BLACK MARIA...(a tale of two thieves)...(Part 6)
NOTE: THIS STORY YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ
CONTAINS SEX TALK AND MAINLY DESIGNED FOR
MATURED MIND ONLY. PLEASE DO NOT CLICK IF
YOU BELOW 18!!!!
*******BOTH VIEWER AND READER
DISCRETION ARE ADVISED********
"Are you really going to do it?" The man's partner
He still held the blade at the child neck when he
replied, "I don't want to, but I have to do it."
"If you don't want to do it, then you don't have to do
it." The partner replied as he brought out a cigarette
box, took out a stick and lit it. He inhaled the smoke
deeply as he sU-Cked.
"What about Chief?"
"To hell with Chief," the smoker replied, "This is a
child for crying out loud. We have our own children,
remember? And besides, the killing of helpless
children is not our kind of job."
The man with Black nodded his head in agreement as
he looked at the boy. The blood from the boy's neck
had flowed on the knife. He took the knife away
immediately. The he asked his partner:
"What are we going to tell the chief?"
"We'll tell him we've done the job, of course. I can
see that you have cut the child, we'll show the
bloodstain on the knife to Chief. Simple. He'll believe
The man with the knife faced the little boy and said,
"You are a very lucky boy, you're not going to die
today. If you want to continue staying alive, just
make sure you never return to that house where we
found you. Do you understand me?"
Black nodded weakly.
"Good," The man said and extracted a currency from
his pocket, "Take this money, buy yourself some food
and stay of trouble."
The men left him there at the bank of the stream, got
into their car and drove off. Black lay there, with the
money given to him firmly clutched in his fist. Even
as weak as he was, he would not release the money
without a fight; the money was his ticket to life.
Ten minutes after the men had departed, Peter
dragged himself towards the stream and drank from
it. Then with effort, he stood on his feet. He felt very
dizzy and leaned against a tree. He waited for the
dizziness to clear a little before taking some slow
steps. Slowly but surely, Black walked to the open
where food items were sold. He staggered to a kiosk
and bought some hot buns. The snacks were
delicious but Black didn't feel the taste; he just knew
that he was eating something edible. The vendor
gave him a return change for what he bought and
Black walked slowly to a quiet place to eat his food.
He ate five balls of the buns and drank from the
stream that would have received his blood had the
men not show him kindness. He was feeling less
hungry now but the fever still about him had not
alleviated. He still felt weak and his temperature was
high. He lay under the tree by the stream and
thought about what had happened to him this
morning. He thought about the evil Chief Salami. He
thought about his parents. He thought about the men
who had been ordered to kill him but had refused to
do it. He thought about himself; he was thinking
about what tomorrow would bring him when he
drifted off to sleep under the tree.
By the time he woke up in the late afternoon, his
voice was returning, and so was migraine. It was as
if someone was testing a hammer on his skull. The
headache was getting worse. He staggered to his feet
and held his head in both hands, crying out loud. He
cried with pain, cried helplessly, calling on his mother
who would never come. He staggered back to the
busy street; his body dirty and full of soot. The
clothes he had stolen were torn and slowly becoming
rags too. The other pair had been left in the house.
He had forgone that, since he had been seriously
warned never to return to the house.
As he wobbled down the street, people avoided him
like a plague. No one showed him kindness; some
considered him a little vagrant, others called him a
mad child. Peter hated them all; they were wicked
people, he decided. His parents had been kind to
people in their lifetimes. They had even shown
benevolence to total strangers, so why couldn't these
people show him kindness in return? So, Peter
concluded that his parents were the only nice people
in the world. Maybe it was wrong to be nice after all.
He ate the remaining balls of buns with him. The food
was only able to curb his hunger, not his headache.
Raising his eyes up he saw a chemist's shop and
went into it. The woman behind the desk looked down
on him as if he were a maggot that had managed to
crawl out of a latrine pit.
"Please ma'am. I have headache." Black told her.
The woman stared at him incredulously, as if he had
just told her to find an ocean to jump into.
"Excuse me?" The lady said.
"My head is killing me, ma'am." Black groaned.
"And the oracle told you I'm the cause of the
headache, right? Watch that wall, don't taint it with
your filthy body."
"I'm sorry, ma'am." Black stepped away from the
white wall and said, "Please ma'am. I need medicine
for my headache."
The woman regarded Black for a moment and said,
"Do you think we run a charity organisation here?
You think this is the headquarters of WHO?"
"What's a WHO, ma'am?"
"World Health Organisation, silly."
"I don't understand what you mean ma'am. Please
give me something to kill this headache, ma'am,
before it kills me."
"All the drugs here are for sale, boy. Get your vile self extra sized wearing in formal situation
out of here before the customers begin to complain.
Black was about to exit the shop when he
remembered the money given him by one of the
thugs. He quickly dipped his hand into his pocket and
extracted the money. The lady collected some of the
money and gave him a satchet of Paracetamol.
"Take two tablets now and another two in the night
before you sleep."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'm very grateful." Black left thhe
drug store. He returned to the stream and gulped
down the drugs with some water. Then he leaned
against a tree, his eyes shut. Soon, the placebo effect
began to manifest and the headache was slowly
relieving him. He wanted to return to his house, he
wanted to stay close to his mother. He was worried
about her, but he knew he could not visit her, he dare
Suddenly, the weather transformed; the sky was
changing her garments, lizards were beginning to
crawl into hole, roosters about to jump on branches,
birds attempting to fly into thejr nests. Night was
gradually approaching. It was during this process of
atmospheric transformation that the thought about
where to lay his head occurred to Black. He was
definitely not going to pass the night under the tree
beside the stream; the cold that would ravage his
convalescing body, not to talk of the millions of
mostquitoes that would feed on him before dawn.