Thursday, August 13, 2009

As darkness drew in, he put on his jacket .It was windy that night. It has been a lot of running around lately. Panjim,Bombay,Nagpur,Surat,Dilli,Shimla,Lucknow,Guwahati,Siliguri,Calcutta,Puri,Vizag,Madurai.Now Bangalore.He was getting used to this kind of life. Killing people, setting up sticky bombs, leaving behind crying kins and wives, covering his tracks, mingling among the crowd.
For his new job, he had to know Kannada .Learn it. The guest house, he put up in, was nice. It even had a mint on the pillow. The owners seemed to know he was coming. Reservation done. The procedure was simple every time. Two hours after he lodged in, he was supposed to drop in a line to Harry. Harry aka Hardip aka 'The Hard-dick man'. No, he wasn’t Harry's lover, though he sucked up to him quite a bit. Harry was the one who introduced him to the rest. Harry's a nice man, he thought.

So after the phone call to Harry, Harry makes a call to someone. That someone calls up person B. And person B calls him up exactly an hour later. Standard things are asked. Standard procedure, like the cops. How are you doing, you should visit this monument there, How’s the weather there, How’s the hotel room. All so casual. Then person B calls up his boss. The boss who wants the job done. The boss who pays.70 percent for him,20 percent for Harry and 10 for the schmuck in between. After half an hour, person B calls him up again and gives him the details of the job.
This time, it was easy. A rich old man, living alone. Pedophilic tendencies, and involved in some contracting business shit. People, like person B's boss, wants him dead. They make good coffee here, he thought as he walked out of the cafe. It was windy that night. And he put his jacket on. The streetlights dimly lit up the alley. Footsteps behind me, he thought. He turned and found two drunks walking casually. He waited for a second and watched the guys leaving.He walked ahead. The lights became more dim and he dug his hands deep into the jacket pocket. A cat ahead crossed his path.
Bad luck Jo, he thought.

Quick footsteps behind. He turned. He saw a dark figure running towards him. Before he could get to his gun, someone started to strangle him from behind. As he was being gagged, the black figure ran and punched him on his face. He fell. The second guy kicked him in his guts. It pained like a motherfucker. The first guy punched him, again. And again . Four, five, six. He counted. He knew it wasn’t really sweat on his face. Seven, eight, nine. On his face. Fuck fuck, stop stop. Ten, he counted. In the streetlight, he could see an impression of his face on the street, coloured with blood. Exact round eyes decorated with parts of his teeth. He felt the coldness of the steel as one of the guys, touched the gun barrel on his temple. It felt good. The cold feeling.

"This time the job was you, Jo"
He had heard the voice before .Ok, hit me, already.

It turned all deaf when the barrel boomed. More than the pain, the silence was killing him. All he saw when he opened his eyes, were his own blood and two pairs of legs walking away. When the silence lifted, he heard his own panting and the footsteps.

Its said the entire life lasts in front of your eyes the second before you die. First of all, that one second isn't a second at all. It stretches on forever, like an ocean of time.
That is all so fucking crap, he thought.
The streetlights slowly closed down upon him.


dreamy said...


coffee stain said...

heh, i likey this chaos

OilPastel said...

Why havent i been reading your blog?
This is good stuff, kiddo.
I like!
I want to write script on it. Like a short film. Copyrights-e jhamela korbi na toh?