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

The wounds will heal- A 55 fiction.

The Snap-

The fiction- 

“Hold still.”

“Hmhm.”

“I will be done in a minute.”

“Hmhm.”

“It will take a couple of days. But it will heal.”

“Hmhm.”

“Try not to strain yourself until the wounds heal.”

“Hmhm”

And just after he bandaged her, he stammered “I….. am sorry”

Silence fell hard, for once harder than his thrashes.

Author's Note-

When people read my post - Two minutes- A short story, I was asked whether the fiction was about domestic violence. While answering back to those comments, I was inspired to write a shot fiction about the same topic. I wanted the story to be brutal, realistic and hard hitting. Hope you guys like it.

ps-

I am experimenting with my blog's appearance, so guys I would like to have your comments on the topic. Thank you.

The Reeking smell of FEAR – A short story.

The Fiction-

He warmly sighed. A content smile slowly creased the parched end of his dry lips. His old eyes gleamed stark amidst the dark and inert settings. He finally will be a happy man. Finally, a completely satisfied man. He shook his head, slowly laughing to himself. Victory will suit him just fine. A few seconds he reveled. Reveled in everything, he has done to make this happen. To make this happen. He gritted his teeth, gnashing them with a savage gulp of maniacal grin. He was invincible. His planning, impeccable. He will have the last laugh.

Ha! Even the gods, it seemed were in his favor. He calmly looked around himself. A more perfect setting couldn’t be asked for. An inky night, moonless, starless and shapeless. An old steel mill. Shut down quite some years ago. Completely fortified. Each nook and corner of the dilapidated structure guarded rather heavily. Military trained henchmen armed with the best in hand held weaponry patrolling every inch of what remained of the broken down paths. Everybody alert, adrenaline pumped and ready for him. But then, he knew his arch enemy just too well, that this will not stop him, will never stop him. But then he did not want him to be stopped. Did he?

The Mill-

He wanted to kill him, once and for all. To trap, the ghost that he is. Make him bleed. Break him into pieces while laughing at him. He wanted to smell fear on him. The reeking, rancid scent of it and for that he needed to trap him, hook him with the perfect bait. One that is just juicy enough to bite, one that is truly an exultant price, for it to be a mere sham. A living and breathing bait planning its own capture. He smiled looking at himself in the faded out remains of a nearby mirror. A living trap, custom made for his rival, waiting for his scent, for his arrival to snap close the gates on him. For his arrival, salivating at very thought of his capture.

And what an arrival it was.

An arrival unseen; a threat undetected. In the shadows, in the distant echoes, in-between the pauses, he arrived. A predator for his prey, his eyes reading into everything, the thugs with guns, the heavy patrolling, the mill a remnant of its past glory, fingers of cobwebs everywhere, the air ventilations coughing up a mild breeze, the crisp new electronic surveillance installed. Each and every single piece on the board ready, his opponent waiting for him to make his first move. He closed his eyes, darkness engulfing him and in shadows, he began to move into the fray.

A few seconds paused, unfolding into a few long drawn minutes. Nobody heard him. Nobody saw him. Nobody sensed him. And then it happened. From the roof something, no someone fell. A shrill harrowing shriek followed by a dull thud, one that splintered legs and broke a few of ribs. Still alive, spilling blood on the dirt crusted floor, he began to cry for help. The surrounding men gathered and stared at him half stuck with horror and half with fear. How? How did he do it?

“He is here” Coughed up the wounded man just before he concussed, passing out.

“Spread out” They shouted to each other.

“Keep alert.”

“If he is here, then let’s bug him out.”

Amidst all the voiced concerns, their eyes couldn’t help but exchange their unvoiced fear.

In the control cabin, he simply smirked. And so, after all the waiting in the world, he has placed his first pawn on the board. But then, it’s now his move, his counter move. He pulled and played with a few knobs on the control panel in front of him. The monitors threw up multiple images of the mill. His men moving around in well coordinated groups, searching for him, patrolling in a well coordinated manner, good he thought to himself. They still held their ground and were doing everything they were paid to do.

