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Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of
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Chapter 7
Finger.
“What is she looking for at this time of the night, for God’s sake?”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t take this ride. This woman looks all shade of trouble.”
“I need the money for the trip. I need to pay back the cooperative loan I got last week to repair the car. Right now, every passenger counts.”
His next rider was this senior citizen that had her hair styled in neat yet wild curls as the storm-whipped sea waves, with strands that swirled to her face. Her face bore the evidence of time well spent in love and nurture, but the wrinkles and folds of skin were so pronounced it was hard to tell what she must have looked like as a young woman.
Perhaps she was once admired, courted, and coiffured. Now she just looked like a party balloon almost bereft of its helium, sagged and deflated.
She did not look like trouble.
Adio was running low on fuel and hoped that this passenger would be considerate enough to enjoy the cool evening breeze rather than the filtered and cool air from his AC.
“Good evening.” He wanted to start on a decent note.
“Good evening driver, how are you today?”
“I am well ma’am. Very well.”
She carried with her several small bags. Each stuffed to the brim with clothes and other stuffs.
Adio looked at his fuel gauge again, nodding his head as he turned the ignition.
“Good. Please leave the windows down. I would like to enjoy the cool evening breeze.”
“God bless your soul.” But the words didn’t leave his mouth.
“Lucky you.” Don shared in the relief. “You should have bought some fuel when you had the chance.”
Curiosity soon got the better of Adio and questions that begged for answers popped into his head.
Why was she out at 11pm alone? What was an elderly woman doing carrying 4 small bags and a small trinket box? She surely couldn’t be in a marital crisis in her seventies. She had to be in her early seventies or late sixties, is she not?
He looked into his rearview mirror slowly, perhaps to start a conversation or to watch his passenger deftly, but he surprisingly met her disapproving gaze.
“Oh my! Was she looking at you? Something is fishy”
“No God please. I could use some peace. No more drama, dear God. Please hear the cry of your humble servant.”
But still, his eyes darted to the rearview mirror again.

Thankfully, she was looking out of the window this time.
“Is this thing in my head right now?” a confused Adio wondered.
“Dude I am the only one in your head.” Don chuckled.
Then his eyes rolled towards the rearview mirror again.
This time, she was still looking out of the window, sitting gracefully with her hands clamped in a loose grip. Adio then turned to look at the side of the road she was staring at. There was nothing of interest.
The questions in his head remained unanswered. No matter how often he looked at his passenger, the answers were not on her face.
“Maybe she is a prostitute.”
Haba! Don, this is an old woman oh.”
“There is nothing strange anymore in this world again, or how do you explain what an elderly woman is doing up late at 11.20pm when her mates are snoring in the comfort of their beds.”
“ I am going to see my daughter, her water broke one hour ago.”
“Is she listening to our conversation, Adio?”
“Oh dear! I hope everything works out just well.” Adio offered some comfort to his passenger.
But there was no comfort in the voice that searched for answers in his head.
“This woman can hear our conversation Adio. I swear to God.”
“Why don’t you ask a question, let us test this theory of yours.”
“Okay then. I wonder how old she is?”
Silence, then…
“I will be seventy-eight in two weeks.” Came the voice of the woman in his backseat.
“Jesus Christ!” Adio shouted looking into the rearview mirror to see the woman smiling mischievously.
“ Is everything okay?” The worried woman asked, ever so calm and unmoved by his reaction.
“Yes. Yes. Ma”
“I suspect my children are planning a surprise birthday party for me.”
“This must be some coincidence.” Don remarked.
“They have been speaking in hush tones when they see me around. I have seen this too often to know that they are up to something.”
“Interesting!” Adio remarked.
“Let’s try another question. This time unrelated to the ones we have asked before.” Don suggested. “How many children do you have? How many are females and how old is the eldest child?”
Adio tuned his ears, breath abating, hoping that this strange woman in his car would not answer the questions Don had asked.
Silence.
” I thought so! There is no way she could be listening in on our thoughts and then replying in reality. No freaking way!”
“Phew!” Adio felt relieved.
“Adunni, is my eldest. She is forty-six and having her first child. That is why I need to be at her side. All her other four sisters have had children effortlessly, but she had to wait on end for many years. I am really happy for her.”
That was it, Adio slammed on his brake pedal suddenly. They were not even at her destination yet.
He then looked into the rearview mirror slowly. He could see a woman who was fulfilled with life, wearing a smile that refused to disappear as though held in place by the wrinkled folds on her face.
“Thank you for the ride, Adio.” She handed the exact fare in cash to him as she alighted, hurling all her small bags.
“Did you tell her your name? Was it the ride-hailing app. What is going on Bro?”
Stunned, Adio sat rooted at the same spot staring into space. He wondered what had just happened.
Then he scanned his backseat quickly, only to find that the woman had left behind her trinket box.
“What is this again?”
He stretched out his arm from his seat to grab the small box. It opened easily.
He retched into his backseat the moment he opened the box.
It was the sight of a freshly cut human middle finger that welcomed him.
Drop your comments and read more in the next chapter.
I promise, no more surprises.

Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of

In an era that increasingly demands hyper-specialization, Akin Akingbogun stands out as a refreshing anomaly. He is a man who refuses to be confined to a single box.

There is a particular kind of silence that falls on a man when the phone stops ringing, the proposals go unanswered, and the diary that once groaned under the weight of appointments sits quietly — almost mockingly — open. If you have ever been there, you know it.

Let me tell you something uncomfortable: the most generous person you know — the one who volunteers every weekend, donates quietly, never asks for anything in return — is probably getting something out of it. Not money. Maybe not even recognition. But something.

Adaeze had been awake since 4 a.m.
Not because she was anxious — though she was — but because this trip felt different. After eighteen months of follow-ups, phone calls, and PowerPoint presentations polished to a mirror shine, the deal was finally ready to close. An investor meeting in Abuja. A partnership that would change the trajectory of her small but gutsy consulting firm. She had triple-checked her flight, her documents, her outfit. She had prayed. She was ready.

When he told his father, Dare’s first response was a sigh. Then: “I told you to practice more. I told you months ago. You don’t listen. You never listen.”
There was no “I’m sorry, son.” No pause to let the boy simply feel the loss of the thing he wanted. Just a swift, seamless pivot to what Temi had done wrong — and, by extension, how Temi’s failure was evidence of Temi’s failure to take his father’s wisdom seriously.

I want to tell you something that took me embarrassingly long to learn. Not because the idea is complicated — it is not. But because it cuts against something deeply wired in us, something we are rarely honest enough to admit.

You are somewhere between forty and fifty-five. You looked in the mirror recently and had a thought you immediately dismissed. Maybe you googled something at 2am that you would never say out loud. Maybe you bought something expensive and impractical and told everyone it was an investment. Or maybe you just feel — quietly, persistently — like the life you built was supposed to feel better than this by now.

Anton Chekhov was a Russian physician and playwright — a man trained in the discipline of diagnosis before he became one of the most precise storytellers in the history of world literature. That combination of sensibilities matters, because the principle he articulated in the late nineteenth century was not merely a rule of dramatic craft. It was an observation about the nature of significance itself. About what it means for something to be present. About the relationship between introduction and consequence.

There is a prison that has no concrete walls, no iron bars, no guards posted at the gate. Nobody built it for you. Nobody sentenced you to it. And yet, for many people, it is the place they spend the better part of their lives — circling its perimeter, brushing their fingers against its invisible boundaries, and quietly retreating each time they feel the edge of something that might require more of them than they believe they can give.

Picture a hand holding sand. The tighter the grip, the faster the grains escape between the fingers. Ease the grip — open the palm, allow the hand to become a vessel rather than a vice — and the sand stays. This is one of the oldest paradoxes of leadership, and one of the least learned: that control, pursued too aggressively, produces the very loss of control it was designed to prevent.

There is a version of ambition that builds. And there is a version of ambition that consumes. From a distance — and especially from inside it — they look almost identical. Both are energetic. Both are forward-moving. Both speak the language of vision and possibility. The difference only becomes visible later, usually at the point of fracture, when what was built begins to come apart under the weight of what was promised.

There is a particular kind of organisational absurdity that most people who have ever worked in a company will recognise immediately. It is the policy that was clearly designed by someone who has never had to implement it. The restructuring that looked elegant on a slide deck and chaotic on the ground. The customer-facing process that was overhauled by a committee that has not spoken to a customer in years. The directive that arrives from above, fully formed and non-negotiable, that causes the people closest to the work to exchange a look — the kind of look that says, without words: they have no idea what we actually do here.

We have built an entire mythology around exhaustion. In boardrooms and business culture — perhaps nowhere more so than in the high-pressure, always-on professional culture many of us inhabit — busyness has become a currency. To be tired is to be serious. To be overwhelmed is to be important. To be burning out, quietly, is somehow proof that you are fully committed.
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15 thoughts on “Night Runs – chapter 7 – Finger”
Adio has finally carried a non human o!!! I just knew that all this his night movement will end up with him carrying a terrestrial being.
….and the freshly cut finger?
Even more creepy!!! Lolz
Lol….enjoy!
On to the next episode. Oya!
Loool.. Adio has carried his ancestor. This one Issa banga of a passenger.
Very entertaining, well done.
Thanks buddy.
This reminds me of Thriller stories like Agatha christie’s novels
Thank you Peter. I am still learning where Agatha dey!
Waiting for the continuation episode.
Got you!
Interesting read
Haha!
Rushing to the next episode.
Oya! Quick quick.
Curiosity got the better part of Adio. I can imagine Adio’s expression when he saw the finger
Scary!