Diary of a dreamy kid

As  a kid, I loved  pixies and fairies..
Even though I’d only read about them in stories.
I also loved adventure, Enid-Blyton knew how to weave fiction for children..
I used to imagine I was a smart detective who was better than the cops at catching villains..
So we formed a group, just like the famous-five and secret seven..
We used to have secret meetings believe it or not, I was seven..
We were three in our group , and I was the youngest..
We’d sit in my house, thinking up ideas,missions and new conquests..
One day on deep thought, I figured a club like ours would need money..
We might need some equipment, or go on some expensive journey(s)..
So I devised a means..
We had this paper game where we’d ask a player to secretly pick an animal,a place or a thing..
And through a streak of pure genius, we would deduce what was picked..
We said it was a Complex magical trick, and they could learn as well. They believed..
Sales boomed, people kept buying, I think I sold the most, after all it was my idea..
I remember a girl paid 90bucks, I wonder where she got that from, but I didn’t care..
My group had a common piggy-bank, I remember it was yellow..

We filled it till it had more than it could swallow..
Gradually I realized that we had lost focus..
Money had done its hocus pocus..
Even though we were privileged kids,we had let the thirst for money taint our innocence.
We were now part of the decadence..
One day a parent came with his son-who by the way was a good customer..
He walked into my class angrily asking for my teacher..
I remember I was worried for no good cause..
He spoke harshly to my teacher,and everyone wondered what was the fuss?
Soon after he left, my teacher -a good looking guy, called my name- Tokunbo! His voice, rather harsh..
I looked up innocently from my hardly opened book, I had suddenly developed goose-bumps, then, I thought it was a rash..
As I approached my teacher, I just knew I was in all kinds of trouble..
He glared at me like I was some crook, my legs started to wobble..
Before now, I’d never admit, but now its no big deal..
As I wobbled down the classroom aisle,feeling the heat from teacher’s glare, I felt hot piss flow down my thighs, through my shorts, my socks, too my little feet..
I was scared shitless..
And at that point, my beloved teacher’s eyes were cold,hard and soul-less..
He took out a familiar pack of paper, and asked..”What is this?”
I stuttered and stammered, and nothing sensible came from my lips..
I didn’t think it was a crime to sell my game..
But I could tell, adults wouldn’t feel the same..
My customer had been stealing money from his parents to keep patronizing me..
And to think what he was buying was a worthless piece of paper that should have been free..
So my teacher asked me to kneel down, and I got more than my fair share of mR.pepper-that was the baptismal name of my teacher’s cane..
From that day, my attitude towards my group was not the same..
That day I was so sad..
Unfortunately my mom was also told, and she felt really bad..
Blaming herself for not being more vigilant..
Unaware that I really wasn’t a deviant..
She whipped my cute butts that night..
But I held on and did not snitch on my partners..like a valiant knight
So many stories, how much can one say…
There were some actual adventures, but those are stories for some other day..

Posted from WordPress for BlackBerry.

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About slickjay

a writer of sorts, a poet and some...
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3 Responses to Diary of a dreamy kid

  1. Oma says:

    Nice write up

  2. jude says:

    One word for the kid men……HUSTLER…..natural born hustler that is what he is…..if only the teacher and mom could see from his perspective that he is just trying to get paid.

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