Scythe on the pitch #part 1


He watched his victim behind those dark, bloodshot hollows. Shielded by a red hoodie. He had cautiously followed him around for weeks, patiently waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

Keeping his blood lust down was an almost seemingly impossible feat, but he could manage for the mean time. He knew the day of reckoning was very near, so he squealed with devilish delight. He pirouetted through airways of the unconscious, floated through the shadows, echoing those words. 

“your soul would soon be mine”,

The moon casted a terrifying silhouette, as he stroked the metal reaper with pale, wrinkled hands and left an invisible trail of blood behind. 


your soul would soon be mine”. 

The words threw Tunde from the abyss of sleep to the realms of consciousness. He quickly sat up straight in bed, allowing bloodshot eyes roam the bedroom frantically. 

Beads of perspiration cascaded his face and body, even though the split air-conditioning system was switched on. Gradually, his brain transmitted the message, he had only been dreaming and those words that rung in his ears, were spooky fragments of his nightmare. He gave a deep sigh of relief and searched the room for the clock. 

Everything was in place just as he had left it the previous night. A huge pile of clothes both clean and unclean, sat gloriously on the floor. Various mismatched socks, and pairs of Nike sneakers were lying around carelessly. 

On the far end of the room were empty champagne bottles and flutes, some of which were cut in halves- a result, from being rammed into by heavily drunk dancers. On the center table, half empty Cîroc vodka bottles assembled. Wraps of cocaine and pot were also scattered around carelessly. 

Tunde looked at the wall just above the gigantic plasma screen, and finally found the clock. Time was 06:00pm. 


He was late for training again. He turned on his side and looked at his bed, it was ruffled and his naked bedmates laid. Soundly asleep. A slow smile escaped his lips as his eyes roved the bodies of the naked mulattoes. Both women, whom were of Caribbean descent.   

They were among the strippers he had brought in for his private party In his condo last night. He could remember them leading him to his masters bedroom, where they had a mind blowing threesome. Hot, dirty, sex…

He forgot about his troubled sleep, and crept up beside one of the women.

Her name was Catherine, he remembered her introducing herself as “Cathy” in that thick Caribbean accent. He could barely remember the name of the other woman. Slowly, his fingers twirled a butterfly tattoo on her lower hip. Then they continued up her spinal cord, to her nape. He finally stopped and planted a wet kiss there. 

She responded with a sluggish recoil, slowly turned, and faced him.

“Hey baby” he said.

“Hallo handsome, want some sugar?” she said in a state of semi sleep.

“come to daddy” 

He said, and reached for her boobs. He took them one after the other in his mouth, and was about to kiss her, when a  sharp knock on the door interrupted him.

Upset at the inconvenient timing of the person, he impatiently asked 

“Who is that?”

“Open the door” came the brash reply.

Tunde was about to ignore whoever had disrupted his business when the voice came again followed by several hard knocks on polished wood. Only this time, it was an order. 

Toon dai open the bloody door!”

He recognized the familiar voice. 


He protested and quickly got up. He searched for his boxers and found it tossed across the room. He wore it quickly, took a wrap of pot, lit it and walked towards the door.

He opened the door noisily, and Mr. Pepple his Coach walked in. 

He was a tall man with an athletic build. Closely in his early 40’s, his skin, the color of white POP, had freckles that spread across like a map of dotted red lines. He wore his head bald, and was clad in a white tee over sports trainers and sneakers. Mr. Pepple was an Irishman. He was born in London and grew up there. But his football career had taken him to various countries round the Continent. He was polyglot, a benefit of having lived in many different cities. He currently lived in Madrid Spain, where he was coach for the legendary Lion’s Fc.

“Where the bloody hell were you?, I’ve called your phone a hundred times today ?!” he demanded.

Tunde let out a puff of toxic smoke and said, 

“err..I was******* busy”.

“You were busy?,.. You call this busy?” 

Mr. Pepple said in utter disbelief, and pointed towards the semi naked women who had woken up to the sound of the commotion, and were shamelessly doing little or nothing to hide their bare skin. 

“yeah, a little fun it’s all”

Tunde retorted, dismissing the look of shock on his coach face. He walked away and plunged into a nearby cushion nonchalantly. 

Pepple was seething with fury now. His face had turned crimson red, but he had to control his temper. He drew in heavy breath and said. 

Toon dai, that’s four times in a row you’re missing training and our big game is just next week. Now get your shit together man, and I want to see you at training tomorrow 07:00am, else consider yourself benched for the next seasons game”.

Tunde scratched his head,

“Coach, you know I can deliver, go easy on me man”.

“I would go easy on you when you deliver me that trophy, get your shit together and clean up this mess!” Pepple said in disgust. 

He gave both mulattoes a contemptuous look. His pointed nose scrunched up at both ladies, like they were the garbage collectors and had the putrid smell of garbage hanging loosely on them. 

He tore his small hazel eyes from their own bulgy brown eyes, and slammed the door behind him as he stomped out.
To be continued……..

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