Suspense Short Story – Rise and Fall
Photo credit: jeanniet6 from morguefile.com
Drenched in sweat and saturated in hopelessness we carried on. A week with no rest was all we could take. The constant rain and the hot climate weren’t exactly consoling and the fact that our supplies had already reached a critical point led to immitigable anguish. ‘Not much can be done at this point of time’, pointed out the consensus after our last team meeting. Our abilities are capable to reach out to surprising limits but it all comes down to this; what good is a lumberjack without his axe? In short our state was a sorry one.
It all started when out team was dispatched, to achieve a purpose. As impossible to fulfill and daft to pursue it seemed, we still carried on. The situation became grave as our watches ticked. Gradually the truth was uncovering before our very eyes. The only thing we needed was hope. Fate delivered it perfectly.
The pitter patter of the rain was almost conveniently timed, as if there literally was a godlike being looking upon us, controlling what’s right and what’s wrong with a solemn countenance. The precipitation managed to disrupt the only thing we had with civilization, our radio. That was about all we had for our communication needs. Who knew that only a simple radio could bring us such misery and hardship? It’s ironic when you consider all the other kinds of mind boggling, novel and esoteric equipment we had in possession, a simple radio was what brought us all to our knees. The cursed box would just refuse to perform, despite my optimum efforts. It was my fault after all, I overestimated my skills and, with a fools mind, equated my talents to that of a mechanic.
I have, in my modest duration of service, led many teams in many missions but haven’t ever set eyes upon such a group of perfect individuals forming a tenacious faction of highly qualified doctors and specialists. Curing the ailing was our aim. A little village targeted by terrorists had been razed to the ground. The gory spectacle left very little to the imagination.
Such incidents are widely telecasted all over the country, with news channels always being on the lookout for ‘hot’ news. Conveying askew information is what they do. Highly skilled in such matters they, eventually, always manage to produce a very dark and vivid portrayal of something as commonplace as theft. Media, though, with all their exaggeration, and in some cases, inconspicuous/complete fabrication do what they do to gain viewers. Without viewers they wouldn’t have a reason to exist.
Our platter was already full; many were injured and many more were being discovered from under debris. The disaster was not something I hadn’t handled before. Working with professionals, I had never been on the field with before, obligated me to work and think differently. Handling such situations with strangers, besides being enlightening, can be a rather tedious job. ‘Drastic moments call for drastic measures’, ‘When the goings get tough, the tough gets going.’ Aren’t all these statements drilled into our once semi-penetrable minds in our days of youth? Remembering them, I sighed. Once promoted from the laborious days of our youth, we then enter even worse days of adulthood. The things that once had to be taught, now come to mind as a direct result of common sense, ‘which is not quite as common these days’, my mother would add. There are many things special about a person you have already worked with. Overcoming drastic situations with someone gets you to know the person down to a very unique niche in his or her mind or, to be more precise – ‘the fundamental psychological trend of thought’. It opens up to an altogether different character that you had been interacting with before. The discrepancies and lack of cooperation tend to vanish away as disaster strikes.
Our impromptu camp, in the heart of the village, had been a home for many of the victims of the recent tragedy. There were only ten of us. In short, the state of affairs couldn’t be worse.
The incident, one of the many incidents caused by malice and ill-will, touched the heart and the soul of the country. The elderly were shocked and the youth was perturbed. The politicians, in their seemingly dynamic ways, were, like always, successful in biding their time. Indian politicians with their effortless glib have been proficient in swaying anything right past their left shoulder whenever needed.
A sudden uproar against terrorism was experienced. Unfortunately, these transient emotions never last for long among the people unaffected. Struggling to go on, we praised the patience and encouraged the help we got from the ailing and unimpaired. When disaster strikes, so does brotherly love and benevolence.
Dripping in sweat one of my communication specialists approached me with a quaint air. He was a very good friend of mine. My seniority always put an awkward slant to our friendship but we, somehow, always worked it out. A pleasant sort of a fellow he was. Being neighbors back home, we used to venture out to picnics with our families and spent every holiday together. I still remember the rather drunken night of my 26th birthday, we promised that, ‘we will always remain best friends and would never let anything harm us in any way.’ The unusual simplicity of words directly describes how intoxicated we were. I underwent a mental giggle thinking about his tagline whenever we were caught imbibing by our spouses; “Oh, Rita please. We were just in the process of enhancing our unsoberness!”
With gleaming eyes, my friend blurted out the news. He managed to get the radio to work. After contacting our head and reporting our position, help was sent.
Those were probably the most influential days of my life. I had a long successful career in my hands and had worked with the best of people in the world but had never experienced such a thrill, the thrill of proving the impossible to be possible.
I was walking toward my cabin, nothing but a little tent for a little privacy, when I suddenly heard a loud bang. It was only a split second after that I realized that I was flung head first into a pile of debris. I sat there, eyes only so open so as to see the fire eat everything that we worked for, everything that we hoped for. A heartless cackle, and a face. The damned communication guy had finished it all.
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