June Contest

The Boy On Adekunle Street

He couldn’t be more than seven. His hair was brown with dust and his lips were chapped from cold. He had no shirt on, exposing g his ribs that seemed to burst through his bruised skin. His eyes, huge like tomatoes from Jos, pricked my conscience with guilt as his scrawny fingers wrapped around my wrist. I would normally shrug my hands off, keep walking. But this one was tenacious. And there was something about his eyes. So, I handed him a hundred Naira note. He bolted without saying a word. When I got home, my gold bracelet was gone.


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