by Rahul Sharma
“Good Evening Londoners!!!!!! Thank you all for coming!!!!! I hope you enjoyed your own awesome local bands?” Al called out to the crowd, recollecting his script.
The crowd roared. Al could hear them chanting his band's name over and over, “Si – lent Knights!! Si – lent Knights!!”. “So you all want to hear the Silent Knights?” he called into the crowd, pointing at the young Londoners. They went crazy again. He asked them again, they went even crazier. Finally he gave a nod to his band-members, who were waiting off stage, and they trooped on to the stage, all smiling and waving at the crowd. Al remembered that they had no idea about what was going to happen quite soon. He was reassured by the fact that he had written his will and his farewell note on a piece of paper which was currently in his pocket.
No time to recheck it now though. Now was time to act.
“So, as you all probably remember, that’s Jamie on the drums, Alec playing lead guitar, Goldie on the bass and Steve on the rhythm guitar. And that's Gloria playing the keyboard for us” The crowd had become quieter now, now that he was preparing to actually sing. “Okay, I'm going to start off tonight with a brand new song, I wrote about two days ago. Its called, 'I see you coming'!!!”
Although they hadn't heard of the song, the audience, who expected a lot from Al Hewitt, burst into cries, cheers and applause.
The lights dimmed, Al held the mike up to his mouth, his eyes scanned each person amongst the crowd, looking for his killer. He wanted to look him in the face before he died. The music began to play...Jamie gave a slow and steady beat. Alec Goldie and Steve slowly joined in as well. Al started singing...
“ In this Dark-ness
Which is the light
I know you're approaching
Ready for a fight......
I can hear you're footsteps
coming close.....
They're getting louder
But I'm ready for you!!!”
Al stretched on the last word. Jamie changed the pace of the beats, he began banging away on the drums as the three guitarists, too, began to play louder and more complex sequences. Al tapped his foot in rhythm and began to sing the chorus in a loud voice.
“I know you're out there,
I just Don't know where,
I can hear you comin' with all your might
and I am ready for the fight!!!”
Alec began to play a solo. Jamie was freaking out with the beats. Al walked forward onto the ramp in front of the stage. Onto the perfect place to be assassinated. As he continued to sing, he scanned the audience for someone who looked suspicious.
Al's heart skipped a beat as he saw someone bending down, as though to pick up a gun. But he heaved a sigh when he saw a crying infant in the man's arms. He saw a bunch of girls screaming and squealing in delight. He waved to them as he sang, one of them fainted. Al was not alarmed, such things were a regularity at his concert. His eyes strayed up to the highest stands, a perfect vantage point for a sniper. But there were only a bunch of shirtless hoodlums dancing to his song. None of them looked like they would hate him. His eyes fell upon a beautiful girl who quietly watched him. There was no compulsion that his killer was a male. And she looked as though she was the kind who would kill men.
Only one other person amongst the entire twenty thousand who had come for the concert, understood the symbolism and irony of the song that Al sang. He was a grumpy looking, middle-aged man. He had an unkempt air about him. His hair was matted and had flecks of gray in it, the face below it was heavily lined and a rough stubble grew on his chin. He had entered the stadium a few minutes before the Silent Knights had begun to play. He surveyed the security equipment at the entrance to the stadium with bloodshot eyes. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be frisked. The search revealed nothing. Probably because the security personnel at the concert did not have the time and equipment to check the man's large, thick boots.
He stepped into the stadium, found himself a suitable spot to watch and passively watched Al sing. The moment he heard the song, he knew Al had received his note and had accepted his fate. He knew the plan. It was simple and easy...
Al finished his song. He was still alive. That was good. Perhaps his assassin was running late, or better still, he had been caught and arrested. Despite Al's belief of his fate and his acceptance towards it, he was scared. Who wouldn't be? When any second you could have your head blown apart.
