Chapter 23 Newspapers in the Ghetto

Songs for this chapter are:

Know you - Ladipoe ft Simi

Uptown - Andy Mineo

Sweeter - Jess Penner

Army of Two - (Carole and Tuesday)

Gone for Good - Simi

Dan

Several Years Ago...

POPULAR BUSINESS TYCOON AND LORD DIES IN A FIERCE FIRE ACCIDENT AT THE AGE OF FIFTY-FIVE.

I'd slightly managed to see the headlines of the newspaper peeking though on the wooden table in the midst of perhaps a billion blackheads gathered like a swarm of bees around a single honeycomb on a tall tree.

There seemed to be a huge babble amongst them as to who was going to get a copy of the newspaper since it was only limited. It was clear that today's copy of the newspaper was pretty much precious to the crowd as karate of gold but the old newspaper vendor, seemingly sixty years old, was not having it with the mass of people who'd come to get the papers but for some reason, he couldn't see to express it locally or demand some orderliness from them and I really could not blame him because a majority of the people who came to get those papers, were...

The second most beastly looking set of thugs on the surface of the whole earth.

Guess who's the first?

Yeah. You guessed right.

Well, he's dead now so it was safe to say that these people were the first beastliest set of people.

I was for the first time thankful for my rich height which had granted me the opportunity to manage to see the bold, black gothic inscription in the newspaper and now I was dying to get a copy of the newspaper as well. I never knew my dad was this notoriously popular that the news of his death would gain this kind of attention from people like this even.

But why couldn't these people get the papers despite the hustle I'd been seeing so at least they could leave and leave more space for other people interested to get the papers as well?

Or...do people buy newspapers? Was that why they were all waiting impatiently to get a copy? I thought news ought to be made freely available. Do people really need to pay to know what was happening around them daily?

I really had no idea how things worked in the city and of course, I found myself using what I knew from the castle to judge most of the time. The castle crier always brought news of potential young people that my dad could capture as slaves and I never for once saw my dad pay him so I didn't expect that I'd have to pay to read the newspapers.

But I had no money. I knew for sure so there was no need for me to scour my poor pockets made of satin. I couldn't even pretend to have money.

Damn.

And I wished to pick a copy of the current newspaper to myself. I craved to read in full, and to the fulfillment of my soul, the permanent cessation of my father's existence also known as the aristocratic varmint of the century. If it weren't for me, that bastard would never ever have died so I really did have a license to read those newspapers but how?

Nobody in the city knew me. It was an entirely different place and I was no longer in the castle neither could I make it public amongst these people that I slew my father, the man in the newspaper. That would definitely be the smartest thing to do. The only thing I could do was get a copy of the newspaper by decent means. But where's the money?

How could I have made great plans to elope my father's rich mighty castle in a bid for everlasting freedom without taking along with me all of the bloody wealth he had built up?

Oh yeah! I knew why.

I made a promise to myself that if the day I would leave the case would ever arrive, then if certainly leave empty-handed, taking nothing with me that was earned by means of my father's insane beastliness. I would rather start my life anew and afresh with absolutely nothing that would affiliate me to my father except the painful, inescapable fact that I was his son.

The environs around me was a slum, or rather still, a ghetto. Little wonder why most of the people who wanted to purchase the papers were hooligans, rogues, and hoodlums. At least I knew what a ghetto was. It wasn't even hard for me to know because my dad often liked to talk about how that was the least of all places he would ever go to if he were in search of a slave because most of the people who dwelled there knew how to fight keenly for this lives.

So, I knew I had landed in the right place despite how harsh, unfavorable, and hostile it seemed. I knew by coming to this place, I would definitely learn how to survive and get what I wanted in one way or the other and somehow, I'd been fairly able to do so.

I've been here for the past four days now.

After embarking on a really long journey that lasted roughly for eight hours, I'd managed to get little Cassandra safely back to her home and her family since I was done using her for what I needed her for.

The poor little dummy didn't want to let go of me but I knew better than to let her parents meet eye to eye with me, particularly her mother because I feared she might have seen me clearly enough on that stallion the day that my dad had taken me to her house for the first time. I couldn't risk it regardless of the fact that I knew she wouldn't suspect me to be Cassandra's true captor so, I lied to Cassandra that we would meet again some day since she was reluctant to let me go, but boy! I was not in the least bit interested in seeing her any longer since I'd gotten my sovereignty already.

I had to get a life of my own.

Well...that was what I thought.

After treading through the narrowest routes by the cold mountains all the way through the seemingly concave roadways, I'd gotten to the see city for the second home and perhaps infinitely now and I'd gotten to see it in all of it's wonderful, inundating nocturnal glory; the street lights twinkling and shimmering relatively into the centers of my spirit symbolically like liberation outshining the citadels and shackles of captivity as something that truly was meant to be.

I was hopeful.

But my indigent legs weren't and the gnawing pain I was feeling in my muscles usurped every tingle of joy I was feeling just by starting at the street lights. They couldn't walk any farther. I'd used them for half the day with virtually no halts whatsoever. All of my bones cried for the need to be lain down to rest.

