Archive for the ‘ Fiction ’ Category

A Certain Interruptus; A Detective’s Narrative

I feel the inside of my mouth go dry as the shock sets in. I think I might have dropped the “f”-bomb in my shock. Not that it matters, I mean, you barge into a room and the last thing you expect to find is the quarry you’d surely dealt with earlier. It’s a room in a brothel, so I suppose it’s perfectly normal to find a man and a woman making the beast with two backs, but this… this is almost insulting.

What’s this supposed to imply, that I didn’t quite “do it” for her? Was she faking it? Given her line of work, I suppose she would be well equipped with such a skill set. Damn she’s good. I gave her my all and I was so sure she’d repaid in equal measure, but here she is. Looking fresh as a daisy, well, as fresh as a slutty daisy would look. Read more

Thy Will Be Done

Forgive me father for I have sinned,

I have sinned against you and my fellow man. I took a life and quite possibly have set the wheels in motion for another to be taken.

By association, Father, I have taken two lives. I know it would be asking too much seeking forgiveness, but you are just and forgiving. You are forgiveness itself. And yet, I come before you not for forgiveness, but to state my case. To explain. You are all seeing, so I suppose you saw what happened.

You gave us free will, so it only makes sense that I did what I did. You saw this coming, Proverbs 6:34 proves it, Solomon clearly stated that “for jealousy arouses a husband’s fury,
and he will show no mercy when he takes revenge.”. Then again, when you think about it, I showed some mercy. I could have let her suffer, you know she deserved to suffer, not what after she did to me… what they did to me.

The gas put them out. Put them out real good. I am not pleased with what I had to do or by my work, but all things considered, I wasn’t cold.

Of course there was that moment when I slipped, when her eyes opened, when she tried to push my hands away. But I’d already started. Allowing her to live in that state would have been inhumane. Father you know this.

It’s like in Deuteronomy 32:41. You know, where it says, “when I sharpen my flashing sword and my hand grasps it in judgment, I will take vengeance on my adversaries and repay those who hate me.” She hated me Lord. Why else would she hurt me like that? In all fairness, I didn’t use a sword. It is not like the idea didn’t cross my mind. It did. Loads of times. I played out the whole scene. Too messy, I thought. In any case, that would be overkill, so I improvised.

When I think of it, I think you wanted me to do it. I think you wanted me to put a stop to it. Did you?

Is that why you made me drive to the hardware shop? I found it odd that a traffic jam had materialized out of nowhere and I had to use that shortcut.

Should I be seeking forgiveness or thanking you Father?

For bestowing upon me this…this responsibility.

I don’t want to second guess you Father, but given that I managed to come this far, this means you love me, doesn’t it? That you are actually looking out for me?

It’s all become clear. Your will is being done through me. I am your hand, your emissary.

Is this not what I have been seeking, been asking for? I have knocked, and the door has been opened unto me.

Father, I understand now. You wanted me to do what I did. But no one else is worthy. Worthy to carry out your work. And that is why I can not let them take Albert to jail. Its up to me, isn’t it Father?

To bring your judgment upon him.

I know what I must do, I must save him, that I may bring salvation to him.

The Naked Truth…Albert’s Story

My name’s Albert and my honesty will be the death of me. Then again, my name is not really important, but the fact remains, honesty is a bitch and she is out to get me. That is, if the pounding in my head doesn’t finish me off first… or whatever is on the other side of that door.

I look back toward the bathroom. The blood on the walls makes my gut tie itself up in knots.

The pounding on the door has not stopped.

The right thing to do is to open the door, but that would bring with it a barrage of questions. Answers for which even I haven’t the slightest. I need to think fast.

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i did not sign up for this; a detective’s story

I glance at my phone with disgust. If someone said that these things were the best thing to happen to the digital world, that they would improve our lives… Someone lied. All it’s been doing lately is causing me grief.

Like now for instance.