The Silent Knights trudged off stage for a break before their next song. The moment Al reached his dressing room, he sank into his chair. He was safe here. There were four burly guards outside his dressing room, just in case anyone tried to kill him when he was inside. Ten minutes later, his manager popped his head inside and told Al to get on stage in five minutes. Al heaved a sigh. He got up and looked at himself in the mirror, maybe even for the last time. He slowly walked out of his dressing room, all his calmness and opinions about fate washed away by pure, raw fear.
The Silent Knights performed song after song. They had come on stage for the first time at seven in the evening. It was now nearing ten. Al's heart was still pumping frantically, as though it was trying to see how many times it could beat before he died. Still no trace of an assassination attempt came to the notice of the guards or Al. Finally, Al finished the last song. The audience gave a huge roar along with the final note of the final song. Al set the mike down on the stand, took a deep breath and shouted “Thank you London!!!!!”
He waved to the crowd and walked off the stage. He gave a quick farewell to his band-mates and left the stadium. He wanted to get back to his mansion. Quick. He walked out the exit and into a crowd of photographers, news reporters and fans- another likely location for an assassin. He tried his best to move as quickly as he could.
But suddenly, he froze. There were people on either side of Al, snapping pictures, asking questions, asking for autographs, screaming to get his attention. Amongst them was one man. THE one man. He showed no curiosity, nor love, nor admiration. He had an expression of calmness on his face. At once Al knew that this was his assassin. He walked up to the shabby looking gray haired man. He looked him in the eye, his feelings of calmness and belief in fate began to return to him. “You're the one aren't you?” he asked. The man slowly nodded. Al sized the man up. He was about thirty to thirty five and looked a bit older than that. He wore a red T-shirt and beige pants, no possible place to conceal a weapon. But somehow, Al was sure that this was his man.
“Fancy a drink?” The man asked Al quietly. Al was startled, he had, by no means, expected such an invitation from his assassin. He nodded. The man slowly started walking and Al followed him. “My name is Rupert Lawrence.” he said.
Rupert lead Al to a mid sized Ford which was parked a block away from the stadium. Al got into the passenger’s seat. Rupert began to drive. “I know a good all night place, a few streets away. By the way, aren't you afraid?” Al thought for a moment. “No. Not really. It's my fate to die like this, so let me accept it.”. Rupert looked at Al, “As a great Englishman called Shakespeare once said, 'It is men and not their stars which are masters of their fate.' Your actions, and not your fate, are the reasons why I want to and am going to kill you.” Rupert said, his British accent in stark contrast to that of Al's American accent.
Rupert checked the rear view mirror and saw the black car right behind them. He also saw the sub machine gun held by the man in the front seat . “You better call off your guards. They're getting suspicious.” Al turned around and saw the guards. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and with a quick call, dismissed them.
Rupert halted the car at the opening of a small dark alleyway. Al felt the moment approaching. He reached for the door handle, but realizing that his host had no intention of getting off the vehicle, he sank back into his seat.
“So, what happened to poor Linda Hewitt?” Rupert asked casually, staring straight ahead. Al looked at him and saw, in the faint light of the nearest street lamp, that his eyes were wet. “She died of unk
nown causes…The doctors weren’t sure what it was that killed her” the rock star quietly said. Rupert seemed to be trembling now. With what looked like a great effort, he maintained a calm voice as he said, “Al, do you know what Linda's last name was before she got married to you?”
Al looked out the window, looking at the blurred, fuzzy street light, thinking. “Linda.......err.......Linda....” Then it hit him. He looked at Rupert, his eyes were wide with shock, horror and amazement. But now, Rupert was no longer controlling his tears, they flowed down his lined face and dripped off his nose. With a quick action, he reached down into his large boots and pulled out a revolver. He began sobbing and looked at Al with anger and grief filled eyes. “That’s right you goddam rock star, that’s right, her name was Linda Lawrence, MY Linda.”