Hopefully, he thought, with all this electronic surveillance and gadgetry, his men did have a chance, at least a chance. And then like clockwork, the entire panel of screens went blank, their feed cut.

“Hmhm.... Lovely.” He sighed. “The next logical step indeed.”

But then, unknown to his predator, he had just activated the last machinations of the trap. He then waited, for the prey, humming to himself the lyrics of some long forgotten song.

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Silence is ominous, if your own heartbeats are all that remains to fill in its despondent blanks. And it was in such stillness of space and time, every single one of them guarding him were picked off. Like fog, the silent assault spread from one corner swallowing it's way covering entire belly of the factory. His hands itched in anticipation. He will soon be here, in my clutches. A few drops of sweat rimmed around his brow and for some vague reason it bothered him. And just as he wiped it off with the back of his hand, lost in thought as to what he was missing, he realized with a calm jolt, he was there, he was there with him at last.

And then he knew that he had him trapped. With a malicious relish he took a deep breath and simpered at his opponent still cowered with the shadows, his eyes alone sharp pondering him.

“Do you know I hate, hate, HATE” he paused. “The names they give you? Pathetic pussies.”

He looked up at the roof with a contemplative grin. “I can understand” he said “understand why the villain feels compelled to elaborate his schemes at some point in the movie to someone. It simply feels glorious. Like fucking gods. Do you get what I mean, like fucking gods!! Huh?”

“Oh and don’t you worry, I have already killed you, took care of that quite some time ago. All it took was some meager quantities of hydrogen cyanide, good old prussic acid and of course a few generous teaspoons of it here and there.”

He paused and looked into the eyes of his opponent with uncouth hate.

“To trick you into coming here, to make you strain yourself taking out my men, who were all dying anyway along with me, to take me, ME” he paused with a wicked a guffaw. “ME…..   Already slowly dying with each breath I take, all the while knowing that the same air is going through your lungs. And that’s the beauty of my trap. You see, I did not want to just kill you. I want to fucking escort you unto death.”

“I knew you are one careful bastard. I knew I had to risk it all to get to you. I knew that I will have only one shot at this. And that why I took too much care, too much fucking care on not to let you know that the air vents were actually slowly spewing the gas. In small quantities, extremely small quantities, with every single second you spent in this mill, working through my men, quite some fucking skill there, I must say and it was then, you breathed your own death. It just required a touch of insanity to put you down. Don’t you think?”

He finally paused and quipped with a melodramatic flourish. “Come, let’s die together.”

“So, you have killed me??” The calm unaffected retort from his opponent hit him in an uneasy spot.

A gnawing pressure grew in the back of his stomach, slowly snaking its way to his vapid breaths. A vague notion that something was wrong; completely flawed about the entire scenario, something he just was not able to put his finger on, something that his opponent has noticed. His face tensed, a few pearl drops of sweat ran along the length of his cheek. What was he missing? What was he….

And then he saw it. Right in his face, his perspiring face, the air-conditioning vents were not moving. Then the gas, the gas has not been circulated.

He turned and looked at his enemy and smiled ruefully. So, his opponent has noticed that new air vents, guessed their need and must have put them out of their misery. So, much for the plan. but then, that's not all, he still had the ace under his sleeve.

“No, I have not killed you. NOT YET”

He yelled infuriated and turned to his final plan. And just then, with a dry distant bang, the entire mill fell into darkness.

“hahahahaha…….. Good move, asshole." He bellowed. "You blew up the fuse box, but my last move, of course explosives are powered up by remote batteries. We are all going to be fucking blown to hell. Even you cannot escape this. The blast will even release all the stored up Cyanide. Nobody gets out of here alive. Hahahaha…..”

And then he felt it in the darkness, his cold stare breathing upon him. His hands flailed searching for the detonator which was no longer there. And then he realized too late, the fuse box, the sudden darkness and his opponent’s stubborn watchful calmness, all a part of the bigger design. He waited for him, fucking waited for him sitting there, to realize his first trap gone awry and give away his final plan, the location of the remote controller, which he deftly turned to as soon as he realized he was tricked the first time, only to be tricked again. He slumped to the ground lost.