As though the universe was in support of my dire need to relax and sleep after a very tiring journey, I was quick to find a closed and nearly dilapidated looking store just meters away from where I stood. So, I mustered the last liter of fuel my left had left to carry me all the way to the store, and like some lucky compensation for being extremely perseverant, I'd found a cozy-looking wrapper on the cold, bare cemented floor.

I used it as my blanket of course as I laid down to sleep, not caring to know if it was dirty or not since it didn't smell dirty anyway. I used the wrapper as a fragile shield for the most part of my sleep to drive away from the persistently annoying, buzzing sounds of mosquitoes and probably some other insects that just wouldn't leave me alone as though I were an exciting corpse but nevertheless, I had an amazing night rest of the very first time in my life.

And it was amazing indeed because I no longer was sleeping behind the cold, unwelcoming walls of the castle, the first time sleeping outside of my father's hearth. How iconic!

When I woke up the following morning, I woke up to white a number of things: smoke jutting out of a pike of inexpressible rubbish a few meters away and some hefty looking hippopotamuses—thugs in bandanas rather, smashing empty bottles on the ground and threatening to stab one another with the broken pieces of the bottle, just near where the heap of waste was.

Images of my father dunking the broken pieces of the whiskey bottle right into my mother's cranium glared through my mind just by the sight in front of me and it made me want to run away but the smoke coming out of the heap of wasteful rubbish also reminded me of the fact that I'd killed my father by the means of fore so perhaps I shouldn't be too quick to interpret the wrong omens or think that the ghetto wasn't the right place for me just because of a deja vu.

I really needed to assimilate the fact that I was indeed free if I truly wanted to start a new life.

But the sight of some ladies passing by, sparingly dressed was such an interesting sight that it'd made me realize something quickly:

If you really want to survive in the ghetto, then you have to become the ghetto itself.

My stomach growled fiercely in a bid to warn me for the very last time that if I didn't feed it, it would in enraged vengeance, feed on my intestines.

Now was the time to test my probabilities of ever surviving in the ghetto. My very first test. I had an idea.

Thankfully, my legs were reliably strong enough to help me approach the ladies who were swaying their hips like a Rottweiler would wag its tail.

I knew instantly that they were harlots and I was indeed thankful for my rich height and dashing looks because, from the way they were licking their lips surreptitiously and seductively and even resting their hands on their robust hips, it was clear that my height had deceived them remarkably because they certainly wouldn't be trying their best to look very attractive for a fifteen-year-old.

I took advantage of it. Thankfully, and surprisingly, I wasn't looking like a complete disaster despite all I had been through the previous day.

"If you are able to make me feel really good, I will pay you greatly." I decided it would be best to speak in terms that they could comprehend.

And more importantly, I did my best to sound like a twenty-five-year-old man since my looks already did the deception, my vocalities had to go in sync as well.

"Hmm. How much can you pay?" One of them asked, trying her hardest not to let the gum she was chewing get in the way of her speech or visibility.

The other lady, however, caught my attention greatly. She seemed to be in a ridiculous battle of packing her bountiful, generous bosom into her brassiere but those robust looking oranges just wouldn't budge. I tried my hardest not to snort or laugh so it wouldn't ruin the facade I was trying to pull.

But somehow, watching her do all of that some more, turned me on greatly. I never would have thought that generous breasts were that fascinating a sight.

I cleared my throat, looking at the two of them as I tried to decipher what kind of amount would be acceptable to people like them.

"Five hundred thousand," I said.

Their eyes had nearly bulged out of their sockets as though they had found their most precious treasure buried in the chest of an island in the Mediterranean Sea and I wondered how they'd used those same eyes to size me up so as to know if I was truly worth that grave amount, like that, was the treasure they truly had been looking for.

These ladies must be so cheap!

"Omo, we go too smash you. No lele. We dey for you." The busty lady said in a raspy, unbelievable voice. I could not really understand what they said but it was crystal clear that they'd bought my lie.

Long story short, they took me to their apartment and I was averagely able to sexually arouse the both of them a great deal and when it was time for the main action, I accentuated the plan I harbored in mind to carry out.

Of course, since they had to take off their clothes, they went into the bathroom with their towels in hand so that could momentarily cover their bodies with it while I sat on the bed, like a man ready to have the time of his life, with two endowed ladies in all ramifications of outward feminity.

But once they were out of sight, I reached for their purses and took all of the money I could find in it and ran away from the apartment long before I could hear the distant alarming cries of "Thief! Thief! Catch that thief!" But I had already been far from the scenery.

Good job, legs!

I used the money to satisfy my angry stomach and it was indeed fulfilling to spend the money I had worked for. I exhausted the money the following day since it was a pretty meager amount but I was glad to have passed my very first year of the ghetto.

Now to the second test: How to grab a copy of the newspaper without having to pay for it.

Just then, I saw the curvaceous back of a short lady amongst the crowd who obviously wanted to buy a newspaper as well and I saw some thugs standing right next to her whilst I was right behind.

Yes, I know the plan would work.

I walked a little further into the crowd, only by squeezing myself against smelly bodies of course that reeked with a dominating stench of dried sweat and alcohol.

