The roads were crowded with man and machine. 8:30 in the morning and everyone was racing to their office. "Shit!" exclaimed Rudra. Already soured mood was further decomposed. Someone from office had called. They had asked him to collect some cash for a job he had no idea of. These nuisance makers didn't work month long and at the end of the month delegated labor. Empty brains are lighter and float to the top. Stupidity was appalling and especially so when it earns more than oneself. These 40 something men, after having languished for a life term in the same demeaning job had become his boss. These idiots were supposed to help him. These humans who didn't understand logic or efficiency. To have to listen to them, to reach down to their level, to make them understand, pained him. What killed him was to have to agree to their stupidity just because they were old. Their brains were more rotten than his. They would die before him. They had exhaled, digested longer than him. Screw them. Scum of the earth, stoic by philosophy, cowards by nature. One more moronic statement and he would impale these clowns. oh, what would he not give to see the metallic pike pass though their soft flesh and emerge on the other, like a car passing through a tunnel, like human crossing purgatory.
The obligatory morning rain had just ended. Puddles of water littered the roads. He hopped, he skipped, he jumped while the devil ruled his roost in his brain or the reservoir of reluctance it had become. A morcha was moving beside him demanding stuff. He couldn't afford a leave to join a morcha. He had better stuff do, grow in this darned profession etc. They demanded an end to corruption and return of black money. They were jealous, these joy-kill socialists. Ask them to donate more to bring the poor farmer to their own economic level and listen how they balk. These scums that are middle class, neither the tigers during war nor the lambs of peace. They wanted someones money while they mooched off their owners. These claimers of fake bills , these groaners of good ol' days. Look how they shout. Wish he could strangle them, the breath of a life wasted slowly departing from their pointless lives.
Police had surrounded the morcha and him. The men in khakis, the guardians of nothing. The inspector shouted. A policeman misunderstood and pushed Rudra, lathi charge began. One rod of wood hit his shoulders. He turned towards the authority, a local lower-middle class employed by 'his' government, living off his taxes, stared back. The devil or the son of god possessed him, depending on which side you are on. He snatched the lathi. The police-man was dumb founded. The policeman stared back. Suddenly our protagonist embodied the evil that lurks just below our humane skin. He became the evil that governments fear, the man society idolizes yet is afraid to accept in its fold. With a snarl he gave what he received and more. He hit back. First the first and then the many. The anger of ages flowed through him. And the blows lashed out. All the sins were in this policeman. One to the shoulder, next to the ribs. Next yet to the neck. The khaki the color of ground reached its inspiration. And the blood on khaki, the red with the soil. With the serpent on the ground now, he kicked. He stomped, he stamped his foot on the face. Anger clouded his eyes, all was right, everything was justified. This society deserved every punishment meted on it. These imposers of imprudent authority,these devil's incarnate He kicked and then some more.
The struggle between other men and uniformed men seemed to exist in a separate realm. His and their realm met for a second. The policemen realizing one of their own, a man who would've been on any side on any other day was losing, shouted and jumped towards him. He was no idiot. Like a paranoid android he ran. He fled the scene his shirt with blood splashed over it clung to his torso. The khakis followed. The traffic had not stopped. This wasn't the first time they witnessed someone being beaten up. This wasn't their introduction to blood. He ran, took the first left, then the first right. Better to get as many turns between them as he could he thought.
His memory and thoughts became myopic. His next meal, his job, his family and the theoretical friends did not concern him. Like a deer running from a predator he ran. He would trade all his future to get away from them, these men who hounded him. He glanced back, they were following him. His liver hurt. His lungs begged for mercy. His brain commanded them to co-operate. Drizzle broke upon the yet-to-dry earth.
When was the last time he ran, he knew not. Men are not meant to run. They are meant to attack stealthily. They were the fittest of the animal kind. They were and what a day it was.
