Planning a Murder
It was a few days before Ramadan, the holy fasting month, as soon as the last ray of the son left for the West and the East was left isolated in the darkness of hypocrisy and ignorance; Helmond headed for the kill, leaving both his cell phones, on silent mode, in his room.
With his measured abilities and immeasurable hatred he had been planning this for weeks, now was the time to execute. The spot that he had chosen for his ambush was a piece of wasteland near the victim’s house and almost adjacent to the nearest market. To the east side and adjacent to this stretch of land was a huge mosque and the crowded local market, to the north side and adjacent was a huge unfinished , and therefore unoccupied, double storey structure but the other two sides which touched two different lanes were open. Instead of walking down the paved lanes, lazy residents would step down to this piece of wasteland at one corner and exit at the other, shortening their walk to the market by a few steps. Near the corner where people would step in this wasteland, there was a lamppost, which was at such a position that the shadow of the boundary wall of the under-construction building was thrown in a corner of this stretch of land. It was here, under this dark shadow where Helmond had taken position for the slaughter of his abominable enemy.
His weapon was a screwdriver, which he had freshly purchased for just over a dollar. It was a rubber handled one for excellent grip. Piercing someone’s heart with a screwdriver would be equally effective as stabbing someone with a dagger but unlike a knife, nobody would object to carrying a newly purchased screwdriver or any screwdriver. He also had an old broken dead cell phone, this he used for deceiving passer-bys; giving the impression that he was some young lover who had been using that vacant corner for a long private chat so everyone passed by him without paying any heed.
This was his third day of waiting but his cunning foe had not appeared on this root and Helmond was getting frustrated with every passing minute; was his foe a step ahead of him this time too? Time and again he had been beaten and disciplined but this time he had taken things to the extreme, it was the final attempt; kill or be killed, no turning back, was he going to lose the final too? Was he going to die a humiliating death? Confused, disappointed and with a bundle of questions in his head draining his nerves, he turned back. Now there was no other way left except ending his own life, he could not bear the humiliation his enemy was capable of inflicting on him before killing him so he headed for the river.
In his home the old villain was lying in his bed, he was not breathing, he had not been breathing for three days but the smell of the decay was not yet strong enough for the locked doors. The old villain was not giving up even after his death. No one knew yet and this situation went in his favor because on the third day of his death his archenemy, Helmond, drowned himself, his nerves simply gave up. Had he not given up he would have known about the death of this old villain but he was a loser; losers give up, victors wait.
By Hassan Azra