It’s not like I wanted to do this shit in the first place. I had plans… big plans. Plans of grandeur and all that. But they kind of took a nasty turn. Put another way, I decided life was one big party. Nothing wrong with that I suppose. It just sucks that life doesn’t consider itself as much and will more often than not let make you aware of it’s sentiments by screwing you over. Hard! Towards my graduation I was facing the uncertainties that many a finalist is wont to face at that time. No matter. I’d done just about everything I had to so I wouldn’t look back with my vision all hazy and think “Shoot! I should have done that!”

 

Then there was that incident involving the Notice Board. With a sheet of paper on it. With my name.

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Yeah, I tore it and made a scan. I don't know why I did it, but it seemed like a pretty good idea at the time. Actually a lot of stuff back then seemed at par with heights of brilliance scaled only by philosophers and what not. This was one of them.

 

What followed wasn't.

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The man in the mirror

I look at my reflection, at the man staring back at me. The man I have become.

He is a stranger. No recognition there. I look away, pained. How did it come to this?

An impulse to break the mirror registers. Briefly. The truth, the sad truth is there is no way I am going to make it go away.

My fingers clasp tighter around the cold steel in my hand. I suppress emotion. A tear escapes my eye and slides down my cheek. A lump forms in my throat.

One more look in the mirror, as though it will grant me absolution for what I’m about to do. What needs to be done. It doesn’t. A part of me realizes that its partly my fault. That I am partly to blame.

If I’d been more understanding, less demanding… If. So many if’s float back and forth, but this is not the time. The time for that is long gone.

Actions will have to do the talking. I will not be held accountable for my actions. Read more

…my head hurts…

My head’s throbbing. I don’t why. But it is. It hurts like a bitch. How that makes sense is beyond me, I won’t even try to make sense of it. It will just add more weight to the pulsing that’s going on in my cranium. Haha, cranium. I like to use big words. Why settle for a four or five letter word when there’s clearly a bigger and better alternative.
I can’t really remember much about last night except perhaps her face. She was pretty. They always are. We had an argument, but it was resolved the only way we know how.
A silence passed between us for what may have been forever.
“So you’re serious about this, there’s no turning back?” asked she.
There was a pause. Read more

Don’t wanna be startin’ sumthin, but…

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Stories Untold: The One About Jimmy

Jimmy was the kind of person you’d call ordinary. An ordinary guy forced by circumstances to do extraordinary things. He was not an Adonis on any levels, but he didn’t need to be. He had no feelings of self doubt. He was content. Until he saw her. She was the reason people tried a little more, exerted themselves. And he knew if he was to ever get anywhere, he would have to follow suit. He had to.

A couple of years ago…

His was not the childhood he’d be proud of. Not for him the toys that all his friends had, nor the stories they told in the playing field. He couldn’t pitch in as his friends bragged about the kind of cars their fathers had. The word friends may have been used little liberally, for Jimmy never quite connected with the peers he had.

One may say the important thing was that he did have a father as he grew up. Maybe. But what was a father worth when all he did was take his frustration out on his son? Jimmy told himself the booze made his father do those things. The beatings and all the other things. He may not have been scarred on the outside, but deep down a piece of him died. He knew earlier than he should have that he would not have any kids of his own. Not so much because he had not the capacity, but he was afraid. He was man enough to acknowledge it, he was scared he’d grow up to be the man his father was, or worse.

His mother was, for the most part, in denial. She had seemingly convinced she was getting what she deserved. After all, were not women supposed to grin and bear it through thick and thin? She loved him and it was her love that drove her to an early grave. Not once did her husband, the love of her life come to see her in the hospital in those final moments. He was with his mistress, one of many. So there was no way he could have…or would have known that she took with her, his unborn child. Depending on how one looked at it, maybe the child was spared a fate worse than the death it didn’t deserve.