He took a sudden turn and entered a bank. A small branch of a big bank. There were no customers, yet. He ran straight to the security guard and after a kick possessed latter's weapon. The security guard, an overweight man from some other state had come here just for this job.He spent all his excess money home. At least that's what he told his wife. With the gun gone, his proud mustache was just a wasteful accessory. But now what?
Rudras plan extended to the next 5 seconds and not more. With the gun in his hand, he stood. The guard lay still on the floor. Farther from the mad man,safer it was. The many policemen stood outside the glass door.
What the hell? What am i doing here? Why am I here? What is going on? His brain burst, went berserk with sudden deluge of recent past. Past but still recent. A warm dead body. His body shivered with a mixture of fear and anger. A scream welled in his throat. His teeth gnashed, his lips pursed his eyes screamed. Sweat poured, lips parted. His jaw hurt, his eyes threatened to spill over. He couldn't take it anymore. He let out a roar as much out of fear as from anger. He was the lion confronting a hunter. Savage yet hunted. Anger and vigor shot through his body yet his brain was assured of its extinction. The veins on his neck throbbed. His muscles constricted. The noise was animalistic but the human in him wouldn't let him be yet.his fist clenched, his forehead terse he let out a scream. Tears frolicked on his face. The desperation, the humiliation, the sheer anger. With a gun in his hand he erupted. All these years of online gaming had taught him to use a SMG he so expertly held.
The momentary impulse now aside, he waited. His body shivered for his heart. Stalemate ensued for a few seconds seconds or years his brain knew not. A lone policeman opened the door. Guess, it was one of those days when one man is braver than others.15 more stood behind him on the other side of the door. Him versus they. "Don't. Stay back.", Rudra said. The policeman under estimated him. He under estimated them. The gun was propped up. Silence reigned. If this would have been a movie, there would have been no background music. Life imitated art. A lone trigger twitched. Triggers were pulled and bullets danced. Glass crashed. Storm ensued. So silent and then this noise.16 guns and his, spewed metal.
He lay on the ground. He was tired. Think, think you bastard, the last fleeting thought of this thoughtless life. You could've been so much more on some other day. Why this? Why now? Why me? The shoes of a cashier were the last vision of a dying man. His eyes drooped with exhaustion. Breath was not coming too easy either. The old migraine seemed to be catching up with him.With one last sigh was bought to an end what began as an usual day. The eventful end to an uneventful man. Who would collect the cash now? Tomorrow should be a half working day at the least.
The night is distraught, let the stars sleep at least. I am yet to find what I sought, let the stars sleep at least.
The obligatory morning rain had just ended. Puddles of water littered the roads. He hopped, he skipped, he jumped while the devil ruled his roost in his brain or the reservoir of reluctance it had become. A morcha was moving beside him demanding stuff. He couldn't afford a leave to join a morcha. He had better stuff do, grow in this darned profession etc. They demanded an end to corruption and return of black money. They were jealous, these joy-kill socialists. Ask them to donate more to bring the poor farmer to their own economic level and listen how they balk. These scums that are middle class, neither the tigers during war nor the lambs of peace. They wanted someones money while they mooched off their owners. These claimers of fake bills , these groaners of good ol' days. Look how they shout. Wish he could strangle them, the breath of a life wasted slowly departing from their pointless lives.
Police had surrounded the morcha and him. The men in khakis, the guardians of nothing. The inspector shouted. A policeman misunderstood and pushed Rudra, lathi charge began. One rod of wood hit his shoulders. He turned towards the authority, a local lower-middle class employed by 'his' government, living off his taxes, stared back. The devil or the son of god possessed him, depending on which side you are on. He snatched the lathi. The police-man was dumb founded. The policeman stared back. Suddenly our protagonist embodied the evil that lurks just below our humane skin. He became the evil that governments fear, the man society idolizes yet is afraid to accept in its fold. With a snarl he gave what he received and more. He hit back. First the first and then the many. The anger of ages flowed through him. And the blows lashed out. All the sins were in this policeman. One to the shoulder, next to the ribs. Next yet to the neck. The khaki the color of ground reached its inspiration. And the blood on khaki, the red with the soil. With the serpent on the ground now, he kicked. He stomped, he stamped his foot on the face. Anger clouded his eyes, all was right, everything was justified. This society deserved every punishment meted on it. These imposers of imprudent authority,these devil's incarnate He kicked and then some more.
