It had been a long hard week. You know the type where despite your best efforts you felt that you stood alone against the entire world of commerce and industry and as a result I was physically drained and mentally fatigued.
But it was Friday night and my family needed to know that everything was great and that our regular Friday evening dinner would be the commemoration it always was. So you put up the fade and tell your corny jokes and everyone laughs and talks excitedly about the past weeks events.
Later when the family had retired to their dream making, I as usual sat alone to go through my weekly ritual of silent contemplation, deciphering the past weeks events in order to get to some sort of peace and perspective.
I was sitting in the TV room that leads on to the garden and patio, the soporific effects of a great meal and a glass of wine had me roving in and out of consciousness. I stirred; disturbed by my sixth sense which had detected a foreign presence and as I groped my way back into reality I slowly opened my one eye and then the other. In the left corner of my unfocused vision I saw a hand then an arm appear trespassing through the gaps in the burglar proofing of the open French doors. In a dream like state I watched as the intruder reached out with utmost caution, intent on retrieving the security door keys that lay on the coffee table before me.
I recall moving as if in slow motion, in one movement latching myself onto the intruders arm and simultaneously bringing my leg up with a force that dislocated the crime intenders elbow, he screamed like the "ingulube" (pig) he was. And he fell back on the tiles of the patio nursing his useless arm.
The doors to the security door were locked, but such was my fury that I kicked them open bending the bolts at the top and skewing the frame. With interpretation I recollect then attacking the intruder with a brutality that I had long forgot I still possessed. I saw him reaching for the nine millimetre stuck nonchalantly in his belt, but I managed to punch him in the heart and he lay their wheezing, this seemed to infuriate me even further and I retrieved the pistol and proceeded to use it to thrash him until he begged for me to stop, but I didn't, I couldn't and I carried on then kicking him until his body went limp, at which time I managed to regain some equanimity.
The shock now pooled and combined with the heightened adrenalin levels and I thought that my heart would physically climb out of my chest. The sweat poured from me and mingled with his blood and my anger as it dripped form my face and hands. I surveyed the damage I had done and realised that I needed to get rid of this body. I picked up the limp body and unceremoniously walked down to the front fence and physically threw him over it. I heard a dull thud as they body hit the flag stones followed by a shout of pain and knew with a sense of relief that he was alive.
I walked back to the house checked all the rooms and then sweating and shaking, I checked the garden and out buildings. With a sense of relief I found no one else. I then walked back towards the house and I buried the failed assassins weapon in the built in flower bed that leads onto the patio.
Looking around me I became acutely aware of the blood of my victim which seemed to cover the entire patio. I commandeered a mop and bucket and painstakingly got rid of any evidence of what had transpired earlier. I checked my clothes and body and removed any trace of blood that I could detect.
Almost on cue my wife appeared and sleepily asked what was happening as she had heard a noise from upstairs in the bedroom. I lied to her and told her that we had had an attempted burglary but the intruder had bolted when I challenged him. Those blue eyes told me she knew that wasn't the whole story. I sent her off to bed and called the police, who arrived and asked me to stay inside for my own safety. I obeyed and played along as the shocked almost victim of a foiled break in. Their search revealed nothing and they left.
It is times like these when we are forced to unleash our beast that we realise how strong and callous the inner sense of survival in our human is. For almost a year the wife never mentioned the incident and then out of the blue one Sunday morning whilst scoffing croissants, drinking my favourite Ethiopian Ghimbi coffee and reading the Sunday papers, she asked me what had transpired and I looked at her and answered.
"This fucking place almost had me killing again".
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Short Story / Religion and Spirituality
Short Story / Historical Fiction
Short Story / Religion and Spirituality
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