The Knight-

And then he heard his voice, the voice of the dark knight himself.

“You want to smell fear OFF me.” His opponent paused. “Do so, I AM FEAR.” His crude voice grated into the pores of the night, resonating alone with the darkness.

He simply couldn’t help shaking, laying there staring at the ceiling. No wise comebacks. No more plans. No more nerve.

The knight slowly dissolved into the stillness of the night, his cape flowing into its darkness.

Author’s note-

I am a fan of Christopher Nolan’s Batman movies and I am quite excited about the last of the trilogy- The dark Knight Rises- to be released in another week. In a sort of commemoration of that, I wanted to pen a story with Batman as a character in it. Batman to me is an iconic character and my most favorite of the super hero genre. He has been interpreted by so many in some of the most exquisite comics and movies. I just hope I did some justice with my portrayal.

PS-

Since I wanted the story to be grounded and realistic, I simply avoided referring to Batman until the end of the story with his name (Dark Knight). Also, I wanted batman to hold a sense of mystery and depict him as an unstoppable force, hence I chose to tell the story from the villain’s point of view.

In darkness, we smile -- A series of short fictions

The snap -

From under the Bed- (7 Sentences)      

                                    

“You there” His thin voice resonated; pealing of from its lucid ring, a few unheard echoes leaped, bouncing off the lonely bed room walls. Slowly, very slowly, as deliberate as a dancer on spilled oil, he edged towards the end of the bed, it’s pearl white mattresses frowning, its face folding a million myriad lines, scorning at his easy gullibility, the trustful innocence of any 9 year old.

A dry pair of lit sockets from under the bed moved along with his small fingers, grappling at the edge of the cot- a fuzzy ball of disheveled hair tentatively poking out followed by a juvenile pair of eyes, curiosity and hesitant fear in competing dips. What really is under the bed of a 9 year old, of any young kid, too flustered to scream, too manly to call out for his father, a bit too frightened to confront for himself, as he uncertainly chews his lower lip, sweat salt and fear lining his forehead, his perked ears hearing his own booming heart trying to break his ribs with each pushing thump.

 The answer to all this and to some more, looked eagerly into the liquid eyes of the kid and barred its teeth; its lips, a thin line curled, trying to grin and bringing out rather dull reclusive smirk.

“Peek A A BOO” It screeched. “PEEE  …. KAA …. BOO”

“Hush” the kid rebuked “You… IDIOT… you will wake up mom!!”

The Snap-

His last request – (5 Sentences)

His back arched in pain, raw scalding pain, cutting through his senses like a knife slicing through rancid butter, exploding white dots singeing blank the borders of his vision, his shrill voice squealing, hands flailing around her neck desperate to get a decent grip on the soft protrusion, fingers wild in a murderous frenzy, in a mad struggle to squeeze the life out of her. Blood, it’s warm, sticky trickle, his own blood, dripping down his neatly pressed trousers, drawing fine lines of crimson red along the creases and crinkles of the smooth fabric, its warm fingers seized him in a sudden panic jellying his quivering bowels, farting out in haste the morning’s breakfast – a generous slice of ham tossed with carrots, beans, two extra large omelets finishing off with an good portion of fresh orange juice, now nothing more than a wet nauseous stench, one that filled his crotch.

And then it snapped, just as his nostrils picked up the reeking damp stink, his mind finally snapped, trying to make sense of his rapidly spiraling world, one thread at a time, shredding raw his reason and logic,  the vortex pulling him down as he scrambled desperately to get a grip, a grip on anything – anything to sane himself. It was then that the knife, sharp and serrated, finally found his hand that plucked the same with monstrous ferocity and started hacking away at her again and again, blood spilling and splashing in a free flow bid, his, hers, theirs, pieces of hair caked with mud bloodied, bits of skin, shards of mutilates, bits of broken bones- all flying in the air, in a few moments of Technicolor visceral fountain.