With a suicidal grin, he pulled the trigger of the revolver. A loud bang ensued and a second later, Al Hewitt was dead. One second later, another bang was heard in the neighbourhood. Rupert Lawrence had committed suicide.
Ten minutes later, the police, along with Hewitt's bodyguards had reached the Ford. Within seconds, they broke open the door and discovered the two bodies inside. One of course, was the legendary rock star, Al Hewitt, the bullet from the revolver through his head. On further investigation, a suicide note was found in his coat pocket. The note claimed that he knew about his assassination and that no one was to worry about it, as it was his fate.
The other body was not as famous as his victim's. Further inquiry lead to reveal that he was a certain Rupert Lawrence. There was no doubt that he was the assassin. Despite the bullet through his temple, Hewitt's guard could identify him as the one who drove Hewitt away. On the back seat of Lawrence's car was a folder which had been labeled 'Police: Read this'. The folder contained a certificate of marriage between a certain Rupert and Linda Lawrence, a picture of the assassin, though he looked much younger and happier, with a young, pretty woman next to him, and two newspaper articles. The first one showed a picture of Al Hewitt with the same young woman, both dressed up for a wedding. A caption below the picture read 'Rock Legend Hewitt weds small town girl Linda Lawrence.'
The other newspaper cutting was a small article which read 'Rock Legend Al Hewitt was devastated on Sunday when his wife passed away at the Felrock hospital. She had succumbed to a case of tetanus.
Despite this loss, Hewitt has decided to continue his tour of London, “I will continue, for her” Hewitt told our reporter at his California Mansion.'
The final page of the file was not a newspaper cutting nor a photograph. It was a sheet of paper. On it, in an untidy scrawl read the words, 'YOU CANT BUY LOVE ALBERT HEWITT. BUT YOU BOUGHT MY WIFE'S LOVE. YOU WILL PAY. I LOVE YOU LINDA.'
~~~
The Monster and the Angel
Gregory the fifth, popularly known as Grey, was a monster. He took pride in this fact and looked and behaved as monstrously as possible. His entire body was covered in long, matted heir which was tinted green with mosses and fungi. Several species of mosses grew ONLY amongst his hair, nowhere else on the planet. He was bipedal and sported two huge, hairy arms that ended in wicked looking claws. He stood on two pillar-like legs which, in times of trouble, could carry him at great speeds. At about seven feet in height, Grey was someone nobody wants to mess with.
But there was nobody to mess with Grey as he lived alone in the swamps of south Sudan. He lived his life in solitude, preying on the small birds and animals that lived in his swamp. Occasionally, he would treat himself by munching up a lost traveller. In short, Grey was little known to the world, and he cared very little about it.
One warm day, while Grey was asleep, half submerged in sticky brown sludge, he was blissfully unaware of the fact that his fate was being decided several miles away. Indeed it was, at The Hague, Switzerland- home to the United Nations General assembly. Somewhere inside the palace, a Sudanese delegate was shouting himself hoarse in his local tongue, a language nobody could understand.
A few hours later, with the help of a rather flustered translator, the message managed to get through. The Sudanese delegate seemed to be complaining about his wife’s bad food. She never makes what I want, he seemed to be saying, and whatever she makes, she makes badly. There seemed to be something wrong with him, delegates generally did not discuss wives at the meeting.
A few minutes and a few more translators later, it was understood that the Sudanese delegate was complaining about a large monster who resided in his country’s swamps. He claimed that the monster had eaten up over half the population of a rare, endemic species of bird.
So, like they always did at the UN, the delegates took a resolution-to pray to god. As stupid as it sounds, they wanted to humiliate the Sudanese delegate as he was wasting their valuable time with his useless banter. What did they care if there were fewer birds in Sudan?!
So all the delegates joined their hands, closed their eyes, bowed their heads and prayed to god. What they were unaware of, was the fact that a godly parliament was being held at that very moment, and the gods “hearkened” their prayer. The gods sat in silence as they heard the quiet voices of a hundred delegates, asking them to get rid of the Sudanese monster.
