Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site



Frank Collins is an ex convict. A man with a misterious past and a ruined present. Willing to secure a future, he travels to Africa.


Submitted:Jul 7, 2012    Reads: 20    Comments: 3    Likes: 0   


Beaten, mugged and locked in an oven, with annoying people whose language i couldn't understand. That's pretty much how i felt, when i left the airport. My house was gone, my money had vanished and my self respect was drowning in my seriously healthy habit of absorbing every alcoholic drink in sight. Still something has to be said about my persistence. I ruined every single oportunity i ever got in the states, and now here i was, ready to try again.

I arrived in Kinanga after two days of journey. A small country located in northern Africa. A man named Kwasi had offered me a Job, finding out who killed his son. The man was desperate and willing to pay anything, even to a deadbeat loser like myself. The man was involved in politics, so he definetely had the Money. I never cared to ask him an explanation of what "politics" meant, or why he would need an american ex convict to help him out. When you are so broke that you have nowhere to sleep. You better grab any job that is thrown at you.

I stepped of the jeep and grabbed my bags. While walking through the streets i could feel the dread in the air. Local militia and merc groups were in constant conflict, the rich kept on getting richer and the poor, well, the poor were pretty fucked already. It was your tipical shithole, with brown matching curtains. I took the rest of the day to find and sleep in the hotel.

The next morning i met Kwasi in the local bar. He was one of those "no bullshit" kind of guys. Dead serious and very quiet. Made a funny contrast with all the loud mouthed motherfuckers who were ruining my hangover. We spent what seemed like hours discussing what my work was and how to get it done. Kwasi's son was named Sizwe, he was only 19 years old when someone decided to use his young and fragile body as target practice. He had been shot six times, but that wasn't the weird part. That same someone had also taken his heart. Kwasi thought it could have something to do with a local cult. And of course, who better than me to slip into the lion's den? It would not take me long to realise that the one responsible was not a lion, but a seven headed snake.





0

| Email this story Email this Short story | Add to reading list



Reviews

About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.