That day, after the funeral, Jimmy trudged back. The walls in his life had come tumbling down with such weight it paralysed him. He found the door to the house open, daddy was home. He saw clothes on the floor of the sitting room before he saw his father, and his all too willing partner. His father spared him a glance, a couple of words even, “back so soon? Give your old man a few minutes and we’ll go drink this thing away.”

It sounded like he was glad she was gone, like this was going to be a celebratory drink…a victory chug perhaps. Jimmy’s spirit was taking a bigger beating than it deserved, than any 12 year deserved.

He knew his father didn’t deserve to be happy. Not after what he had done to them, and yet, he didn’t know what to do. Something had to give, but what. Then he saw his mother’s pair of scissors.

The following morning he got back from school and found a crowd of people outside the house. His uncle George was outside the house, face frozen in hard to decipher expression. It was angst, but to an extent yet unseen.

The story was, his father in a state of drunken remorse had evaluated his life and figured that without his wife in it, it simply wasn’t a life worth living. He’d died of an overdose.

Everybody felt sorry for Jimmy. Two losses in one sweep were not fair; somehow the twelve year old didn’t seem moved. He’d cried at his mother’s funeral and thereafter, but there was a certain calm about him at his father’s. They called it denial, but it wasn’t.
As he watched his father’s coffin get lowered into the grave a faint smile played on his lips, “this is for you mother”.

His uncle had dumped him in a seminary. Said it was for the better. It didn’t matter. And for a while it felt perfect, he felt like he belonged. Then he gave in to the pleasures of the world and was asked to leave… he didn’t fret about it. It was well worth it.

He’d discovered during the workshop sessions that he had a knack for fixing things and Sister Anne Rose had told him that he had a gift. She told him he would go far if he honed his talent. She also told him he could work magic with his fingers. This part she had added after class and with a cryptic smile on her face.

Soon after he’d left the seminary, he found work as a mechanic, and it was while there that he saw her.

Her name was Sophia and she radiated a beauty that was enough to make a man kill. And yet her eyes told a story, a story he’d seen in his mother’s eyes so many years ago.

He followed her home once, hoping he’d speak to her, even for a minute, but that never happened. As he worked up his courage he saw a car drive up. It was an expensive Golf. The kind you’d sell and buy two more expensive cars and still have enough left over for fuel…and then some.

The golf looked familiar. Jimmy had seen it parked outside some girls’ hostel near his home. The owner was some guy called George. Then it hit him. And with such force he felt his guts churn. He left.

A few days later he had to deliver Sophia’s car. He figured it was a sign of some sort. God wanted him to make things right for this creature. He would tell her about her husband’s ways. It was his mission, to make it all go away. He parked the car in the drive way, and then, suddenly, got cold feet. As he handed over the keys to the goddess that haunted his dreams he realised it was not meant to be. For the second time he left.

Yet this time round he felt like something was calling out to him, calling him back. Feet of lead he dragged himself back. Then there was a loud bang…repeated a number of times. Jimmy’s closed his eyes in prayer for what may have been an eternity. Jimmy approached the driveway and the scene that greeted his eyes made his insides roll. It was ghastly. He wanted to run away…call the cops, do the right thing, but he stood rooted to the spot. Sophia was not here, and all at once the realization hit him. She knew. God had somehow opened her eyes to her husband’s infidelity. He looked at the body in front of him and had a brief flashback of that moment years ago when he emptied the pills into his father’s wine bottle.

He realized he couldn’t judge Sophia. Oddly he wanted her more. He felt almost as he had not too long ago when he’d first laid his eyes on Sister Anne Rose’s frame out of her nun’s garb. Sister Hazel had also awakened in him similar feelings.

Jimmy looked at George’s body or what was recognizable and knew what he had to do. Sophia had been wronged and the worthless heap before him deserved what he got. It wouldn’t be fair to put Sophia through a trial for exacting justice.

With a sigh, he looked up and muttered under his breath,” this too is for you mother”. And with that, started the chain of events that would make it seem that what happened here this day had been an unfortunate accident.