Finding 'x'

•Visiting day •

And she didn't stop. She just went on and on, asking questions at such a speed that even poor Dave could barely keep up with. At a point he turned to me with a perplexed expression and desperately mouthed the words; 'help me'.

But I laid back with feigned ignorance to the meaning behind his actions and enjoyed the show with a satisfied smirk.

That's what you get for being a stalker dear senior Dave.

Things were just about to take an interesting turn when a student ran over to inform me that the hag required my presence immediately. The scowl on my face as I stood up and dusted my jeans must have scared the messenger, for he ran away as soon as the words left his mouth.

Just great, now I'll have to relinquish my front row seat to such quality drama. Joy.

After being waved away like an annoying fly with a fat stash of cash in a white envelope, I journeyed through the garden filled to capacity with pompous kids and their showoffs of parents to the hag's office in deep thoughts.

Had something horrible happened because of me again? Why would the hag call for me in such urgency with full knowledge my mother was visiting?

I encountered the group of boys that called themselves 'the posh marlians' rehearsing garbage lyrics for some social media Marlian challenge as I made a turn behind the art's studio.

 I wondered what they needed the five hundred thousand naira cash reward for when they got more than enough from their respective moneybag parents.

And I wondered even more why they listened to such music that depicts the female gender as nothing but playthings and sex toys. Music that brags about the amount of money the artist had and advises that these monies should be squandered upon weed, women and a flashy lifestyle, it doesn't even matter anymore where you get the money from, just squander it on fake friends and loose bitches and you'll be hailed by these Marlians.

 Worse was that most of the fans of these so-called legends are from the lower class and very ignorant part of the society; so they misspend their money buying flashy jewelry and being –in one word– fake. Leaving them all broke and empty and desperate for ways to get more money. Hence, the birth of all kinds of criminal offences. Which by the way isn't frowned upon by these legends, they're encouraged even, and they thrive and make more money and drive the clueless crowd they're role models to, into the deeper and poisonous abyss of poverty, illiteracy, drug abuse and ultimately depression. 

How did I know? I was a blogger, remember?

 And these posh Marlians aren't going to like what my next blog was going to be about.

By the time I was done with my brooding, I was already in the presence of the old hag, who was in company of the hot cop. It made me wonder if he ever leaves her office, or if they had anything going on between them.

I couldn't put anything past the hag after what I'd witnessed between her and ….ugh! Never mind.

She cleared her throat mildly with a sheepish look on after I took my seat beside hot cop. I really should stop calling him that, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what Mrs. Lawrence said his name was.

"I heard about what you did for corper Jide." I turned towards the cop so fast that I thought my neck would snap. The tired looking cop searched my gaze with a placid expression.