Mr Brown

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic


The man was an Irish, but he claimed to be a Briton citizen by birth. He was a man with whitish skin. However he has a slight , red spotty particles that designed his face. Those white men their
teeth were not that as white as snow. That was the belief of the most Negritude people. They still held the belief of their past father- "the white men teeth are not always white. It was believed
that they brushed their teeth once in a week by our men who live there." Mr Brown's teeth were different. They were white like cassava but there was a little stained tobaccos amidst of the front
teeth. He did always smoke, but he was not addicted to it like his friend Johnson. Mr Johnson was a perfect smoker. He could consume a packet of Erimore product a day. Even though at his fifties he
smoked a lot. This sometimes annoyed Mr Brown wherever he saw his friend in this act. "You should have debilitated the rate you smoke by now. You know you are at your fifties," The man declared
frankly to his friend during Mr Johnson's birthday party. "It is by a process," he paused as he belched out a thick smoke, " Rome was not built a day," he Chuckled as they both clinked a white
glass stacked with London Chelsea Dry Gin. That was almost a year ago. Mr Brown now was inside a car. He came to Nigeria to visit the country. He travelled a lot. In fact, this would be his sixth
visitation to different countries. He had travelled to Spain, Norway, Chile... Germany. He was lucky at Germany. He met his only young woman there. The name of the woman was Laura. North Korea was
his last tourism. He did not spend much time there and did not successfully accomplished his aims. He ran out of the place because of the deadly nuclear bomb the country was lunching on her
enemies. "Thank God I did not spend much time there," he sighed and then continued, "I would have been as dead as festive meat." His jaw jerked having completed the statement. He has been in the
car for more than two hours because the road was severely jammed with oceanic cars. It was hard for any cars to move. Mr Brown heaved. He has not encountered such hold-up of cars before. He thought
that this would be a good experience to write about. After some hours of frustration, Mr Brown continue to sweat . A man who has not passed through that before. He hardened his face with disgust
while bringing an unstained handkerchief out of his pocket. "What was now happening on the road," he asked himself rhetorically. In the meantime, an unnamed man signalled him with hone. "It was
your turn," the nameless man shouted. "Good day," a man wearing a Nigerian police saluted Mr Brown. "Good day," Mr Brown replied with veneration. " what can I do for you," he accented his voice.
After this, the policeman tendered his flat palm which revealed a feeling of confusion in Mr Brown's face. "What does that mean," he asked with an Irish tone. "Here," the skinny policeman said, we
charged any users of the road. " But you may go scot-free today. The policeman said placing emphasis on the last word. Mr Brown glided the car forward through the lane. He looked sad because the
policeman consumed his time uneccesarily.To demonstrate his hidden anger, he spat out a thick saliva. Meanwhile, the word of the policeman reechoed within him- " here we charged our people
illegally. He laughed at this as his car coasted along the famous bridge.

Submitted: November 12, 2017

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Submitted: November 12, 2017

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The man was an Irish, but he claimed to be a Briton citizen by birth. He was a man with whitish skin. However he has a slight , red spotty particles that designed his face. Those white men their teeth were not that as white as snow. That was the belief of the most Negritude people. They still held the belief of their past father- "the white men teeth are not always white. It was believed that they brushed their teeth once in a week by our men who live there." Mr Brown's teeth were different. They were white like cassava but there was a little stained tobaccos amidst of the front teeth. He did always smoke, but he was not addicted to it like his friend Johnson. Mr Johnson was a perfect smoker. He could consume a packet of Erimore product a day. Even though at his fifties he smoked a lot. This sometimes annoyed Mr Brown wherever he saw his friend in this act. "You should have debilitated the rate you smoke by now. You know you are at your fifties," The man declared frankly to his friend during Mr Johnson's birthday party. "It is by a process," he paused as he belched out a thick smoke, " Rome was not built a day," he Chuckled as they both clinked a white glass stacked with London Chelsea Dry Gin. That was almost a year ago. Mr Brown now was inside a car. He came to Nigeria to visit the country. He travelled a lot. In fact, this would be his sixth visitation to different countries. He had travelled to Spain, Norway, Chile... Germany. He was lucky at Germany. He met his only young woman there. The name of the woman was Laura. North Korea was his last tourism. He did not spend much time there and did not successfully accomplished his aims. He ran out of the place because of the deadly nuclear bomb the country was lunching on her enemies. "Thank God I did not spend much time there," he sighed and then continued, "I would have been as dead as festive meat." His jaw jerked having completed the statement. He has been in the car for more than two hours because the road was severely jammed with oceanic cars. It was hard for any cars to move. Mr Brown heaved. He has not encountered such hold-up of cars before. He thought that this would be a good experience to write about. After some hours of frustration, Mr Brown continue to sweat . A man who has not passed through that before. He hardened his face with disgust while bringing an unstained handkerchief out of his pocket. "What was now happening on the road," he asked himself rhetorically. In the meantime, an unnamed man signalled him with hone. "It was your turn," the nameless man shouted. "Good day," a man wearing a Nigerian police saluted Mr Brown. "Good day," Mr Brown replied with veneration. " what can I do for you," he accented his voice. After this, the policeman tendered his flat palm which revealed a feeling of confusion in Mr Brown's face. "What does that mean," he asked with an Irish tone. "Here," the skinny policeman said, we charged any users of the road. " But you may go scot-free today. The policeman said placing emphasis on the last word. Mr Brown glided the car forward through the lane. He looked sad because the policeman consumed his time uneccesarily.To demonstrate his hidden anger, he spat out a thick saliva. Meanwhile, the word of the policeman reechoed within him- " here we charged our people illegally. He laughed at this as his car coasted along the famous bridge.


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