The struggle between other men and uniformed men seemed to exist in a separate realm. His and their realm met for a second. The policemen realizing one of their own, a man who would've been on any side on any other day was losing, shouted and jumped towards him. He was no idiot. Like a paranoid android he ran. He fled the scene his shirt with blood splashed over it clung to his torso. The khakis followed. The traffic had not stopped. This wasn't the first time they witnessed someone being beaten up. This wasn't their introduction to blood. He ran, took the first left, then the first right. Better to get as many turns between them as he could he thought.
His memory and thoughts became myopic. His next meal, his job, his family and the theoretical friends did not concern him. Like a deer running from a predator he ran. He would trade all his future to get away from them, these men who hounded him. He glanced back, they were following him. His liver hurt. His lungs begged for mercy. His brain commanded them to co-operate. Drizzle broke upon the yet-to-dry earth.
When was the last time he ran, he knew not. Men are not meant to run. They are meant to attack stealthily. They were the fittest of the animal kind. They were and what a day it was.
He took a sudden turn and entered a bank. A small branch of a big bank. There were no customers, yet. He ran straight to the security guard and after a kick possessed latter's weapon. The security guard, an overweight man from some other state had come here just for this job.He spent all his excess money home. At least that's what he told his wife. With the gun gone, his proud mustache was just a wasteful accessory. But now what?
Rudras plan extended to the next 5 seconds and not more. With the gun in his hand, he stood. The guard lay still on the floor. Farther from the mad man,safer it was. The many policemen stood outside the glass door.
What the hell? What am i doing here? Why am I here? What is going on? His brain burst, went berserk with sudden deluge of recent past. Past but still recent. A warm dead body. His body shivered with a mixture of fear and anger. A scream welled in his throat. His teeth gnashed, his lips pursed his eyes screamed. Sweat poured, lips parted. His jaw hurt, his eyes threatened to spill over. He couldn't take it anymore. He let out a roar as much out of fear as from anger. He was the lion confronting a hunter. Savage yet hunted. Anger and vigor shot through his body yet his brain was assured of its extinction. The veins on his neck throbbed. His muscles constricted. The noise was animalistic but the human in him wouldn't let him be yet.his fist clenched, his forehead terse he let out a scream. Tears frolicked on his face. The desperation, the humiliation, the sheer anger. With a gun in his hand he erupted. All these years of online gaming had taught him to use a SMG he so expertly held.
The momentary impulse now aside, he waited. His body shivered for his heart. Stalemate ensued for a few seconds seconds or years his brain knew not. A lone policeman opened the door. Guess, it was one of those days when one man is braver than others.15 more stood behind him on the other side of the door. Him versus they. "Don't. Stay back.", Rudra said. The policeman under estimated him. He under estimated them. The gun was propped up. Silence reigned. If this would have been a movie, there would have been no background music. Life imitated art. A lone trigger twitched. Triggers were pulled and bullets danced. Glass crashed. Storm ensued. So silent and then this noise.16 guns and his, spewed metal.
He lay on the ground. He was tired. Think, think you bastard, the last fleeting thought of this thoughtless life. You could've been so much more on some other day. Why this? Why now? Why me? The shoes of a cashier were the last vision of a dying man. His eyes drooped with exhaustion. Breath was not coming too easy either. The old migraine seemed to be catching up with him.With one last sigh was bought to an end what began as an usual day. The eventful end to an uneventful man. Who would collect the cash now? Tomorrow should be a half working day at the least.
The night is distraught, let the stars sleep at least. I am yet to find what I sought, let the stars sleep at least.
