Cereal Killer

 

 

CEREAL-KILLER

 

I’m working in my kitchen at the moment. Working.

 

I’m bent over the sink, cleaning something. To my right is the cooker on which boils some spaghetti – a meal I’m making for the prostitute I brought home last night.

 

I know what you’re thinking. What man in his right mind brings a prostitute home in the first place – and then makes a meal for said prostitute?

 

A man like me I guess. Aren’t prostitutes human?

 

But who cares; right? It’s the whole idea – your harebrained concept of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. That is what it boils down to; no?

 

It’s okay. I understand completely. Do allow me illustrate something to you.

 

If you grew up in a house where it is the norm to take pieces of meat from the pot whenever you felt like it, you would think it was the same everywhere else. Therefore, if you went to a friend’s house and did the same thing, and you were called names and insulted – wouldn’t you think they were crazy?

 

So therefore – see above the fluidity of the concept of ‘right’ and ‘wrong’.

 

I mean, take Lagos State for example. Okadas are banned; okadas are illegal according to the state government; but here and there you see the police and military men riding on bikes. In other words, ‘okadas are only illegal if you are a civilian’.

 

Which brings to mind another concept – “all animals are equal but some are more equal than others”.

 

Yeah. My country in a nutshell.

 

So – I’m in my kitchen, I’m hard at work. To my right is the cooker on which spaghetti boils – a meal I’m making for the ashewo I brought home last night. I chose her because she was easily the prettiest of the whole lot – and she was not wearing that much makeup. Her lips were full and they glimmered redly in the Opebi roundabout streetlights.

 

I don’t like the color red much – especially when it’s brash and hardly subtle. But on her, it looked interesting enough to make me make an exception. And so I brought her home.

 

I pause in my work and snatch the bowl of Golden Morn beside me. I shove a few spoonfuls into my mouth and munch on it greedily, and then I quickly check the boiling pasta. It is ready.

 

Indeedy. All animals are equal but some are more equal than others.

 

I mean, if Tuface died tomorrow the whole world would know, right? But if you died this moment – who apart from your immediately family would give a hoot? Who; asides from that hopeful would take note; would take a minute to morn you?

 

Every human being must fight to live; must fight for the right to be alive. If you are just there and things just happened to you and you never make anything happen – you don’t deserve to be alive.

 

I mean, Tuface touches lives; either positively or negatively. Whose life have you touched lately?

 

Heh. I’m almost done with my work. In a few minutes I will serve my pretty prostitute breakfast and then ask her the same questions I have been posing to you guys all morning. I’m not worried that she won’t answer. I have a couple of ways with which I intend to convince her.

 

One is the breakfast I’m preparing. The other is the thing I have been working on all morning.

 

What work?

 

I have been sharpening my largest kitchen knife.

 

 

Picture courtesy http://www.expeditionexchange.com
Picture courtesy http://www.expeditionexchange.com
Advertisements

23 thoughts on “Cereal Killer

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s