Suspense Short Story – Conundrums
Photo credit: jzlomek from morguefile.com
I beg my feet to not fail me that this important final moments of my life. The finish line is just a few paces away from me now. But with every step that I take, my heart crumbles inside me. A strange fear, a strange confusion grips me, as I walk towards the gallows, to face the noose. That noose should be a proud noose, that noose, that simple knot in the rope is going to be at its tightest on my neck. As I walk through the gates, and discover the new day that it was, the gloomy golden hue that surrounds the environment, the golden clouds with no silver linings, but if you look closely, this is no ordinary day. This is going to be my day. Hang me, cut me, shrivel me…but can you erase me!
I walked that day through the city streets, those well-known streets, the streets that had known me, and I had known them. It was the same distance I suppose, as I am now from the noose, was my home. They stopped me from reaching home that day, today they are escorting me into the noose, I now see which as the shortest and easiest way to get home.
It is a short walk, roughly ten to fifteen steps. But it is not the distance that is bothering me, it is the length, the time, there is no life and certainty at this end, and on the other side, on the side of the platform with the loose noose, there is the great equalizer, death. On this side, it is torture, of what scale and pain that is only imaginable, maybe not even imaginable, I do not want to imagine rather, and on that side, there is pain, followed by utter peace and calmness? My legs feel heavy, my head feels dizzy, my ears are muted, my whole body feels cramped. What if I don’t walk? What if I just turn back and run back, back to my family, my children, my wife, but can I run faster than a bullet?
But is it by mistake or design that I feel so lonely now? Are all my brothers at war, all my fellow comrades, all those great soldiers who got martyred, are they all home now? Are they at peace now? Is their war, is our war really over? At least my family will be safe, they have promised me, rather bribed me, if I did what I was told to do by them. But I know very well, my family will not be safe, they might not be harmed immediately, but a few days only will what be left for them to live, or perhaps a few more minutes, this is a world of unpredictibilities and hostilities and distrust.
A step I take towards my end, I can see my doom, just a few steps away. With every step I take, my heart beat fastens, my eyes let free the tears that were so long kept captive in my emotionless soul, my mind goes back in time, how I was strolling towards peace with my family, how everything was normal, as usual, when suddenly these Americans stormed in, disturbing my peace, if at all peace was what I was at, but at least, the situation was stable, but it no longer is so. Maybe it was my mistake that I could not keep them busy for long, at least till my friends arrived, or maybe I could not hide myself well enough, it was too easy for the white bastards to find me. But how did they reach me, I was told that my identity was safe and I would not be harmed, I worked incognito, then how did these long-nosed foreigners gain knowledge of my whereabouts, some moron, some weak lame-brain has surely let out our secrets.
The wind is warmer today, it must be so soothing, but why does it still chill my bones? This whole situation is bizarre, this world is bizarre, words are bizarre, people are bizarre, everything, nothing is real, it is just so fake, so dreamy, obsolete. But I am determined to not be sad, to not cry in the final moments of my life. Sometimes love is not enough, and the road is too tough to traverse. I want to laugh, I want to get high, I want to have all the yet-to-be-had fun of my life, in these few minutes, before I die.
Is this it? Is this what we were for? Were we only born to die one day? All of us, brothers, of a certain different breed of people, who are ready to die, or as they call it, achieve martyrdom, or as some others termed it, terrorists, I call them now, confused soldiers, who do not know what they are actually fighting for, what they want and what they need, they do not know whom they are fighting, why at all they are fighting, they have no clue, it has just been a mechanical process, as soon as the children turn 15, they are given guns and asked to shoot and kill people, whom they assume to be bad people. Is this not bizarre? Are the children, who are grown ups today, not living in a fantasy world? This world, that they have created, in their minds cannot be the true world.
