It started out like an ordinary Monday. Sleek whistling along happily, heading to his computer to hit ‘Publish’ on yet another Monday massacre.
Little did he know of the peril that awaited him. See, it wasn’t just another hot morning in the hot, dusty part of Kampala from which he hails. It was a hot morning that bore dark, dark things for the innocent young man.
He walked into the plush expanse of awesome that was known to most as The Urban Legend offices. First thing he noticed was that the birds were chirping uncharacteristically loudly, as though trying to warn him of his impending pickle. He got to the door and found it slightly ajar…very odd. His spider senses went up…”Something’s not right,” he muttered.
He pushed the door open and strode in. There, perched on his desk, were three ninjas. He’d been warned a long time ago by his great great great grandfather that this day would come. “One day, you’ll walk into office and find three ninjas perched on your desk.” They assumed the Taeko stance. He assumed the Guweko stance. They flexed their sinewy muscles. He flexed his also him. They clenched their jaws. He clenched his. They squinted their eyes. He squinted his also him. One of them scratched his balls. Another one, using motions, asked his buddy to scratch his. The buddy refused. “Did I interrupt something here?,” Sleek said in a slow, menacing drawl.
Because ninjas do not speak, they did not answer. Rather, they moved at an amazing speed towards him. What followed, dear reader, is too grim to type. But may it be known that there were jabs, and kicks, and flying kicks, and round kicks, and a lost-tooth-flying-slowly-through-the-air, and girly yelps, and grunts and then just as a girly yelp reached its peak, the other Legends walked into office. Suddenly, the ninjas didn’t feel brave anymore. One of them pissed on himself. He was standing on Streetsider’s desk at the time. They then made for the window. And they left.
The Legends then sat down and typed this: