after unsuccessfully trying to talk Agnes out of the bathroom more than ten times, mom gave up. She couldn’t be bothered. She had a bathroom in she and dad’s bedroom, so Agnes could spend the rest of her life in the one she and I shared for all mom cared.

Dad had also tried to get her out of there on several occasions, but like mom, he gave up trying. He would always jokingly say to me, “Sorry Angie, your sister is crazy in the head.”

I admit Agnes was somewhat weird. She was the total opposite of me: quiet, introvert, shy, and very brilliant. Not that I wasn’t brilliant, I wasn’t just as brilliant as she was. And even though we looked very much alike, we were always referred to as “beauty” and “the brain.”

Well, I think it’s mostly because we just entered college; I was majoring in creative arts and make-up, while she was majoring in engineering. I couldn’t be bothered, though. Life is too short, so I just wanted to study something easy, be done with college quickly, and then start painting faces. I constantly did mom’s make-up. I mean, forced her to wear make-up and dad liked it. I always felt his heart race whenever he saw mom looking so yummy, many thanks to me.

I tried to apply make-up on Agnes’ cute face a couple of times, but she always shoved me aside. She didn’t like that kind of stuff: make-up, manicured fingernails, or even fancy, colorful clothing. So you can only imagine the look we had on our faces when Samuel kicked the door down the first time, and she was there, hairbrush in her hand, singing into it.

“Dammit Aggie. There’s a mirror in your bedroom!” I told her, in case she hadn’t noticed.

On this particular evening, after banging on the door repeatedly, I decided to use Samuel’s bathroom, but his room door was locked. I think he was on the phone with Alexandra “Lexie” Smith, again. I don’t know what he saw in that neighborhood slut, but whenever he got on the phone with her, his door remained locked for the rest of the night. Well, it’s also because I walked in on him once, touching himself.

That day, Agnes had locked herself in the bathroom and I needed to shower, because I had a party to attend with my friends. I called Samuel a couple of times, but he didn’t answer. So I went into his room, thinking he was sleeping, hoping to drag his muscular body off his bed.

I was so embarrassed when I switched the bright light on and saw him stark naked on his bed, holding his thing and saying, “yea baby,” “say my name Lexie,” “call me daddy.”

“Oh my goodness!” I gasped, and held my hands over my mouth immediately.

“What the hell are you doing, Angie? Get the fuck out of here!” he yelled. I had frozen like ice when I saw him in the act. “Are you fucking deaf? Get out!”

Published by

Isioma's Style Report

Isioma's Style Report is an online platform dedicated to providing high end content for African women that includes fashion, beauty, culture, people, news, career, and travel. We aim to take an intelligent approach to cover a broad range of issues African women face in their personal and professional lives.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s