Then what is the true world? And is this the time to even think about the true and false worlds? Is it not too late to think, to decide which way to go? I have come a long way, since the day my dad, my poor dad had to sell me to these men, who promised me a good life, but, as they say, good times does not last long, my good days, with my mother and elder sister, ended that day. I do not remember much of that life of mine, but at least I was not fighting then, perhaps that was because as a child no one fights, but the children here, they are taught to fight. Which one is right? To fight or not to fight? And most importantly, is this fighting really worth it? Who knows, maybe someone will know someday, somewhere, peace will be served, there will be no more killings, and no more shootings, no more bombs will explode and no more people will die, no more child will lose their childhood and enter adulthood even before growing beards, no more rallies, no more strike and strife, some day, this mad crowd that walk the earth will pull the curtains to their ignoble conflicts.
Just a few more steps, time seem to be running slow, or is it my brain working really fast? Is it normal, or is it a special case? Does this happen to most other people, that they start to do things really fast when they know that they don’t have much time? But my brain seems to be immersed in conundrum, what is the real world? Is the world I live in the real one? Or is it not? If not then what is it? And what the hell is peace? People clamor so much for it, but I doubt how many of them know what actually it is.
Was my childhood at peace? Am I now at peace? Are the rich people at peace? Are these Americans at peace, killing us Iraqis? As a child I was fond of a team, from Spain, a football team, I don’t remember the name, but they donned a red and white striped shirt. It was the team of the poor people. And there was another team, the one that wore white shirts, that was the team of the richer people of the city. I had wanted to play football for that team, the poor man’s team. Was that peace? To dream about something unrealistic, is that peace? To dream, is that a vice, or a virtue? We dreamed of being immune of these Americans, and we started blowing them up, first in our lands, then in their lands. But they stroke back, and we are reeling under their pressure now. So, this is not a virtue, dreaming, it surely is a vice, right? Or am I wrong? There was this song,
You may say I’m a dreamer,
But I’m not the only one.
I hope some day, you’ll join us.
This is a western song. So is dreaming good for them? So is it relative? Is the concept of peace relative as well? What is peace to us is disaster for them, and vice versa? Whom can I confirm it to, now that I am one step away from the door.
I have reached the door. I have reached my end. My journey ends here. If I knock on the door and let the Americans raid the place, the people inside will not leave me alive, and if I do not open the door, the Americans outside will shoot me down. I am unarmed, I am helpless, at the very end of my life, I do not have the ability to defend myself. What a complete loser, I have been!
But really, have I really been a loser, are fighters losers? Did I not gift the world some peace? Because if there is no destruction, there is no peace. Absence of destruction is peace, if I am not wrong, then it is because of destruction only that we know what peace is today. I have many unfulfilled dreams and aspirations at the far end of my sojourn here, but this realization, that I have been of some help to somebody makes me feel good. I do not have anybody to ask if I am right or wrong, but let me just assume that I have led a good life, and I am privileged to be a martyr. But does this transform my incomplete story into a complete one?
As I stepped on the platform, and the noose appeared bigger than I had assumed it to be, an immense blow of emotions touched me. I can feel the depths of my soul swelling up, compassion gripped me, and so did my guilt, my dreams and wishes have started to twist and twirl, and unwantingly unknowingly, a few drops did find their way out of my emotionless soul.
They cover my head with a black veil, and I can feel the noose being tightened around my neck. I wish to wear that king’s dresses, I wish to adorn myself with all his jewels, this morning, I want it to be as bright as vermilion, I want to smell as strong as musk, I want my inharmonical world to play the right tunes.
Suddenly, a tight tuck on my neck got my whole word whirling, I could see some abstract objects, shapes and colors, blurred, stars and smokes, I hear voices, sounds, and I can see them, I see it now, the stars and the moon, that were always missing from my life, today, they are here, to see me die, they are here for me, to weep at my demise.
I was lost, and blind, and confused like a little child, but now, in this pain, this immense war with life, this struggle for existence, this twinge of the urge to live, I have found myself and I can see. But I’m scared of not being able to leave them behind for the others to know, I now have all the answers, dear…I now no longer can feel the pain, I am now at…
–END–
