March Contest

The Boy From Freetown.

The first time I saw him, he dragged his feet slowly with a dirty bag crossed around his shoulder. People asked after his parents and where he came from. His reply was ‘I from Freetown. I wan chop food, give me free food.’
He slept in a decrepit house owned by crawling and flying animals. The second time I saw him, his face was red and he had sores that made flies tag along with him like bees on a honeycomb.
The third time I saw him, he was beaten by the angry mob for stealing a cup of garri.


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