by Anuraag
Tears Of Angels
By Anuraag
Copyright 2014 Anuraag
https://plus.google.com/+AnuraagBhaskarbhatta/
The smoke filled her lungs as Martha entered the cafe and coughed her way to the nearest table. At first her eyes burned but then as the seconds rolled past, the surroundings became clear. This was not exactly what she had anticipated- the dim lights, a dreadful silence of sin, and some teens smoking. Her eyes struggled to search for someone, someone she knew and loved dearly. Despairingly, she sighed and glanced at the empty chair in front of her. Her mind was wandering far off in the dark realm of memories. Her blonde hair dropped straight down her shoulders and her shivering hands searched for some warmth. The cold breath, the pale skin, dog-tired eyes, the soiled clothes, overgrown nails, torn boots, it was as if she had just returned from one of the wild adventures of Sinbad the sailor. She took a deep breath and looked around once again, praying hard.
“Let me have a drag,” someone shouted from one corner of the room.
Martha straightened her neck and peered. She saw a teen with blonde hair, sharp nose, and ocean-blue eyes. At the first glance she knew it was him, she knew it was her son Ron. A smile brightened up her face like the sun yawning out of the clouds on a gloomy day. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, finally she had found him, it was a moment of ecstasy but sadly short-lived. Ron snatched the joint and took a deep drag. His eyes closed as the marijuana’s effect set in. He would not stop there and with the next four drags he was among the stars. Martha stared at him in horror. Her little baby, her gem lay rotten in the filth. Tears were hard to resist and with those teary eyes she watched her son fade away. She decided to go right up to him and slap him as hard as possible, but she couldn’t find her feet, they were senseless. She tried hard to stand but in vain. Every attempt was a failure; she sat there in despair while Ron smoked up right in front of her eyes.
“Can’t he see me?” she thought. “He has degraded himself to be able to notice anything around.”
“Ron. Ron,” she shouted helplessly. It felt like her voice was being suppressed. She looked to her side and the people seemed to pay no heed, they were all busy getting high, as high as possible, higher than the reach of reality.
She was at loss, she couldn’t stand, she couldn’t stop him and all she could do was watch her son burn away like the joint that he was smoking. After many a failed attempts she finally slacked in her chair. The clouds of despair and misery loomed over her. With each drag that Ron took, a bullet seemed to pierce through her heart. She cried inconsolably, ‘what happened to my baby, where did I go wrong?’ she cried and cried repeating those words until even her tears were ashamed to stream down her weary eyes.
“Now, that Ron’s one of us, let’s give him a chance to prove it,” said one of the junkies.
“What do you mean, jack?” Ron asked.
“It means that you have to walk the graveyard at midnight.”
“What?”
Everyone laughed out loud. Ron stared at them with eyes half shut.
Martha gritted her teeth and with glaring eyes she cursed them. She desperately tried one more time to raise herself from the seat but failed again.
“Ron, what I mean is that you have to buy the stuff for us now.”
“No, I’m not going to do any of that,” Ron retorted.
“If you don’t then you better find yourself new friends, all you have to do is be brave.”
“C’mon Ron. Don’t be a pussy. You are a man now.”
“But I’m scared of cops.”
“There is no cop around at this time ass. Just want to get you started, drain out your fear forever. I want you to be fearless, bro,” Jack said.
Ron’s tensed mind gave in to the peer pressure and he finally agreed.
“Now you are a man, Ron,” Jack sneered and the others reflected back a grin.
Martha’s heart pounded and she felt a surge of emotions resurfacing inside her. The tension churned her stomach and she wiped her sweat-filmed forehead. She knew a dark storm was nearing. Confused as to why she couldn’t stop her son, she felt dizzy. The junkies including Ron got up from their seats and staggered their way out of the café. Just as the door closed behind them Martha felt the blood rush to her feet. She stood up quickly and dashed out of the hell.
Aryan sat still in his car, staring straight ahead at the deserted street. There was however an open stall at one corner that sold hotdogs, atleast that’s what it claimed. He looked at his phone and sighed, why isn’t he calling? He wondered. Just then it rang and he answered the call instantly, “Is the information right?” He asked.
With a broad smile he relaxed in his seat. This was his night; the perfect opportunity had presented itself finally. He closed his eyes and recalled the sweet face of his child-dead child. It was not long ago when he had been a corrupt cop. He had a family, a happy family- a loving wife and a wonderful son. He wasn’t greedy but ambitious. However, there comes a point in life when the line starts to fade and the conscience gets buried.
“It’s just damn money; you earn it or steal it. Ain’t a difference,” his colleague had once enlightened him.
“But what if my wife finds out?” the little surviving soul had said.
“She won’t, as long as you buy her gifts and trinkets.” That was the day the monster in him was born. Aryan had shed all kinds of inhibitions when it came to drugs. He had pulled out the filter and let it pass into the society. It was business after all; he would turn a blind eye to it and in return would be handsomely rewarded. With the extra incentive in income, his family was happier than ever. New car, new house, new furniture, his son started attending a new school and his wife went shopping more often, what else could a happy family mean? In the mist of avarice he had lost his soul and could’nt see why corruption was so scorned on, but life has its own way of educating.
Just a day before his wedding anniversary he lost his wife and son in an accident. They were on their way back home from school when a speeding car collided into them. They were killed instantly. The driver too died on the spot and his autopsy reports confirmed drug abuse.
Aryan blamed himself for their deaths. He had dug their graves long ago. Now, the reality seemed to appear before him, it was as if he was suddenly woken up from a dream. He stopped going to work and stayed home all the while cursing himself. Only if he hadn’t resorted to unfair means, only if he had caught the drug peddlers, he could have had his happy family sitting right there beside him, on the couch. They had to pay the price for the crimes he had committed. It was at that moment he decided to avenge their deaths by setting things right. It was now when he took upon himself the task to stop the fire from spreading. He had this one last chance to seek absolution.
A tear ran down his face and he focused his gaze back on the street.
Today, he was here to catch the rat. His informant had informed him about a new drug, named ‘Snow’ about to be released to the peddlers in samples. The drug seemed to numb the neurons and the side effects were unknown. It was a combination of tranquilizers and cocaine. This was to be an experiment. It contained a secret ingredient that would cause severe addiction and could also result in psychotic disorders. “In short, it’s a plague,” his informant had said sweating.
“If there is anything left for me to do, it’s to stop this plague and kill the rat,” Aryan promised.
“Be careful but, there is a big rat who commands this trade. He’s dangerous and won’t flinch before pulling the trigger.”
“There was a time when I feared death, now death is all I seek. I have nothing to lose but a reason to live. I must stop them.”
The doctor looked out of the window at the darkness outside and there
was darkness inside. He didn’t seem to care as his assistant walked in and sat beside him.
“You seem lost,” he said with a smile.
There was no answer but a sigh of grief. “Are you alright, sir?”
“I have made an incorrigible mistake.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The Snow is not just a drug but a bomb, which will destroy the world as we see it. The society, the entire civilization will be wiped off in no time,” the doctor said.
“But you were compelled and so was I. He would have killed us if we chose to disobey.”
“That’s not an excuse, Paul.”
“My life’s an excuse, but how did you come into this bog?” Paul said sipping his coffee.
“Every crime has a story behind it. After failing to compete as a pharmacologist, I was in search of a new path. Not everyone is born to race, some can just crawl.”
“So you