Awful.

They threw angry and irritated looks my way but I was too busy, giving all of my focus on the young lady's generous derriere and JACKPOT! I groped a handful of a cheeky fold and squeezed on it like a fluffy bunny, just ample enough to make her wonder who the bastard that dared to do that was.

And it worked.

Exactly, five seconds later, she was yelling at the thugs standing right beside her, and just before I could snap my fingers, an outbreak of a pandemonium boomeranged. The crowd started to disperse at a speed that each individual could possibly gather up in a bid to save their dear, mortal lives but it was facilitating enough to disappear from the scene like a ghost as thunderbolts of accusations stroke in the air.

When the newspaper vendor's attention was fully focused on the insane, sudden rowdiness and barbaric conduct of the prospective buyers, some copies of the newspapers had landed right on to the stony ground but just before I could grab the whole copy from the ground, the paper had split apart into two, thanks to the harsh contact of someone's footwear on them in a hurried motion.

The other part of the paper stuck onto some of the person's footwear but the sprinter was too scared for his life to stop and wonder what he had just stepped upon since the smashing of bottles could be heard now, people being unbelievably swift to kill each other.

Damn it!

I took the remaining parts left of the newspaper nevertheless, hoping it would contain the information I was desperate to take in and began to run even faster for my own life too since there was a lot of noise now.

"Why you take grab my yansh like that?" (Why did you touch my ass like that?!) The young lady fumed at the thug who stood right next to her for sure since she assumed it was him of course.

I could hear her angered voice in the distance as I kept running.

"Why I go grab your yansh? you wey your matter don cast sey your toto dey smell like fish. Abeg, comot for my face joor!" (Why would I touch your ass? I've heard the news about you that your vagina smells like fish. Get the hell out of here!) The thug's voice came out rather raspy and shocked.

"If I no break your head this afternoon, make you call me bastard!" (If I don't break your head with this bottle this afternoon, call me a bastard!)

Then the fierce breaking of bottles came next. These people really do have a ton of bottles to waste, don't they? Because there's literally a breaking of bottles every twenty minutes.

But as I kept running with the piece of newspaper in my hand, the voices of pandemonium and people running and screaming in fright had started to get fainter and fainter till it was completely out of earshot. I'd really caused a scene right there.

My next test would most definitely have to be finding myself a standard place of shelter which was going to be a lot tougher but somehow I knew I would pass it because the ghetto so far seemed to have been working in my favor.

Then, I stopped, unaware of where I was as the only thing I was focused on was the loud thumping of my heart beneath my chest and the newspaper in my hand. I opened it to read it's content and praise the heavens!, I'd happened to pick up the right page of the newspaper:

POPULAR BUSINESS TYCOON AND LORD DIES IN A FIERCE FIRE ACCIDENT AT THE AGE OF FIFTY-FIVE.

A worker for the business lord who pleaded to stay anonymous claimed that the deceased was a tyrant and a first-class oppressor in his lifetime who harbored slaves as collateral for humongous amounts of money he'd lent to a category of people that he knew could never pay the amount in return.

"I worked as a slave to this beast for twenty years. He tortured me, assaulted me, and made several attempts to rape me. He spared nobody. He loathed human life. He shot his own brother in the legs and never gave his son a good life. He killed his wife while she was pregnant and he killed her in front of their son. He shed so much blood and it's a miracle that I'm actually alive. Who would have thought that I would live to speak of the death of the beast? It's indeed God's wish for me to live!" The anonymous witness said...

I didn't need to read the rest of the article in the newspaper before I could tell that it was Mrs. Jones who was speaking as the witness in the report. I clenched my fist, the newspaper page crumbling beneath my hold, as well as unperturbed tears of joy, streamed down my eyes.

Mrs. Jones made it out alive!

She was able to run in ample time to save her own dear life and I was immensely proud of the woman whose life has been nothing but a hundred pages extracted from the goriest horror novel.

But my joy dissolved immediately when I thought of my uncle and the remaining slaves. What had happened to him? The blank space that remained in my head was enough to do me a good amount of torture because I could never know. I couldn't bring myself to imagine him burning to nothing in that icy castle all alone with no possible way of escaping.

Since I could not tell what had happened, I decided to forget it. Forever. Leaving it best to assume that the other slaves saved him which was stupid to deduce but quite satisfactory as well.

Then I decided to look around me to at least know where I was standing and then I saw a house, relatively small and most definitely manageable for a nobody like me to dwell in. Then I saw a placard right in front of the entrance which read:

One-room apartment is available for rent.

Ha! I didn't even have to work to find a place of shelter even though I knew scouting for money to pay for the house rent would be hard but I was very thankful to have walked my way into my third test and I was sure the universe was definitely going to help me secure the house.

All I had to was to find the next, right woman to sexually engage myself with!

***

Psalms 55:12-14 - "For it is not an enemy who reproaches me; then I could bear it. Nor is it one who hates me who has exalted himself against me; Then I could hide from him. But it was you, a man my equal, my companion and my acquaintance. We took sweet counsel together, and walked to the house of God in the throng."