Burning Flame

The massive edifice loomed alone in the dreary distance. A forest of trees stands shattered and crippled in front of it, their bark slowly withering. A fog blankets James' skin, filling his mouth with loathing. James moves cautiously through Ikeji's deserted streets as the chilling wind howls. He takes out his phone, dials 12 numbers, and presses the call button. He holds the phone up to his ears, hoping for an answer, but the phone never rings. He hits the call button once more, but there is still no answer. He lets out a sigh! Is it a network problem? He was perplexed. James takes out his mobile phone once more, dials his mobile number and hesitates before pushing the call button. To his surprise, the phone rings, and someone answers with the command, "Run!" James staggers back and tosses his phone onto the road. He moves his gaze to the left, then to the right, and finally to the back. There was no one there. He dashes along the street, looking over his shoulder as his heartbeat quickens like a bullet. After a half-hour of running, He approaches the end of the road and comes to a halt, bending down and breathing deeply. His gaze shifts to a tree on the other side of the street. James approaches it and sits beneath it. James Ajogwo had arrived for a meeting. Strenger. Yesterday, James' acquaintance, let's call him Ijoba, introduced him to the man. "He's a dealer," Ijoba told James. "I buy m*******a from him." He'd taken out a bottle of syrup, opened it, and taken a taste. "Do you mean you bought it from him as well?" James stated. He snatched the bottle from Ijoba and shook it vigorously before taking a swallow. "How am I going to meet him?" James took another swallow. "He resides in Ikoyi." I can provide you with his contact information." Ijoba took out his phone and scribbled 'David' down the contacts list. He surpassed the number. "Tell him you're my friend and want to buy Molly when you call." "I'm just going to call him right now." James took out his mobile and dialed the number. "Hello!" someone said after a few rings. "My name is James Ajogwu." "James?" In surprise, David repeated the name. "How may I help you?" "My friend, Ijoba," James had hesitated before continuing, "he gave me your phone number." "Alright." "I'm in desperate need of some molly." "All right, when?" David stated. "Tomorrow." "I'll send you the address where we'll meet," David stated. "All right then," James remarked as he hung up the phone. And now James is very exhausted. His throat had dried up, and his eyes were as wide open as the sun's eye. When a cool breeze blows, James begins to fidget, his teeth clenching and he gathers himself into one. Suddenly, James hears a siren in the distance. It gradually becomes considerably louder than before. James jumped to his feet, his jaw dropped, and he looked about. They are cops. He catches sight of them approaching him. He stumbles, extends his legs wide, and continues to run. When the police notice him, they speed past their car and follow him. James is terrified; he has never been in such a difficult circumstance, and he has never been pursued by police. A portion of his mind tells him to stop, but he knows that if he does, the police will arrest him since he has some molly on him. I'm not ready to go to jail. I don't want my folks to find out what I'm up to. In his head, James says. Only a bike can pass through the little street on the other side. James seized the opportunity. He breezes past it. The perspiration stink drifted into his nostrils as the avenue of tall buildings stood there. The region is filled with the sound of engines. He spotted an unfinished structure and dashed inside. When he enters the structure, he notices a concentration of voices reverberating back and forth. The voices suddenly halt, and then a roar of laughter smashes the silence. James' gut growls as his mind races with anxiety. He makes his way upward on tiptoes, passing three rooms in succession before arriving at the largest. The chanting, yelling, and even the scent of m*******a travelled past his nostrils as the voices became louder. He lowered his body and looked out the window. Two men sit on the backside window pane, four men stand, and the remaining two play chess. They're all holding cigarettes in their fingers. One of the men glanced up and noticed James listening in on them. "Someone is here," the man shouted as he jumped to his feet. They all jumped to their feet, looking for their weapons and their heads above James. He marched upstairs, four steps at a time, seeing that. One of the men hands James an empty bottle. It strikes his left leg, and he falls to the ground. He tries to get up but is unable to. The blood is running through the wound, and he groans as the anguish creeps deep within him. He looks around; the men are approaching. He yells, steps forward, and starts running slowly and painfully. Standing on the side of a lonely street. Looking over his shoulder for assistance. But no one was there, and the only sound was the chirps of birds. Through his foggy vision, James notices a truck from a distance. He waves his hand, but the vehicle zooms by. Splashing water all over him. No car passes by for more than ten minutes. His legs became numb and began to shake. He's sobbing by the side of the road. The wind suddenly carries a police siren and passes over James' ears, putting him in conciliation. I'd rather be in police custody than in the hands of those men. James pondered. The police arrive and stop by. "Is there something wrong?" According to one of the cops. Looking down at the blood spilling out of James' leg. "You're in pain. "Tell me what happened to you." He walks over to James and looks at the wound. "I had an accident," James admits as he lowers his gaze. "Accident? How?" The police inquired. Before James opens his lips to speak, another police officer approaches and adds, "I don't trust this man." "We'd just take him to the cell because he might be a criminal," he says, rolling his eyes at James. The police load James into their car and drive away. James falls ill on the way back to the police station. His body goes numb, and his eyes begin to blur. His body begins to twitch in response to the call of winter. The officers were astonished. They rush to the hospital, but James' condition deteriorates before they are there. As he groans, his heart skips a beat. When a doctor lowered his body and placed a stethoscope on James' chest, the expression on his face indicated that something horrible had occurred. He turns to one of the police and says, "Sorry to say, he is no more," a doctor says after pausing. He walks out with his stethoscope around his neck.