"Suicide Act"
• Travails In The City Of Lagos • -02-
He's had a long day at work.
Things aren't working out for him anymore.
He had just been sacked from a job that took him nearly six months to secure.
'You are so incompetent… We've found someone better...' ,His boss said bluntly.
'but sir, i work just as hard as everyone on the roster, what makes my case different' , He replied with a pleading tone.
'just leave will you!… Don't make me call security' , His boss had warned.

Drinking, sobbing,
His friends had white collar jobs, his girlfriend…ex, won't call him no more.
His parents think he's fine,
'oh he has a job and an apartment in Lagos… He's living the dream of every average citizen… what could possibly go wrong…' , His mom had bragged to her friends one time.
Tails between his legs, still drinking,
if only they knew it was all a facade.
That the money they recieved every month was made after working multiple jobs.
That he had to go for weeks without eating a normal meal, all just to see them happy and comfortable.
He tried to tell them several times, but he couldn't bare to hear their tone of disapproval and condemnations.
He sat up, with his whiskey at hand, blunt cigarette between his fingers. He looked up and exhaled, staring at the fan which hadn't moved since the power company cut him off electricity four months ago.
Staring, a thought crossed his mind,
`What if I didn't breathe`
He stared unshakingly at the fan, eyes red with tears.
He couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't keep up living in falsehood.
Then, he moved, he found a stool which had lost its color and beauty with age.
He went out and found a rope his neighbors had used to hang their cloths whenever the sun was up.
Getting into his room, he choked on his cigarette, coughing a few times. He didn't care. He had his mind made up and wasn't going back on it… right?
He sat on the floor looking at the rope suspended in the air, tied round the still fan. The stool already in place for his motive.
He sat there reminiscing on the better days, when he and his friends would go to clubs together, woe the girls together, did everything together. They promised to die together… what changed?
They got rich and left him behind. He thought.
He thought of writing a note, chuckled, then picked out the sack letter his boss had given him earlier, he grabbed a pen and wrote,
Mom, Dad, whoever is reading this. Its your son or rather your friend…or whatever…Its me. Jerry. Well, if you're reading this then it probably means I'm dead. I'm sorry for the pain you're feeling right now. It was never my intention to make you feel this way. All I want is some peace and quiet, something this life hasn't given me.
Mom I'm not rich, I am an hustler in the 'amazing city of Lagos'. My boss sacked me from the cleaning job I was able to secure some months ago, meaning i wouldn't be able to send you any money anymore. I got fed up. I can't keep doing this to myself anymore mom!. I'm sorry it had to be this way. Maybe when we meet up here… probably! you'd understand. Thank you for everything you've done for me as a mother. Oh and tell dad his son is the quitter he knew him to be.
With loads of love,
He got up and stood on the stool, staggering, almost losing his balance. He had had enough. He dropped his cellphone on the ground, delaying his motive with the thought that maybe someone would call and change his mind.
He waited two hours and nothing came through.
He stretched and grabbed the rope not too high up and wriggled his neck into it.
He never knew how to pray, he wasn't really a believer to say the least. But at that moment, he said,
"Lord… I'm sorry… I'm just not cut out for this world… we both know that… All I want is some peace and quiet, and hopefully I'll get some there.… Accept me lo…lord"
After finishing his unusual prayer, he exhaled, smiled.
He jumped…
few minutes later…
(His Nokia rings in background)
His mom had called...
Written by
Phaày ll The Wordsmith