Publisher: Charisma Publishers LTD (www.charismaedu.org) 2014
Pages: 140 pages
When Francis, an intelligent, promising and an extremely good lucking young man of 23 years who incidentally was also from a very poor home was invited to live in Lagos with the wealthy, materialistic and self-centred madam Bisi, little did he know that the world of opportunities that soon opened to him as a result of that invitation would quickly turn sour. Despite the self-centredness of madam Bisi his benefactor, through her calculated benevolence, fate had tossed on Francis’ laps a thing any Nigerian youth his age will give everything to have: opportunity and a benefactor.
His impatience and ungratefulness would set his life spiralling down the debts of madness which he had by his own actions dug for himself. He was just an inch from attaining his life-long desires and goals when his failure to exercise a little more patience would destroy everything he had worked for…..
…he is sitting on the curved edge of the bathtub inside the bathroom attached to madam’s bedroom. He has no way of contacting anyone in the outside world because, in their usual betrayal of one’s right to make a call during an emergency, the mobile networks have simply refused to connect his calls. Stuck inside the bathroom, desperately in need to communicate some in the outside world, he is left no choice…..
…..madam Bisi on her part is still in her bedroom, she is patient, waiting for Francis’ emergence from the bathroom so that they can continue the business they are engaged in….
….Sheila and Michael are on their way to the same mansion. Their intention is as dark as the night itself…Someone must stop the madness that is destined to ensue from the collision of these interests before matters sprang out of control… The stage appears set and all hell may be let loosed……
“….a splendid work….Afeso’s ‘Thankless’ drives home the truth in the following lines: ‘patience with self is hope, patience with others in love and patience with God is faith…’ This is definitely a must read…”
— Anino Ogunjobi, A Hudy Bery, United Kingdom
“…expressive….Afeso’s style is ‘Afesoic’ to coin a word that for me encompasses his storytelling style…a beautiful work of art…”
—- Oladele Noah, Department of English and Literary Studies, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Nigeria.
“….impatience counts as one of the vices of the average Nigerian youth…I am yet to see a novel that has treated this issue of the need for patience and gratitude like Thankless….Afeso is slowly but steadily establishing himself as one great African storyteller….I’d advise anybody who wants to deal with that inner devil I call impatience to get a copy of this books….”
—-Abdulsalaam Olaitan, MD, Charisma International Educational Centre, Osun State, Nigeria
At that point, Madam Bisi grabbed an object, a hair dryer actually, which was sitting there on her dressing table. It looked like a gun. To the surprise of the duo and even Francis himself, she dashed, charging for Michael. At that instant, Sheila suddenly backed away abruptly and from nowhere, a gun appeared in her hand. A flash and a volcanic sound followed within two seconds of the gun appearing in her hand. Francis, who was still laying on the floor dazed from Michael’s blow and even Michael himself, were both stupefied.
“Where did the gun come from?” This was the surprised query that rang through in the minds of both boys, even as they were still stunned at the speed with which Sheila unveiled the gun from nowhere. Upon impact, Madam Bisi’s head shattered into a red mushroom. Fragments of her skull and lumps of her brain mixed with the weave-on she had happily fixed with intent to show off to her friends just three days before were strewn on the plush rug. Like a spoilt orange pummelled by a rod and violently swatted apart. The force of the bullet that escaped from Sheila’s gun made a fatal impact on what was her head. Pieces of her brain splashed on Michael and Francis’ face. Upon impact of the bullet, she had landed with a remarkable thud on the rug and the floor of the master’s bedroom had shaken as though a mild earthquake had taken place. She did not hear the gunshot. She did not feel any pain from the shot. Instead, she felt an eerie coldness, saw pitch darkness and perceived a deafening silence. With this reality came peace and tranquility like she had never felt before: Death.
Michael staggered back as gun smoke curled up to the star-like designed ceiling. Still dazed and with great difficulty, Francis, who did not expect the blow Michael had dealt to him to come with such severity as it had come, tried to grabbed the foot of the massive bed, so that he could kneel. He then saw madam Bisi’s body, with blood that had already begun to stain the beautiful rug oozing from what was her head.
“God! Jesus! Jehovah!” His mind skipped. “What is this? What have I done? Help me Lord! Jesus please!” He began to spout in desperate prayers as it now appeared his mind had escaped from his body and was now floating effortlessly above him. He was crawling towards madam Bisi when he saw Sheila’s shadow, a reflection from the chandeliers, fall on him. He stayed still, blood dripping from his mouth, he looked up and his gaze caught Sheila’s. She held the gun, her index finger still on the trigger and pointing its barrel at him, she pulled. Another volcanic sound. But this time Francis heard it. He then heard Sheila muted the following words under her breath.
“Fool, God punish you. Oya Mikki, make we comot here”. Shocked, Francis registered from the corner of his eyes as Sheila, thinking she had finished him off, dashed for the jewelleries speckled on the opulent Arabian rug, gathering as much as she liked into the small bag tangled around her shoulder and dashed off the room. Michael staggered behind her. Francis’ heart skipped again and he blanked out….