Rest in Peace - A short story

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 32; the thirty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is 'An Untold Story'

The snap-

The Fiction- 

Even the most daring and the desperate of the prostitutes avoided that alley, its dark shadows and its depraved inhabitants, for no better reason than the simple fact that they wanted to; Not that it did not have its share of leering customers with sleazy money and even sleazier sexual appetites. The alley, if it could be still called that was dead, decadent and decaying. Its crumbling walls, the dank paint with its edges pealing, the spewing drainage, its putrid stench wafting about, the street hewed into loose stones and broken pot holes, murky puddles slurping in the darkness, a broken streetlight flickering dipping in and out of life, A few crows pecking at the rutting garbage and its contents. A more perfect stage could not have been bargained for, for all the blood that was going to be spilled.

There was a cold silence, a calculating silence. The three men stood there simply staring at each other, trying to get a sense of each other, daring the other to make his first move. The knives they held glinted wickedly in the moonless night, its sharp counters cutting the few shards of light from the broken tube light. One of them, the one wearing a dull red shirt stood on one end of the narrow lane facing the other two; the other two who were here to kill him. Bloody mother fuckers. Who did they think they were dealing with? Some street punk! He was not going to be easy. Fucking dammed, if they think this is going to be that easy. His fingers tightened, closing hard on the handle of his knife, turning his knuckles white.

 “MOTHERFUCKERS” He shouted and rushed at them both with his knife in his outstretched hands. He was going to do them, do them both real good, cut through their fucking innards. Nobody gets away with this. Nobody gets away after pulling a fucking knife on him. He sped up, his feet plodding across the rubble, his face slowly widening with a loathsome mirth. And then he tripped. Tripped on some left over debris and was down with a dull thud. He laid there on the bare lifeless gravel, with his own life slowly ebbing out of him along with a warm worm of blood trickling out of his broken forehead.

The other two looked at each other and exchanged a smirk.

 “What a lovely fuck up!! Went down and died even without putting up a decent fight.”  

Remarked one of them, the one who seemed to be the sadistic leader as he slowly came forward, measuring each of his steps, eyeing the red shirt for any sudden movements. “Pathetic Bastard !” He thought to himself. A waste, A criminal waste. Now, he was never going to get his arousal.  He never really got them, until and unless he heard his victims cry and beg for mercy. Just for a few minutes as he played with them and the dull end of his knife. And when he was denied that, that simple and basic joy of killing just because this asshole couldn't wait to get iced, made him mad, quite a bit mad.

He kicked with his heavy soles into the abdomen of the victim and heard him cry out in ripping pain with delight.

"Fuck, the ponce is still alive!!"

The tormentor grunted his approval with a malicious grin that lit his face in the dead darkness of the alley. He turned and looked at his young partner, beckoning him to join the fun. He sighed to himself. After all, he was just getting started and the more the company, the more the fun. Right!!

But then fate took a sharp turn.

The blow to his shin with the knife was so hard, it ruptured a few veins that blood didn't just ooze out but gushed out to paint the alley road a dense dark crimson. Instinct took over all his senses and he simply bent over reaching for his leg. A mistake and even before he realized that, the red shirt thrust-ed his knife all the way through his left eye, tearing apart the softer tissues of the brain. He fell down dead.

Exhausted with his vengeance, the dull red shirt laid there panting and fighting for air in the stagnating cesspool of blood. The third guy, quite shaken but still holding on the side of tough edged towards the dead and the nearly dead. The Sweat was pouring from his face and every fiber in his body was pulling taunt with fear, as he slowly bent over his partner and tried to rouse him.

Then it happened.

The red shirt in his final attempt to breathe opened his mouth wide and all the gathering blood rushed in and he choked, his last breath escaped with a ghoulish guttural splurged in his own fluids.

That low haunting sound broke whatever remaining guts, the third guy had. He stood up and started to run; away from there; Away from the alley; Away from everything. He simply ran until every single muscle in his soul was totally exhausted, his lung palpitated and his mind numbed. Right in front of a speeding truck. He became one of those hit and run casualties, dead even before hitting the ground.

The sky slowly darkened as if in mourning and the sound of the rain mixed with the sirens of the ambulance in distant echoes.

Three were dead.

A few untold stories, some dreams and some distant tears rotted away along with those carcasses and but what told aloud in a solemn voice by the priest as he presided over their joint burial ceremony was that all the three were but the children of god who were pure in soul and though good in character, had been corrupted in life and forgiveness was sought, for the almighty is all forgiving and benevolent.

And the dead would finally rest in peace. For after all, the dead rarely lament.

Amen.



Author's note-

If you guys liked the dark theme of the above fiction and do have stomach for much grittier and wicked stuff, stuff that could really get to you- do try this one. ( Darkness in its most wicked form guaranteed.)

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: 04