A Twist in the Tale: SHIT!


For our reading pleasure, All in this life’s journey is proud to host OWEx_ as he goes Inception-esque on this one.

SHIT!

 

The guy in the blue coat ducked and kept running as fast as his

work-worn legs could carry him. The cop kept after him, occasionally

letting out a couple of slugs at points where his thirty-five year old

legs failed him.

 

Kracka! Kracka! The cop gave off another round from his small but

mighty automatic, which was no better than the preceding ones as far

as effect on life was concerned.

 

Now, the man in blue coat was really something to look at, and in the

day-to-day-life sense, something to look out for. He was danger

itself, inappropriately masked in a dark, craggy-looking face and

wrapped in an inappropriately shaped frame of a body. Of course

inappropriate was the most appropriate of words to describe him with:

his face was quite round – partly black, partly brown; his nose was a

science class model of that of the ugliest specie of primates; his

enormous football-sized eyes were like those of a caricature toad and

well sunken into their sockets; his banana leaf ears if challenged

could stand unbeaten by a mighty elephant’s flippers; his hooded head,

under the canopy, was square shaped and had absolutely nothing within

the vastness of its territory save for obeying the electrical

charge-powered rules that were ‘punched’ into it.

 

Timi now was a sight to behold; he was shuddering. He had had too much

and considering the state of things, he had a short – just a short

time to prove the true worth of his life.

 

The cop shot again and at this time Timi could damn well have said he

escaped narrowly – I mean narrowly – as narrow as a miniature

of the tiniest lock of hair picked from a baby mouse – really narrow,

isn’t it?

 

The bullet went straight, right over the hooded head at which it was

aimed, boring a hallow in and splashing the contents of a wine cask

just by the roadside.

 

At that same moment, the blue coat-clad guy clinched one of the POWs

and that reduced Timi’s growing-by-the-second tension. But it wasn’t

much of a fortune, it was only an SRM – a hand launched SRM.

 

There was a loud shattering noise. Timi, having gathered enough guts

from within his personal self, had just launched a missile. The

missile hit the wall behind which the cop had crouched for safety and

ricochetted just like a miscalculated David Beckham free kick, off it

only to find the beautiful stained glass of a nearby cathedral,

shattering off the glasswork and giving off a noise that almost left

Timi deaf.

 

For the man in blue, it wasn’t easy to face the cop; he didn’t stop

shooting and cursing. ”Get the f**k outta there you sonofa…”. It

wasn’t that the cop’s yell had any real impact on Timi or his

on-screen phantom, as a matter of fact he didn’t hear it, not because

it didn’t sound insultive enough to him but it just was too routine to

be taken note of.

 

Timi’s heart was having a tough time; it wasn’t like doing overtime

(since it never for once stopped working), but it was more like being

overworked – like a hundred kg timber being frced on an innocent

thirty kg ass – and in his veins his fresh Nigerian fluid ran at a

speed unthinkable by even the swiftest of hummingbirds.

Timi was terribly seething; tiny streams of red-hot perspiration flowed

down his pimple-studded face as if he were a middle-aged coco-yam

plant under intense Saharan heat. he was also shivering and the pad,

now seemingly iron-heavy, vibrated for the umpteenth time in his poor

far-from-at-ease hands.

Like an impetuous mongoose, already denied its lunch would go after a

slimy, slithering, tasty-looking serpent, the cop kept up the

Krackka’s much to his own pleasure and the woe of the guy in blue who

was under intense pressure. Then something happened. The cop who has

been intermittently exercising his finger by pulling the trigger

stopped in his track, for no reason obvious to anyone.

Timi saw his chance, a chance being used up by each tick of the

clock…a chance he mustn’t misuse. He was sweating and shaking now

more than ever and had already gone through hundreds of pages of his

mental decision making encyclopaedia…all within a quarter of a

second. Then he decided.

 

Punching one of the several raised portions on the plastic frame in

his hands, Timi heaved a sigh – a sigh whose carbon-filled emission

could have swept an average weighing man off his feet completely. But

that shot was as useless as a bunch o’ fives done an elephant: it

missed its target. With another push of the button, so violent that it

could be mistaken for a Flloyd Mayweather Jnr. coup de grace, Timi

found his on-screen adversary and with no mistake or hesitation made a

clean breast of him. Just as the cop was about dropping his massive

bulk, Timi, now as ecstatic as Anthony could have been in the company

of his Cleopatra or Romeo in the arms of his dearest Julliet, decided

that suspense would lengthen his excitement so he applied it.

 

He paused then make for the comfort station.

 

As he emptied his all-this-while-engaged-in-tight-business bladder,

Timi had …that feeling…it was a quite familiar feeling that came on

hot, uncomfortable nights. Suddenly, he felt everything around him

take a spin and metamorphose into a more familiar state than the one

he had been.

 

Timi opened his eyes and it was total darkness. He was certain now

that something terrible had happened! He was no longer holding a pad,

what he held now was an edge of a piss-soaked bed-sheet the opposite

of which lay atop the bare torso of another boy with whom he was

sharing the bed.

 

He didn’t bother to move. He remained the way he had been; his eyes

wide open as millions of thoughts flashed through his mind.

God, this is shit!  he thought, knowing fully well it wasn’t

shit but as far as the biology teacher was concerned, it was

something similar. Shit!

 

Eeez nor me..
Eeez nor me.. 😦

@OWEx_

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Did I not tell you guys?? A twist within a twist eh? That’s another level of Twist. You know, the deeper you go into a Twist, the less time it is in the real world. A three level Twist is dangerous, then we have a four level Twist where it all just breaks into chaos and disorder. After that is the Limbo twist, where you see things like ggjdsgfviubwivbwigbw.kgvdjgvbuvbvwgvugweihiffvdhj.

(-_____-)

That you took the time to read all that shows how much faith you guys have in this blog. And for that I appreciate. hehe.. 🙂

Follow on Twitter @janus_aneni and don’t forget to stay true to your boos, and ignore body counts and bedpost notches.

We continue tomorrow with the uber-sensitive and thoughtful @Paetir *sic*

Peace to Borno and Yobe.

PS: This was not based on a True story.

Peace.

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Author: Christopher Aneni

Histrionic| Creator| god.

11 thoughts on “A Twist in the Tale: SHIT!”

  1. LOL. Nice one. Was beginning to get tired of reading about the misfiring action until I realized the dude was pissing himself.

    Like

  2. You spent so much describing the scene that I wondered when the action is gonna happen. To my dismay it was about some dudes nightmare. Oh well, I read it to the end. You never cease to amaze me kris.

    Like

  3. Thank God it was just piss. I shit you not. Toss the other boy aside, flip the bed on its other side, change clothes, replace the boy and resume ur sleep!

    I know this technique from my bedwetting friends… (._ .)

    Like

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