At approximately 3.15pm on Thursday, an ant stung Mr Johnson on his elbow as he leaned on his desk listening to the gist between folake and dotun. This seemingly innocuous occurrence was to snowball into a situation that would affect him for the rest of his life.

You see, prior to that time, Mr Johnson had woken up on the right side of the bed that day. Being the chief accountant of the administrative department of the hospital, he had a busy day ahead but he was in high spirits. All the major assignments had been done the day before. The books had all been balanced. The medical director had been pleased with the results. All he had to do was attend a couple of meetings today to present his findings, two of which he had already done before this incident occurred.

Mr Johnson was a relatively kind and jovial fellow. Many people could vouch for his openness and friendliness with staff, even those under his command.

"He no get problem! Just ask him, he will hear you out and give you the right advice!" was a phrase often associated with him. "Na correct guy! Meet am, he go sort things out." "Very helpful, once I didn't get paid my full salary, he came to my assistance immediately..." and so on and so on.

Folake had just finished explaining her very interesting and humurous date to Dotun and Mr Johnson during thier break in between meetings when the ant stung him. He was literally stung mid chuckle. Mr johnson's gestures of mirth quickly turned into gestures of intense pain. What had bitten him was what was commonly known as a fire ant. Its sting was intensely hot and painful albeit brief. He grabbed his elbow and pinched the place tight in a vain attempt to stifle the pain. Folake and Dotun jumped to thier feet and came over to his side of the desk.

Folake squished the ant with her slippers while Dotun tried to massage his elbow but Mr Johnson wouldn't let her touch him.

"It's okay really, "he said while still wincing in pain.

"Let me get some ointment," she said and moved quickly to the cabinet, knocking over his files in the process. They fell off the desk and scattered everywhere, some even falling under the faulty air conditioning which was leaking water into a bucket conveniently placed in a corner.

No...they'll get wet! He cried as he moved to pick up the papers. At that moment his phone rang. He ignored it and tried to gather up the important papers; yes, some had gotten a bit wet. He sighed, irritated, even as he massaged his sore elbow. His phone began ringing again. Finally he sat back down and picked it up.

Hello?
Good afternoon sir, sorry to bother you...
Yes ? Yes ? Who is this?
I'm Mr Edward, I'm Dr Obi's son. He worked in your establishment a couple of years ago and ...
Look young man, get to the point! Why are you calling me?
I'm...I'm so sorry sir...I'm trying to get some details concerning his pension and I was told ...
What do you want?! Did someone tell you I was the pensions officer? Who gave you my number? I don't have time for this now!

Mr Johnson hung up. He sighed as dotun tried to clean up the blotted stain on the financial summary paper for the year. It was ruined. He should have made a copy the night before. His laptop containing the file was at home and he would have to go home to print another one. He sighed again.

At the other end of the phone Edward was gritting his teeth. Internally he boiled in anger. All these civil servants thought they were small gods. He had tried to be polite. Shebi they didn't want to give him his father's benefits right? No problem. He had had it with this kind of useless behaviour. The antipsychotics he had been on for the past year had finished a month ago. All the money had finished a month ago. He couldn't even pay for his father's funeral as it was. He could barely afford to eat. And one man at the top thinks he can sit on what is is rightfully mine?! He thought.

It was in the drawer. He had brought it from school. It still had twelve rounds in it. He walked up to the drawer and brought it out. It was a beautiful gun. Commander had given it to him while in school. He smiled mirthlessley and went to get dressed, taking the gun with him. He didn't want to look irresponsible, after all.

An hour later he was at the hospital and Mr Johnson was screaming in pain only this time it was a bullet in the back that had struck him, not an ant. The young boy had been quickly apprehended but he didn't seem to care. He laughed manically to himself as he was being led away.

"I can't feel my legs. I can't feel my legs!" Mr Johnson screamed as sympathizers gathered around him. They rushed him to the theatre but it was too late. The damage had been done.

THE END.

Lovely.

My sense of humour must be awful 'cause I actually laughed, thank goodness we do not get to own a gun freely in this country, the rate we go dey shoot ourselves ehn! Nice one Royver

Beautiful story as you always did Mr Roy...