THE REAL DEATH

By Olakunle Ologunro

Kehinde was about to be shot when he felt the sudden urge to pee.

“Wait! Let me quickly urinate,” he yelled at Sunday who had raised his pencil gun and was about to shoot.
“Oh God!,” Sunday groaned. “Everytime somebody want to kill you you will be saying wait. Shey thief that they want to kill use to piss?”
“Sorry, now”
“Tiri times that you have piss today.” Sunday raised up his right hand hand and showed three fingers as Kehinde pulled down his shorts and urinated beside the school fence. “Tiri times. Which moreen food did you eat?”
“Is it not my mummy? Everyday she will be making pap for somebody,” Kehinde hissed and wore his shorts, tucked his school shirt into it. He stood in front of Sunday.
“Oya,” He splayed his arms apart in  surrender. “But I will not fall down o! I will just die. I don’t want my uniform to dirty”

Sunday aimed his pencil again and was about to shoot when Kehinde heard his mother calling him.

“Kehinde!”
He froze. What was his mother doing in school during break time?
“Kpau! Kpau!,” Sunday shot, not hearing Kehinde’s mother’s voice.
“Ke-hin-de!” His mother screamed again.

Kehinde’s eyes flew open. Pencil – pointing Sunday had vanished. Standing in front of him now was his mother, arms akimbo, a wrapper at her chest. Kehinde’s eyes widened.
“Oya, dide beyen,” she said. “Stand up immediately!”
Kehinde rose from his mat. Droplets of warm urine fell from his knickers to the floor in regular to-to-to sounds. He swallowed saliva.
“Good morning ma”
“Greet yourself,” she said. “Go and spread that mat outside and come and stool down here.”

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2 comments on THE REAL DEATH

  1. Izuchukwu Udokwu says:

    Kunle has jee jee lee exposed his childhood.
    Hehehehe…this couldn’t be more beautiful. And that ‘tiri times’ was just needed.

  2. kene says:

    wow, lol I love this.

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THE REAL DEATH

By Olakunle Ologunro

Kehinde was about to be shot when he felt the sudden urge to pee.

“Wait! Let me quickly urinate,” he yelled at Sunday who had raised his pencil gun and was about to shoot.
“Oh God!,” Sunday groaned. “Everytime somebody want to kill you you will be saying wait. Shey thief that they want to kill use to piss?”
“Sorry, now”
“Tiri times that you have piss today.” Sunday raised up his right hand hand and showed three fingers as Kehinde pulled down his shorts and urinated beside the school fence. “Tiri times. Which moreen food did you eat?”
“Is it not my mummy? Everyday she will be making pap for somebody,” Kehinde hissed and wore his shorts, tucked his school shirt into it. He stood in front of Sunday.
“Oya,” He splayed his arms apart in  surrender. “But I will not fall down o! I will just die. I don’t want my uniform to dirty”

Sunday aimed his pencil again and was about to shoot when Kehinde heard his mother calling him.

“Kehinde!”
He froze. What was his mother doing in school during break time?
“Kpau! Kpau!,” Sunday shot, not hearing Kehinde’s mother’s voice.
“Ke-hin-de!” His mother screamed again.

Kehinde’s eyes flew open. Pencil – pointing Sunday had vanished. Standing in front of him now was his mother, arms akimbo, a wrapper at her chest. Kehinde’s eyes widened.
“Oya, dide beyen,” she said. “Stand up immediately!”
Kehinde rose from his mat. Droplets of warm urine fell from his knickers to the floor in regular to-to-to sounds. He swallowed saliva.
“Good morning ma”
“Greet yourself,” she said. “Go and spread that mat outside and come and stool down here.”

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