Close on his WELL-POLISHED black Valentino leather shoes, as they move in rhythmical African dance patterns.
FEMI
(sings in the same tune as Wizkid’s ‘Jaiye Jaiye’ song)
Femi, bad policeman. I dey catch corny man. Ahh you already know. I crack every case...
He lifts his now tightly FISTED hands up, close to his face, throwing them back and forth like a professional boxer guarding his face in a boxing ring from the punches of an opponent, waiting patiently for the perfect opportunity to swing a winning punch.
FEMI (CONT’D) (celebrates)
Ah! Femi you too much...
(continues singing in the same tune as earlier)
You for become musician...
Femi is happily in OBLIVION that he fails to notice two young female nurses walking behind him, in indistinct laughter.
INT. ROOM 7, WING C, ST. NICHOLAS HOSPITAL - SAME TIME
PAN ACROSS a white, sanitized, medium-size room with two quality flower paintings hanging on the wall behind the bed head. A white two layer cabinet with a basket of red roses is planted on one side of the bed. A desk telephone is rooted next to the flower basket. On the other side of the bed is a black luxury leather armchair.
CHIOMA, a young OVERLY-BEAUTIFUL lady, late-20s, with worn-off make-up, and a long UNCOMBED hair, sobs in CONFUSION. She is kept warm by a thick white and blue blanket, as a needle runs partly into a vein on her right hand, injecting fluid inside her body. She is still receiving intensive medical treatment after been involved in a FATAL motor accident last night.
Close on small healing scars engraved on her face, Chioma’s eyes circle around the corners of the room, trying to FORCEFULLY embrace her new environment. We have a glimpse of the vision of her wandering eyes.
Chioma tries to speak out, but the words steaming on her tongue fails to break free through her gritted teeth.
CHIOMA (groans in pain)
Ah!