The way we die.

He walked into the bus station, hefting several bags over his shoulder, flipping a coin as he did so. He thought it seemed cool, at least had seen it amongst a few gangsters… gangster movies, of course. He paused for a moment, catching the coin deftly and sparing the intricate yet old pattern of the coin a glance. A piece of Aztec gold, thought to have been cursed by mages past. He chuckled to himself. The only curse in this coin is the man who seeks it, he thought, flipping it again as he kept going.

Ansat Lifurce stood at an inconspicuous 5ft7, an unremarkable height, and his worn tee shirt and faded jeans made him blend perfectly into the crowd.

He whistled, sounding off the Nigerian national anthem as he skipped along cheerily.

I just love third world countries Ansat thought, absorbing the scenery around him.

The trash littered roads riddled with potholes, the blocked and reeking gutters, and the screaming and shouting of a thousand impoverished men and women. What a wonderful sight. He hadn’t seen times this good since the Dark ages….. as the movies showed them of course.

He shook his head, bringing himself back to focus. He came here for something, and he needed to see it through.

A bag slipped of his shoulder, dropping to the floor in the centre of the small bus park as he walked, but Ansat moved on without a moment’s pause, almost as if he didn’t notice. Almost….

The taxi driver, Musa, chewed on a piece of kola, the loud crunching sound drowned out in the hustle and bustle of the park. He grabbed another box and tossed it into the boot of his taxi, wiping the sweat of his brow and rubbing his red, sleep deprived eyes.

A dull thud drew his attention, and he saw a bag drop of the shoulder of a man lugging several other boxes.

“Oga, you don drop your bag o” Musa said, running after the man. I go fit get extra passenger with this one o he thought.

He reached down to pick the bag, to give it back to its rightful owner, when the corner of his eye caught the deep green coloration in the bag, a color he had come to know in the duration of his struggles.

Musa opened the bag gingerly, peering into the bag and his breath caught in his throat.

Dollars. Wads and stacks of dollars.

He closed the bag sharply, taking a hurried look around him.

Good. He thought to himself nobody saw

He grabbed the bag by the handles, hoisting it as he attempted to run towards his taxi. 

I don hammer oo, he thought, his mind already running wild on the things he was going to splurge his newfound wealth on.

In his haste, the bag snagged against a jutting piece of a poorly welded railing, tearing the bag and dumping its coveted contents over the floor, still bound in tight wads

The entire bus station plunged into a well of utter silence, as everybody froze in their tracks, the only sound present the humming of running engines.

Musa grabbed all the notes and jumped into his taxi, which was already running, and all of a sudden the park broke out into a mad frenzy as the stupor wore off, rushing and stepping over each other as they made a mad dash for the taxi.

Musa slammed down hard on his accelerator, as a hand from outside grabbed his steering and stuck his head through the window “Musa, wait o. Make we talk na!”

Musa recognized the voice a fellow driver, one he had come to take as a friend over the last few years. They had eaten together, partied together, and worked together. But there was money involved now.

“Your fada!” Musa screamed as he grabbed a screwdriver off his dashboard, driving it straight through his assaulter’s eye. The body fell limp, as Musa sped off, leaving the dead body hanging halfway out of his window as he sped out onto the expressway.

The delay had bought the other drivers some time, as they had now reached their own vehicles, speeding after Musa and blocking his car with theirs in the middle of the expressway.

They jumped out and dragged Musa out of the car, as he tried to hold onto the notes.

The notes scattered all over the floor, and the drivers and other passersby descended on both the money and each other. They punched and bloodied themselves, each attempting to grab what he could for themselves, defending what they had, while attempting to collect more.

It went for a while, the chaos ongoing for a few minutes. So much so, that no one saw the fuel tanker speeding towards them, too close to hit the brakes on time….

Ansat Lifurce shrieked with delight as the explosion went off, throwing cars and body parts all over the expressway, shrapnel flying in all directions. He closed his eyes, allowing the waves of pleasure to run through him as he felt the souls depart from their bodies.

22…28…45…54 people dead! 54 DEAD! It was so much fun every time!

He stretched out his hand, and green dollar notes began to materialize in his palm.

He flipped through, counting the amount, and threw his head back, letting out a loud laugh.

“Not one dollar escaped!, not one! Nobody got even one dollar!”

He broke out into another round of laughter, throwing his legs in the air in sheer unfeigned delight. He wiped the tears of laugher from his eyes as he placed the money into a bag next to him, picking himself off the floor.

He chuckled to himself Sometimes they make it too easy. It’s been the same for the last thousands of years

Ansat sighed in pleasure, flipping his coin as he walked away into the dimming evening, whistling the tune of Nigerian national anthem as he vanished into nothingness.