Tag: short story

War

The darkness pressed his face as cold air brushed against his exposed arms. He stepped forward tentatively—he didn’t want to trigger whatever was lurking just beyond his vision. Or perhaps it was sleeping. He couldn’t tell.

Bling!

Suddenly, out of no where, light was everywhere. Bright, white, blinding. Jason doubled over—he’d never thought lightness could hurt. As he crouched in pain, his grip tightened around Lyfe, his custom-designed handgun. Whatever was out there, he would get it. He would get it and thrash it, and get out of this hell alive. Couldn’t afford to lose this battle.

He raised his head from his navel, and—bam! A big blurry blob knocked the wind out of him. Searing pain shot up his head as blood flow scattered. Hitting the ground hard, he rasped for breath while peering for a glimpse of his attacker. It was Marcus. Marcus, his friend. Marcus, his partner. The same Marcus who who’d spent all his childhood weekends playing soccer with him, had almost cracked his skull open.

Towering over six feet, with shoulders as wide as a guitar, and muscles that bulged from its sockets, Marcus waited for Jason to stand. Jason took his time. He knew Marcus. Knew that he never liked killing dead rats. Regaining his breath, Jason stood up—there was no use stalling the inevitable. It had to end, and it had to end today.

“How dare you?” He spat at Marcus. Marcus wasn’t rattled—years of practice had taught him never to let personal emotions get in the way of getting the job done. And his job was clear—kill Jason and get the others one by one.

“Spare the chit chat.” He growled and attacked. Thrusting his fist at Jason’s unprotected ribs, he drilled his way deep, cracking a few as we did. Despite a seasoned fighter, Jason stood foolishly, his weapon still in his limp hand. But his mind raced, and he retaliated even before he’d recovered from the hit.

Swinging his arm at nothing in particular, he pulled the trigger hoping to hole Marcus in the shoulder.

The bullet never made contact.

Before he knew what happened, a grand fire erupted around him, searing his skin, tearing away at the tiny fragments of torn cloth wrapped around his calves. His brain paralysed the body, and he stood helpless as the fire enveloped his shoulders, as if assuring everything would soon be over.

Marcus was still standing, unmoved from his stance. The fire danced about him without a single graze. Jason took a great shuddering breath, and preparing to fight his way back, looked up at Marcus’s black eyes boring into his.

And it happened. A tiny piece of metal pierced Jason’s chest, crookedly making its way to his heart. In less than two seconds, the world went black.

Beep!

Game Over. The mechanical voice rang through the living room.

The visitor

“Hi mom!”

Jennifer stroked her mother’s head and left the bag of oranges on the bedside table. Waving back to the nurse who’d led her in, she slumped on the chair next to her mother’s at the centre for the aged and helpless.

“Hello,” her mother replied in a small voice, unable to muster enough energy to speak or extend a smile beyond centimetres. She remained silent for the rest of the hour. With all hope of seeing the outside world gone now, she often took short walks only within the corridors or, on certain good days, the garden. Years had weakened her Parkinson’s-riddled body, and her once-bulletproof memory was now letting go.

Jennifer couldn’t have cared for her on her own. But alas, the world knows only to blame.

“See you tomorrow, mom.” Sighing, Jennifer kissed her mother’s forehead.

“Bye, Laura.”

Laura was one of the three nurses who took shifts to provide her round the clock care.

Maternal instinct

What no parent should ever do
Mrs Tibbins did to her offspring

when still young and tender
its skin moist, palms closed
and beetle eyes full of wonder
the mother left her child alone

wandered away from home
in place of nurturing care
suffering a blow after blow
from the unkind world over

alone, helpless, and smelly it grew
seeking friendships in dirty pubs
scouring meals in garbage cans
and letting time live its course

years later, like mother the child
when was its turn to be a mother
did what no parent should ever do
and cast away its child, letting it go

for who could change the nature
of cats abandoning their kittens?

Good day

“Have a good day” the little girl chirped as she left the counter slurping her large iced coffee. She’d smiled as she said it. As if she’d meant it.

Pfft, Jeremy thought to himself. It was only midday, and he’s had thousands of people wishing him a good day already. It no longer felt sincere—most people wouldn’t even look him in the eye. They’d bring their haul tapping their card on the counter while waiting for him to finish billing. And as soon as the machine’s ready for their card, they’d swipe it and out without so much as a second glance at him. Then waving off their receipt, “good day” they’d mutter before pulling out their phone and exiting the store.

He’d been the cashier at the gas station for seven years now. Ever since the nasty divorce, he’d been trying to find alternative ways to support himself. Although his pension covered the basics, his severed leg needed additional medication and constant care.

It didn’t matter whether the girl meant it or not. As long as he had the job, it was a good day for him.