After ten minutes of vicious debate and several zaps of lightning on Zeus’ part, an angel was sent down to Sudan to take care of Grey. The only problem was that the angel had a temper shorter than freshly mown grass. He also had an extremely sharp sword.
Our story now returns to Sudan, where Grey was attempting to make a meal out of a particularly angry lion. The two beasts slowly circled each other, growling. It was at this point of time that the angel arrived at the swamp.
He set down his suitcase, made a quick call home to say that he reached, and quietly watched the two monstrous beasts circle each other. He softly spoke to the lion. With a rough growl, the lion pounced on Grey. The angel watched, with an indifferent expression, as the two beasts grappled on the slushy floor of the swamp. There was a loud ripping and cracking noise as the lion was torn apart, literally, and thrown into the underbrush. There was a soft moan, and the lion did not emerge from the bushes.
The angel shortly commanded Grey to stop killing endemic species. Grey grunted and drooled. He politely asked again, Grey vigorously shook his shaggy head. For the third time, the angel asked Grey to go vegetarian. Grey let loose a lethal roar.
Two seconds and three swift slashes later, Grey lay dead on the angel’s feet in a pool of blood. The angel smiled in a satisfied way. It was satisfaction of a job well done.
The angel turned away from Grey’s body. He pulled out a printout from his briefcase and surveyed it wearily. He then shook his head as he replaced the printout back into his briefcase. Too few birds remaining. He would not be able to revive the endangered species- Grey’s damage was done.
With a heavy sigh, the angel grimly set out on a task- to erase all records and memories of the rare Sudanese winglet. With several exhausting spells, the angel standing in the middle of the swamp erased all records, memories, photographs, censuses, discussions and websites about the bird.
The angel slumped down on to the swampy floor, exhausted. After a few minutes of rest, he stood up, prodded the corpse of Grey with his sword again, sheathed his sword, hoisted up his suitcase and caught the next flight back to heaven
~~~
Highway Robbery
It was 3 am. Nocturnal silence had engulfed the city. Deserted streets lit by bright orange lights. Here and there, a few homeless people lay curled up by the roadside. An occasional car whizzed through the streets, a nocturnal traveller or a night shift worker.
The National Bank was situated at a generally busy intersection. An old and regal looking building, it was said to be one of the safest banks in the city. Jewellery and cash worth millions was stored within the vaults deep inside the building. Guards prowled through the vaults and outside the building twenty four hours a day. Thus it was highly unusual that on that particular night, there was no guard outside the bank.
>
Across the quiet street from the entrance of the bank, on a public bench, sat a ragged old man. He sat upright, slightly hunched, and held a copy of the evening mail in front of his unkempt face. Over the top of his newspaper, with glinting eyes, the old man observed and noticed this lack of guards in front of the National Bank. He slowly put down his paper beside him, pulled out a suave cell phone from his pocket and sent a text message to an untraceable number, with only one word: Tonight
Within ten seconds, the old man’s phone beeped as he received a text message. It read: Confirm escape route and reply. The old man’s eyes swept through the message and he pocketed the phone. He lifted up his paper again and began to cautiously scan the front of the bank over the top of it.
All of a sudden there was a muffled bang. An explosion deep within the bowels of the bank. The old man on the bench perked up, almost as though he was getting ready for something. He watched the entrance of the bank with extreme attention, barely blinking. Sure enough, within five minutes, two masked men emerged from the heavy doors, each one dragging a hefty sack behind him. The two men quickly loaded their two sacks into the back of a black van, the kind of van generally used by small scale delivery companies.
The old man on the bench watched keenly as the two thugs swiftly darted back into the bank and re emerged dragging two more sacks. Once they were heaved into the van, the two men quickly got into the front of the van and started the engine. Strangely, throughout this entire event, no alarm sounded from within the bank and no guard emerged.