Next day, when they found the two carcasses spooled in a pool of dried blood, the face of the women hewed featureless, the man’s under belly cleaved by his own knife – a few hundred gnats buzzing around in the sodden smell, relishing the retch of death, they couldn’t help but notice her teeth were still tearing into his vitals- Sucked him dry, that she did, just like he requested when he cornered her at his knife’s point.

The snap - 

The good bye – (3 sentences)      

         

The floors flew past her in a scrambling charade of random images, vividly colorful – a pandemonium of jumbled scenes leapt at her face, her father’s office- the top floor executive suite with the gleaming mahogany table where  he liked to walk to and fro when deep in thought, the posh blue interiors of her play room, a few forlorn toys lying around in disarray, thrown around probably during her last tantrum, her mother’s photo, her warm smile encased in a cold frame, long dead by the time she was long born, her nanny for now calling out, shouting for her, as listless as any other in the long list of nannies that have attended to her, too many rooms to search, always empty, like her nights always spent lonely and like everything in her life, this too started as a childish thought, a prank, may  be a attention grabber, but once she had jumped, there was no going back, just swirling eddy of her own misplaced thoughts.

No, she did not really scream, like a deer caught dead looking at the head lights of a speeding vehicle, she looked at the grey building that has been her life until then, until today, her last day probably and her last second probably and in those few final few moments, some part of her couldn’t help but wonder, Will her father ever notice that she was gone??

And just about when the ground swelled up to kiss her good bye, her eyes saucered with exultant cheer, noticing someone, someone who had actually took the time and energy and was waving at her, really waving at her- falling down and just about when she hurriedly cart wheeled her arms to return the good bye – splat.

The Snap -

The meal – (1 Sentence)

“It is okay to be lonely” he repeated aloud to himself, may be just to break the silence sinking him, maybe to reaffirm the callused fact – with words like touching a dead wart, maybe he really wanted to just feel okay and may be even hear himself say the same in his own unwavering voice, but then before the sound of his own chords reached his ears, the television box grabbed and ate him up.

 Author's Note - 

Quite a while back, I once tried to write a few short stories, reducing the number of lines gradually in each one of them. And, for some random reason, I wanted to try the same once more. Have I gotten better!! Now that's something that I rather would leave it to reader to decide. Do try my other story of the same idea at - link. 

The stories – all have a common streak of dark themes, inspired by Stephen king – to whom, I have begin to take an instant liking- his broody themes, philosophical ranting, dark ideas. Wow... I hope, I have done justice to the genre.

Of all the stories, I kind of wanted to expand on the first one alone. In a way, I am curious to see how the story will take shape, what the kid is trying to do, whats actually inder his bed, whats the  dynamics between the kid and whats under his bed... My mind like scratching an itch, is still pondering over the same. May be, I will do a write up of the same fiction – and finish the story, just hang with me for a wnile.

The second fiction, is inspired by the coloumn I read, on a magazine about how – Women being subjected to physical & mental harassment, how trust is becoming a rare thing to find in people nowadays. My story in a way, is a hit back to it - to the part about women being abused.

See you guys in my next post.   J

The murderer - A 55 fiction.

The Snap-






The Fiction-


"I did'nt kill her...."

"hmhm hmhm"

"Really! I am innnocent...."

"hmhm hmhm"

"Ofcourse, You do not believe me!!!"

"You think so."

"Afterall, instant refusal shows guilt. Doesnt it???"

"Probably."

"So you think that, I am the murderer. Dont you not???"

"No! I dont. But you do know something about who killed her. Dont you? Tell me now or I will kill you too."



Author's Note-

I wanted to write a crime fiction in just 55 words or less. & I did not want the fiction to be something predictable or dull. So, I took this idea of a dark comical twist to a murder fiction and expanded on it. I hope you guys like it. Will soon post more on the same idea. Do leave back your comments & criticisms.

See you guys soon.