I was killed

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
i was murdered and how it went unnoticed by the world.

Submitted: March 16, 2017

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Submitted: March 16, 2017



Today is the day when I was murdered last year for the reasons unknown to me and the mankind. The murder was so gruesome that no one living in this world found a piece of my flesh or bone anywhere. Nor can it be found thereafter. Even the blade of grass which bore my weight when I was breathing my last did not see a drop of my red tissue.  The only duo who witnessed that heinous crime were me and the murderer. I am no more and he will not utter it out. A missing case was filed. Posters were attached on the pillars and the walls of the city. Posts on Facebook appeared on the FB walls of all my friends and their friends and the friends of them. Even today someone completely unknown to me is sharing my picture on the facebook wall. The poor world doesn’t know that all their attempts went futile and are continuing to go futile .What has happened on that night…?

I got late in the office. So late that the day changed and the new day was still budding in its second hour.  I have been on the roads at that hour many times before. But that day was looking very unusual. Calm and bright and I was able to feel a strange silence around me. Wind was calm but the flag was able to flutter. The fluttering can be heard clearly by a person standing on the footpath on the other end of the road. The sounds of the tides of the lake striking it’s bank and going back can also be heard from the car running on the other side of the barricade which is 50 meters away from the waterfront. The music system of the car which worked when I was going to the office that morning stopped working. It was not even making the whooshing sound that all the music systems making their way to the trash make. As I went past the flag and the lake, even those sounds which gave me the confidence that I am living in the world that I have been living in stopped. ‘Y’is the only letter, rather a sound, that was ringing in my mind. “Am I dreaming or really driving…”.

This silence continued with me for another ten minutes and the beat of my heart started getting faster and louder. How horrific is silence! Many questions rolled in my mind and ruined it. All starting with “what if”. Slowly, this silence at the pace of the speed of my car turned into a sweet music. The sound of a flute. It was so mesmerizing that my sub conscious mind slowed down the car and at last stopped it not minding that it was around 2 on a 24 hour clock. Clearing the mist on the wind shield with the wiper - washer control, I looked for the source of the sound and in the fog of the November’s early hours and under the light of the moon in it’s full bloom peeping through the clouds, I was feebly able to see a person under the tree on the roadside.

Everyday I pass the area, I used to see that tree with a feeling of pride as it was planted by me sixteen years back when I was in school on the occasion of a drive conducted by the state to bring awareness about the importance of the greenery. It reminds me of the plight of the nation, the world and the survival of generations next. It leaves me with a sense of pride that I did something for my nation and that it still exists after one and a half decade. This helped me keep myself sincere, honest and disciplined throughout the day, in the office, on the road and in the house I live in. Whenever I get tired or gasp for the job satisfaction, I remember the tree and it used to boost my morale.

Being a flutist, with a feeling of envy and an admiration for a fellow flutist, I got down to shake hands with him in appreciation. Before I understood my folly, I was only a few feet away from him.  The man was with a beard and uncombed hair, all grey.  The flute on which he was playing was a vertical one, probably bought from a roadside seller. Must be because of his playing skills, the tune was so melodious that a concert worth millions is just a pebble before that Mountain of melody.  I stood at a yard’s distance and was observing his finger movements on the holes of the flute which looked like a visualizer dancing to the tune. All of a sudden the music stopped. By the time I came back to my senses from the ocean of melody I was swimming in, the man with the flute without the flute in his hands stood before me with his eyes red. The redness grew while I was observing and they looked like razing fire. Before I could react, the flutist encircled my neck with the left sleeve of his dirty shirt which was hanging loose and torn from the shoulder. I gasped for breath; slowly my eyes got blinded and atlast lost consciousness. I tried to get up after coming to senses. I got up but I found my body still lying on the ground. As I watched helplessly, the flautist bundled my body in a thick polythene bag and pulled it towards the well nearby. He tied it to a big rock and dropped it into the well. The rock being heavy, the body never floats and the area being the low lying area of the city, and with a big lake nearby, the well never dries. The polythene bag being thick one may never suffer a tear and the rope with its quality never breaks. My story ended there and the man drove away with my car as I was sitting there lamenting over my death….

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