Editor’s Choice: Short Story with Moral Lesson – Macabre Terrorists
Short Story with Moral Lesson – Macabre Terrorists
Photo credit: click from morguefile.com
I was lost in the beauty of the sunset and started breathing the softly blowing evening breeze in gulps to dilute the smoke and dust I had been inhaling all day long, as dusk stealthily spread her cool grey cloak all over the place.
It was the moment I saw them again……
I was born and I grew up in the same place with all my clan around me. We had always been contributing our mite to the society. It had been a peaceful life so far; but now, this unmindful killings – where is it going to end?
They were four; I remember them very well. They were the ones who were behind the mindless killings that had started to take place here. A fortnight back I was chilled to the marrow on seeing the macabre murder of a tall, majestic young fellow who had a lot of promise in life. I was not eyewitnesses to the murder, of course. I saw what was left of it only in the morning.
Only a few days back I happened to see these men, paid assassins, probably, going past me.I watched with horror while they killed my neighbour. He was chopped limb by limb and he lay slain at their feet – scene too horrible to utter. I was petrified at that sight. I was mute to all these inhuman acts, atrocities. I was scared, terribly scared.
Was there no one to stop those fiends? Had justice died? They just went scot free and now they are here again.
I could remember each one of them. One fellow was a bit on the fat side and his breath smelt of alcohol as he crossed me. The second one was lean and muscular and was the youngest of them all. The third one was short and mean looking and did not talk at all and the fourth one seemed like a half wit,constantly giggling.
The pleasant, cool dusk was giving me shivers now…
Whom have they come for, this time? My friend was standing at the corner drinking the beauty of the dusk just like me. Was he going to be their target? Should I warn him?
Were they going to kill my old friend, standing a few feet away, a philanthropist, who had never known anything but service to humanity?
They were advancing and I could hear the giggle, smell the alcohol.
What? Were they nearing me? Was it me, then? Yes, for sure. They had opened their bags and their weapons shone as the rising moon cast her rays on the metals.
Four axes with whetted blades fell on me with unutterable violence and chopped me limb by limb. I cried out, unable to bear the excruciating pain; but can the human race hear me? Before they felled me with a ruthless, final blow, I screamed,
“You are not killing us. You are killing your survival on this earth. Remember, we bring the rains and sustain water on this earth. We make the soil worthy of giving birth to new lives. This mass murder will cost you the life of our planet, unless you plant trees and stop this mass destruction.”
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