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“How much does a judge cost?” my father asked me.

“That depends,” I said.

“Well, seems like that’s all justice is about in this republic.”

“What are you not telling me, dad?”

He took a long sigh then said, “We lost the case, John. We lost.”

“What? What do you mean? No way!”

“Yes. Apparently, there’s no evidence enough.”

I was about sobs. “Everybody knew it. Everybody knows it. It was our land. It is our land.” I almost shouted at dad. “And we all know that it was him who killed grandpa. Why dad? Why?”

My father was his usual cool. “John, son, I hate to tell you this, but it’s the truth. Life ain’t fair, get used to it.”
I felt like I could kill somebody. Hell, I could, and should kill somebody.

“Thank God you’re alive, John,” my father told me after a while. “World of Richie Riches, they get their own breaks and everyone else’s too.”

“Yeah, I get it. The rich just get richer and the poor…”

“Whine like you.”

That was ten years ago.

And this is now.

I have a bounty of over a billion shillings on my head. I rob, with violence, and kill the rich – government
offcials, media moguls, academics, church leaders, bankers, police, judges, military gooks and all.
I am the MOST WANTED man locally and internationally.

That’s the bad thing.

The good thing is that I do it for the common man.

And I never gonna be caught.

Trust me on that!

The Runaway Priest

Photo: devianART.(www.devianart.com)  “I’m leaving the church, Bishop,” Fr. Nicholas said.             “You want it out there, Father, but winter is coming.” “I’d rather live with sin than in sin,” Nicholas

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