Today’s nomination day paints a shadowy picture, portending defeat. Samura Kamara, a Presidential pretender and unhopeful, who clutches on anything to spike his publicity, shows up at ECSL to be nominated. For him, even a plastic—as cheap as it is—can be mistaken for a political life jacket. As he entered the nomination enclosure, the place goes totally quiet like a field where glory does not stay—a graveyard. He only had to employ the tactics of a stand-up comedian to keep the room alive.
Flipping the coin, a mourning mate sits next to him, Chericoco. His smile appears to be contrary to his belief. “What do we do next? This is an uphill climb for us,” unassuming and compromising, his contoured face revealed. A shadow of doubt engulfs his being. The wrong picture had been shown since they boarded a keke, with a license registration expiring in 4 days. From the keke, his head appears to be weighing too heavy for his throat to hold. Too much to think about; probably pondering their defeat and his last dance as a mourning mate. As heavy as his head weighs, his hand acted as an absorber to support his sinking head from falling.