Chukwudi is a well known businessman. He is a man who admits the
popular saying that "life is full of stress." He started as a bicycle
engineer when he was six years old.
After some years, Chukwudi had to yearn for a self-reliant hobby. He
met an engineer who made the earth a shelter for a perturbed for him.
He yelled for the debase in his accrual and accumulated indecisions.
He had bounty of amelioration but a handful yield. Life was full of
ambiguity of uncertaintity for him. Life was a bed of rock for him.
All in his regard was cumbersome.
Chukwudi secured admission in a bid to actualise his scarce means, but
it was moderated by fate. This was based to the fact that he was a
falcon without a falconer. All about him was diacritical. He was lucky
that all was fabulous, though it was ironical. He had pillars, but the
pillars were flummoxed. He was a liability to his mediator.
If chance oppresses, spade is no more called "a spade." In Chukwudi's
life, spade lost its name for hoe. Realism lost its potency. The
authenticism of a construct is authenticated via its realistic
features. The idealistic perspective of a construct must be
proportionate with regard to its reliability and feasibility. Contrary
to this, the spade lost its authentical perspective in — may be, in
the transcendental cosmos.
Ill-luck demands debasement. As Chukwudi wanted to erase his scar to
retain originality, more vacuums were modified. As he was tactical
with his siesta, a man lumberly banged in. The banger is a legislator.
He swiftly patted Chukwudi without grudges. This tingled Chukwudi's
fancy. He ejected like an air-filled Nigerian boko haram explosives.
He took his stationeries and went to his bed of agony. In the scene,
Toyota Camry cab was stationed
in his cell. His tray was full of bountiful smile. He ascertained
from the legislator to verify if he was the possessor. The man's face
was a purple hibiscus with a flamboyant apparel. He paid tribute to
the almighty God for the butter in his bread. This was — anywhere,
as his fate has it.
When Chukwudi resumed work with the cab, things fell apart. The
centre is now dynamic due to its dynamism. The cab is a
blunt-sharpened and a round edged weapon. All in the cab does not
deviate from substandard. The standardised nature of the cab is
appropriate when compared with a truck. Advancing to the cab is a step
towards the hell-oriented thrown of the blackman, who invalidates the
validity of any construct. Touching it is an advanced and a modernised
stylistic smile with the serpent' who secretes salt into a sour. When
he dismantled the tyre, the cab debased. He had no other option than
to re-mantle it.
If you eat with the blackman, it is advisable to long for a
long-handled spoon. This can be realised if the blackman is an
imbecile. Can you pray against the devil that was in the alter before
you even attended church? Wonder shall never deviate from consistency.
Chukwudi could not see his shadow praying against the blackman let
alone of a transfigured and baptized devil. He wanted to power the
engine of the cab, but life was full of blood. The legislator
allegedly accused him of a damage of property, thereby infringing his
right for property ownership.
As the case got out of hand, Chukwudi met Ajuka, who motioned him to a
ritualist. The man, Ekenjo, told him to stab a mirror. When he did it,
behold, the image of his wife appeared. That was how he lost his wife.
When he reached home, he mumbled "The agonies of life is more than the
joys of it."
During the burial of Madam Chukwudi, the legislator attended the
ceremony. He apologised to Chukwudi that he was sorry. He said that
the cab was not his. His mechanic repaired his car and drove in it,
but it spoilt along the way. The mechanic died on an accident when he
wanted to travel back for his stationeries. Someone left the damaged
cab there. Chukwudi stabbed himself after the hearing.
After some minutes, police surrounded the arena. They arrested
indiscriminately. As they were allegedly arresting, robbers were
vomiting through their barrels. One of the victims sneaked to snitch
the ọlọpa (police).
When he got to the scene, the police equivocally arrested him. He
disclosed his mission. Immediately the police got the information,
they swiftly ran into a hut in a nearby farm. After some hours— when
the robbers had left, the police entered with their siren and arrested
people and called them "suspects."
BY NWIGBOJI FRANKLIN,
FRANKLIN IS THE AUTHOR OF THE GENTLE WOLF, THE VOICE OF THE MASSES,
TRAGIC LOVERS AND OTHERS.
