Sani lay glued to the bloody floor, his entire body completely cold – except a small opening in his ass which still retained some warmth, thanks to occasional farting.

A time-bomb locked in his left chest ticked louder and louder, the blood that oozed from his ears and nostrils quickening their pace as if trying to evade an explosion. Voices from blurred images that towered over him echoed in his head.

Suddenly, he sensed himself floating like an inflated balloon. He was airborne, destination undefined. From no where, a cold, small ball of pure light hit his chest like a powerful bullet and immediately, it all came back to him….

He sat under a neem tree, alone, with a sack containing two shirts and a black trouser and his toothbrush – the only belongings he had in the world.

He’s been to school and back, no job. He’s been to hell and back, nothing to show for the hustle.

“Come and see me.” He remembered the words of Adesa, the wealthy blacksmith. He knew what it meant. But was he ready? What would joining Adesa’s “Progressive Society” mean for his destiny and aspirations in life?

From where he sat under that neem with all his 30 years of hard labour boldly represented by his two shirts and a trouser, Adesa was certainly the light at the end of his tunnel.

Darkness was falling. And as he rose to head for Adesa’s secret meeting place in his banana plantation, he fought hard to brush off sermons of heaven and hell, the value of human life and the ramifications of terminating an innocent life. These themes were buzzing over his head and he turned up the ‘i-don’t-care’ vibes to ward off the negative vibes buzzing above him.

Sani was so deep in his thoughts he hadn’t realized when he arrived at the Progressive Society’s meeting place. Before he could recover from his pensive mood, Adesa, dressed all white and with a scarf over his head on which an image of a golden star glistened, stood before him with a potion. “Take this and drink. Focus your mind on the person responsible for your failures while drinking it. That person dies in your place after you drink this poison.”

As if possessed, Sani took the potion from Adesa and started gulping it down his throat, but all along doing so, he could hardly think of anyone responsible for his failures. A voice kept whispering in his ears, “You are your own enemy. You are responsible for your own failures.” Fear gripped him. Was he going to die? Suddenly, he blacked out.

He awoke in his room naked under a huge pile of cockroaches. From a little crack in the pile, he spotted his roommate Bashiru asleep on the bed. His movements in the pile awoke Bashiru, but before Bashiru could look in the direction of Sani, all the cockroaches were gone in a flash, leaving Sani in a white boubou with a weird ring over his left index finger.

“Sani! How did you get in?” Bashiru coughed out his shock.

“You….you….” Sani stammered. Then at once, an answer came to him. “You forgot to lock the door.” Strangely, Bashiru believed, turning to look at the unlocked door. He looked at Sani suspiciously, wondering who loaned him the expensive boubou and ring he was wearing.

It was as if a certain code had been written on Sani’s instincts. He could not remember what happened after he took the cup with the potion. Yet he knew instinctively that though he was the last to join, he was next in enjoying the wealth of the Progressive Society and die in seven days.

In exactly 24 hours, he would be extremely wealthy and famous, but he had only seven days to enjoy the wealth and fame.

It was now day two of the seven days, the day the money magic was to take place. Bashiru was unaware of this pact and had started putting insecticide powder into the eyes of Sani’s demons-turned-cockroach friends that would soon be both his wealth and the ferry that takes him to the underworld after the glow of the seven- day wonder fades.

As he strolled along the only stream in their town, he contemplated the evil goat that was peeking at him earlier in his room and also how to dissuade Bashiru from peppering and petering out his only means to fame.

Suddenly, his instincts told him hands that were not meant to touch the Midas Ass in his closet that would be shitting the holy gold had committed an abominable act.

“Oh God!” He exclaimed, and ran for all he was worth. He pounded hard on the door and with renewed vigor from some strange powers, he tore off the door and stormed in.

“Vanity! Wish me well. Maiden of Titiba! Kiwakolé, Taadia!” He chanted. Kissing his ring thrice and touching the beads on his waist once, he preceded to his closet…

The light that had hit him like a bullet was snuffed out. The ticking time-bomb in his chest ceased ticking. And down his inflated balloon body went, as if into some bottomless pit.

In the process of falling like a shooting star, he caught fire and kept burning and burning.

And his instincts told him he would be burning for ages and ages to come…

THE END.