The Fight (Eagle Vs. Parrot)


This urban story compares the characteristics of two fellas. While Jude runs his mouth like water, Uche uses his muscles to win a bet.

Outside in an open space of a local bar, not too far from the main street. Jude, a well-built gentleman, wearing this charming broad chest and six-pack; stood straight as he barked at Uche.

“You are surely walking into your own demise. Don’t you know that fighting me is like signing your death certificate? Oh no, me? A whole me, the “Jaja of Opobo”; the king of the jungle is being challenged by a little antelope. 
Just imagine. It’s a pity, this weak lizard called the attention of a mighty hawk.

(To a fellow) Can a weak bug challenge a praying mantis?

Of course, no!

(Turned to Uche) Well, it is only the foolish insects that dance when the chameleon smiles. After I am done with you, you will beg for your forgotten life”.

Uche, a very ‘tall’ stunted native man, almost the height of a smoked cigarette, stood nodding sideways as he laughed. He was waiting for the next episode.

What next?

Jude trying to please the crowd- the Public Electronic Mail Box Officials, the street men and women termed PEMBO: he pushed Uche who was smiling.  Jude poured out slight panic, as Uche stood on that spot without staggering. He was overfilled with fears and tried bringing the fight to a halt by waving to the crowd saying, “This dude is weak, no need to waste my strength”

But Uche’s first hot sharp punch, and the crowd’s loud yells, made Jude pull his emotions together, and save his breath for the next line of action.

Jude was engulfed with heat mixed with his own fears that showed him melting in the chill sun. He became furious as he tried blocking the second punch, but missed out as Uche’s tight fist played a trick; it moved like a confused snake into another delicate path.

Jude became so high that his anger scale turned red. This made him return back a hit; an extremely sluggish hit that even an active fly will ignore to dodge. He then laughed silently to himself, only to use the medium to heave a sigh of relief and to show the crowd that he wasn’t a coward. He wasn’t a coward, after all, his mouth was busy a couple of seconds ago.

It was getting so boring. The whole scene was like the battle for grain between two cocks.

“Who will win the fight?” A fellow asked the chairman of the street.

“That’s left for them to decide. I just don’t get anything yet.” Responded the chairman, who was sitting uncomfortably. Through an aged man kept praising Jude for his courage and Uche for his strength, others thought he was seeing the darkness in the daylight.

The bike men stopped hustling, the traders ran to the scene. The kids who had just returned from school must get a story to tell the following day. The policeman Manning the road abandoned his duty for the event. What an atmosphere of an anxious crowd. The population on the street increased geometrically, making the atmosphere super-heated with gossip and murmurs. The legs were shaking, the eyes were anxious to view action, and the seats were all too cold for those being entertained.

“Come on, you can do it!” A fellow screamed. Was he referring to Uche or Jude? I guess he was trying to advise them on adding spices to their efforts.

“This is not as planned, but will soon turn out to favour us”, said a close pal of Uche, who has bet a thousand naira on his victory.

Uche on perceiving this expectation adjusted his wrist, moved closer to Jude and said, “Bros, Bros!” As Jude looked upward, he gave him a sharp punch so as to take the lead.

Jude smiled, pretending the punch had no effect on his jaw. Before he could get over this silent pain, Uche went for another glorious hit. Jude noticed this too late, for he was still in his happy mood.

The punch sounded thrice-

Boom! Boom!! Boom!!!

A sweet miraculous hard bop on his face forced out mucus from his cute nose.

Then, the crowd made a rain clap.

“Yea! This is what I am saying!” the old man commended Uche. “Well done, more strength to your wrist!”

Uche’s hits froze the ground, as the majority wanted him to go for more. Though it was getting exciting for the crowd, Jude was the fish in the boiling soup, waiting till the temperature reaches a hundred degrees Centigrade.

Oh no!

Jude tried blocking another, and boom!

And another, boom!

And a hotter, boom!

But he failed in these quick successions.

Then, he heard a cold sound within his rib cage.


“Was that total wreckage of his rib cage?” A man asked.

“No, I don’t think so.” Replied another fellow. “If it were to be wreckage, he will be lying on the floor by now.”

“Okay!” Responded the man, who is now convinced.

Jude, considering his big smart mouth, and his long-time reputation as a street boy, pulled up as he staggered. He didn’t fall. He ensured he didn’t fall.

Uche aimed and went for another,

“Look!” The supporters of Jude screamed.

And Jude woke up from this daytime nightmare, as he shoved Uche off with all his might at that moment.

“I must not fall, I must not fail, and I must win this fight”

An extremely fast-moving thought ran across Jude’s void mind at that moment.

Though dizzy and confused, Jude didn’t let that show: rather, he fooled the crowd by swinging punches, left and right, that all wasted in the noisy damped air. Before he could balance himself, and bring back his heart from his head; Uche tendered him a hot frozen slap. Zoom!

The flame from Uche’s palm ran across his already swollen face, giving him a customized tribal man at one side of his chin.

“Fatality of the first order!” The bartender screamed. And the street song increased volume.

This isn’t funny anymore, for faithful supporters of Jude deflected to the opposition.

“I am bound to lose, my one thousand Naira is gone!” A fellow lamented.

Jude could not believe his eyes, for it happened so fast. And for a minute or two, the day turned dark. And afterwards, the slightest vision he could have was Uche’s multiple gigantic fists so blurred, moving at a slow-motioned supersonic speed. They were all fashioned on his red swollen face.

“Was that metaphysical?” A philosopher asked his fellow.

“I postulate it was. No man can be able to do that magic within seconds.” Answered the fellow.

The street screamed for pity, they could not bear Jude’s groan.


Jude fell.

Then, he stood again.

This courage called for cheers, but Jude ignored the crowd. Instead, he ran towards the smiling Uche, with anger and low cold tears dropping, and bit him as hard as he could on his shoulder.

“Ah!” Uche screamed in pain. His adrenalin broke the scale, and quickly gave Jude a hard knock on his head, and dashed him nice punches,

Left- right- left,

Right- left- right,

Left- right- left.

He swung another one, very fast under Jude’s weakened arm; pushed him towards himself, and furnished this busy round by blessing him with a huge uppercut.

Jude saw dark- light.

“He is dead.” Suggested a man.

After confirmation that he was still breathing, the crowd dispersed with Uche being celebrated.

“Uche the triumphant! Uche the triumphant! Uche the triumphant!” The crowd chorused on.

Then, the police officer called for the rescue of a dying fellow.

Minutes later, Jude woke up with aches all over and found himself in the police van.

“What happened?” Asked a policeman.

As he tried to utter a word, his voice failed him totally, and his tears overshadowed his emotion.

He now realized that the saying, ‘the strength of a man isn’t in his mighty mouth, but rather in his little hand,’ was actually true all the while.

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Olusola Butler

I write a lot, on everything and anything. I am that ordinary guy with a whole lot of good to offer. I love art, music and poetry.

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