Fictional Story

“Oh Oh, you really called me here for this, right?” Bolu yelled, with her captivating eye and lips all moving at an intriguing pace despite the hate on her face. Frank was on his kneels expecting a YES. His heart began to pound with an unfamiliar fear, as people in the mall all watched – expecting a yes from the supposed bride to be.
.
She cleared her throat: “OK, You know what? You’re not my type! Get that right in your skull. So you ever imagined I would fall in love with you over a cheap few dates and a few things you buy here and there? Oh, wait, perhaps it’s because I honor your invitations and took you in as a friend?” she ranted, tapping her feet on the beautifully designed tiles; the thud could wake the dead in a second.
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The mall was in silence for a minute in resemblance to those experienced in remembrance of heroes who lost their precious lives in cold battles. The other customers watched Frank in a mixture of nostalgia: the young ones were sarcastic – drawing humor from the humiliation he felt. “The young lady could have taken it easy with him,” some customers murmured. Frank’s handsomeness: broad shoulders, tender words and charming nature could not save him.
“Bolu, bolu….bolu…could…..ldd you…” a flabbergasted Frank stammered and staggered on his kneels surprisingly, as Bolu hissed and took a turnaround to head back home from the mall.
“Was I too frontward by asking her this early to marry me?” Frank soliloquized. “What has led me to this discomfiture self. Shayb we've known each other for good two months now” he said, dragging his foot out of the mall with the last confidence in his archive.
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He resorted, after a lonely walk marred with thoughts of suicide attempt, to a nearby quite Restaurant just proximal to the busy road that was adding pulsating noises from passersby and vehicles into his already perturbed ears.
“How can we help you sir” Tiana, the neatly dressed waiter said. Frank’s eyes spelt misery as he sat quietly like a child recovering from the momma’s spank. Expending a little more energy to look into her eyes: “I don’t need anything for now, thanks” he reluctantly replied; waving off the pretty waiter.
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“And...Hem..Sir, you said you’re okay. Are you sure that you don’t need anything?” she asked, winking at every slight opportunity, as she prepared to leave his seat.
“I’m just fine thanks. Very okay like I said” Frank replied with a voice battling with ignominy.
“How could Bolu do that to me?” he vexed; not minding onlookers who had noticed the decapitating expressions on his face. His hands slammed the table at turns: the two empty glasses of water on the table fell; ringing lots of sounds in the air, and attracting the attention of other customers in the restaurant.
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The noise woke Frank up from the bamboo chair outside his father’s mud house. Stretching his two hands and yawning wildly, he wondered what sort of dream he had about him and his company’s boss, Miss Bolu Eagers who was getting married in a week's time.
The sight of the unfinished #70 bread and stew beside the chair caught him: “whinch kind dream be that?” he said, re-arranging his fine posture to finally consume his cold lunch.
.
The weekend's chill breeze had taken him to dreamland.
Poor Frank.

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