I love the sweet smell of smoke as it lingers near my nose preventing any other smell from entering my body. It’s feathery touch on my skin is so exhilarating, almost orgasmic, like hands of an invisible goddess that caress my body and my soul. The whimsical patterns it forms in the air blind me. The rest of the world becomes invisible. I can’t see the smile on people’s faces, I can’t see their grotesque expressions as they scream and shout, begging me not to kill them. I guess it’s this goddamn smoke that helps me kill people with such ease.
Yes. I kill. I kill for a living. As a child I never thought I would grow up to become a murderer. But here I am, the henchman of the biggest don in the city.
Today I stand at the very same place where my family was murdered fifteen years back. It seems only yesterday when a mob of religious fanatics, incensed by a provocative comment that a religious leader had made, ran up these staircase and slaughtered my family like butchers. I was right there, hiding under the cot and watching a scene that settled in my mind as indelible memories.
Having satisfied their thirst for blood those bastards went away, leaving behind a room in which my loved ones rested with their eyes wide open and their throats cut. The floor was damp with their blood and my tears. The eerie silence that hung in the air after the bedlam made me sick. I stood there nonplussed.
I had survived, but only to skid on the blood of my kin and fall into the world of crime from which there was no coming back.
At the moment I am waiting for my accomplice. He’ll hand me a gun with a bullet that has an unlucky soul’s name written on it. And after that… one more life will be taken.
Linda sat with her husband, Victor, at the dinner table and cast a glance at him
from the corner of her eye. Her eyes became narrower as she tried suppress the storm that was raging inside her since morning. She gently patted her forehead with the napkin to wipe off the tiny beads of sweat that formed on her temples again and again despite the temperature of the room being just fine. She forced her lips to arc into a smile lest her pale, deathly face alarm her husband. Her excitement was unfathomable. She took a deep breath to calm herself down worried that her pounding heart would give away the secret that it had so faithfully guarded for such a long time.
Victor sat at the dinner table with the confidence of a man who was aware of what he wanted from the world and knew how to get it. His dark black hair were neatly combed back to reveal a face that always wore a formidable expression that forced his peers to fear him. His immaculate dressing sense had always earned him a soft spot in every woman’s heart in town. The smell of success and prosperity oozed from every cell on his skin. It was a smell that made his well wishers proud and his enemies, nauseated.
Victor looked up from his plate and smiled at his wife. “Darling, will you please refill my glass with wine?”
Linda took the glass silently and went to the bar with that smell still lingering in her nostrils. Her mind was in a state of chaos. If only she had loved him more, if only he hadn’t been so rich, if only he hadn’t signed the will the previous week she would have let him stay alive. Her hands quivered as she fished a vial of poison from her pockets and emptied it into her husband’s drink.
Victor took a sip of the wine and smiled at his wife. “Darling, it has been a long time since we last met grandma. Do you want to pay her a visit tomorrow?”
“Tommorow!”, Linda exclaimed. A malicious glow spread across her face. “We’ll see, Honey, we’ll see. After all, tomorrow is another day”.
Shared at: Carry on Tuesday
I was born in a shack near a mosquito-infested canal. The first friends I made were mosquitoes. They are my bosom buddies and at a very young age I learnt how to spend my nights in their company. Their incessant drone sounds like music. It is the only form of music to which I have access.
There is plenty of water around me. Unlike the other water deprived slums, there is no dearth of it in my place. However it not the elixir of life. It was the very agent that poses a threat to my life. It is the breeding ground of different colourful insects, insects that gradually make their way into my intestines and make it their permanent abode. Needless to say, I am a very warm-hearted person. My doors are open to both man and insects alike.
The first lesson that life taught me was not to harbour any dreams. None. Never. It is easier. Less painful. One does not have to bear the agony of watching dreams being shred into little pieces which is later fed to the overlords of the world to satisfy their insatiable greed. Even if I commit the blunder of visualizing a better future, the anguish of those around prompts me to kill my dreams before it is too late; before they ripenen and become sweet enough to covet. Mine is an area where people defecate and urinate their dreams and it is the stench of these decaying dreams that fills up the entire atmosphere.
I still live here with my bosom buddies, surrounded by filth and squalor. I still breathe the air that carries with it the stink of murdered dreams. However, somewhere in my heart there is a tiny light that makes me hope that one day these dreams will be resurrected.