Elowygn's Page

A blog featuring some of my writing...

[elowygn-blog]

A Drunk, a Drug Dealer and a Dog

Between 11pm and 2am is when all the craziness inside people comes crawling out. Its what my brother used to say. I had never really thought about those words, just sort of accepted them. My brother had been wise that way.

My brother, younger to me by a year and a half, used to be a college student. Now he was just a corpse, rotting in a cemetery.

It was his third deathday today. So I sat all alone at the bar, drinking whiskey, trying not to think too much about him. I felt sad. Obviously. It was painful to think about him. His wasted life. Shot dead by some crazy at exactly 12:01am.

Somewhere in the bar, a cuckoo clock chimed twelve times, trilling in a soft melodious bird voice. Once. Twice. Twelve times. I looked at my phone till the time changed from 12:00 to 12:01, and then downed a whole glass of whiskey in a go. I slammed the glass hard on the counter top. It shattered. The barkeep came up and asked me to leave. Politely. And he also asked for my keys. I surprised myself when I handed them over without a fuss. I silently grabbed my coat, and walked out into the night. It was hot outside. The bar had been air conditioned. My glasses fogged over as I walked down the steps of the bar. I ignored that. My mind was too busy trying to concentrate on not falling down. I didn't drink often, and consequently was not adept at handling drunkenness. As I made it down the last step, I mentally congratulated my self. Just 500 steps, I told myself, and I'd be at the curbside where I'd get a taxi. Then I could give in to the drunkenness. I swayed with each step that I took. I kept counting. At exactly a 100 steps, I tripped over something, and fell over. I hit the ground hard, face first. My hands scraped against the concrete. My glasses dug into my nose and eye sockets. And my brain felt like it had literally banged against the inside of my skull. The pain was excruciating. Still face down, I heard a whining. I cracked open an eye, but I couldn't see clearly. Then someone grabbed my hand, and started pulling me upward. I let myself be guided into a upright position, leaning, or rather falling, on the person trying to help me. "Can you stand on your own feet please?" a mildly irritated voice spoke. It took me a few seconds to process the words. I nodded and tried to stand on my own. I swayed a bit, but was steady overall. "I tripped," I spoke to the person who had helped me. He was just a kid. Probably fifteen or sixteen. Thin, with blonde hair. He looked, sort of, pretty. With soft girly features. Dressed in tight, but worn out, clothes. The boy rolled his eyes. "Yeah. You tripped over Eddie." He pointed down to a gray lump. It was moving. It was a dog. A dirty, mangy dog. It looked pathetic. And it was still whining. The boy was now kneeling in front of the dog, examining it. He looked from it to me, and gave me a look. A look that all drunks of the world get. A look that said "shame on you." I felt like a piece of shit. I had, in my drunkenness, hurt a possibly dying creature. The boy was petting the dog, running his hands over its filthy fur, making soothing noises. I felt a shudder at the thought of someone touching such a disgusting animal. And then I felt ashamed at myself for feeling disgusted. I reached into my pocket and took out my wallet. The boy went silent and looked at me. I took out a twenty, and then another, and held them out. "Please. For the dog. I'm sorry." The boy got up and took the money. His was still looking at my wallet. I quickly put it back inside. "You look sad." The boy's words were softer now. He sounded kinder. His face had a pitying expression. "My brother died," I blurted out before I could stop myself. "That's sad. How old was he?" the boy asked, bending down to pet the dog again. I knew that this conversation was going to end with me giving the boy more money. But, somehow, I couldn't look away from him. "Twenty." "So young," the boy spoke, "it's so tragic." The boy was giving the dog a sip of water from a bottle. I could see the dog's muscles move as it lapped up the water. The boy stroked the dog's ears as it drank. "You know, I have something that can make you feel better. Help you forget." There it was. My drunk brain went "Aha!" inside. I knew that I should walk away. But the sight of him petting the pitiful dog invoked a great sadness inside me. I didn't know why, it was probably all the alcohol, but I suddenly wanted to cry. It was an overwhelming, overpowering urge. I felt the tears spring up in my eyes. I bit down on my lip to hold back the tears. I pulled out my wallet again, took out a few notes without even looking at them. The boy immediately got to his feet and took the money. He counted it and put it in his pocket. He took a plastic packet out of his other pocket, carefully took out some pills and pressed them into my hand. I realized that he did all this with the same hand that had been touching that animal. I closed the pills in my fist tightly. The boy was again stroking the dog. A hot tear trickled down my cheek. The boy saw it too. I looked away. I needed to go home. To be alone. Biting down on my lip, clutching the pills in my hand, I started walking towards the curbside. I started praying that a cab would come and take me home. I was swaying back and forth, due in part to both alcohol and sadness. Mercifully, a cab pulled up soon. I opened the door and got it, without even waiting for the sole passenger to depart. I got another dirty look. I closed my eyes tightly. "Where to, buddy?" the cab driver asked me in an accented voice. I opened my eyes. "45th and main, the red brick building." I looked out the window. The boy was letting the dog lick his face. Even from the distance, I could make out the look of affection that the boy gave the dog. After the cab drove a distance, I rolled down the window and tossed the pills outside. Holding my head in my hands, I let the tears quietly flow down my cheeks.            

[elowygn-blog]

That's why you do it right the first time

The cafe was a charming little place, owned by a sweet old lady. It had a quaint, old world feel to it, almost untouched by the hectic pace of the big city. It was frequented by many regulars, who were all on first name basis with the staff.

On one rainy day, at the peak rush hour, a young man came running into the cafe. He looked around for a bit, then spotted an old man sitting at the back of the cafe, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. The young man headed there and took a chair facing the old man.

"Hello Derek," the old man greeted him. "Every thing went well I presume?"

Derek twisted his hands nervously, but did not say anything.

The old man put down his paper and peered at Derek from behind his glasses. He arched an eyebrow. Derek quailed at the look.

"We-well," Derek stammered, "no, no it did not go as well. I don't know what to say."

The old man removed his glasses. "Is it all over, or is the situation still salvageable?" He sounded exasperated. Derek could imagine his patience snapping at any moment. He chose his next words carefully.

"Look, I'll do anything to make it right. Just, please, tell me how I can fix it" Derek's voice was heavy with emotions. He looked at though he was disappointed at himself, more than anything.

The old man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What happened?"

"Well, I did every thing exactly as you told me to. Every thing was planned and laid out. Except.. except... she wasn't alone. There were four people with her. I knew I couldn't carry on."

"What exactly had you told her?" the old man asked.

"I told her I had created my greatest piece, and to come by and see it."

"And obviously she brought her friends over to see it." The old man sounded exasperated. "You didn't see that coming?"

Derek just stared at his hands.

The old man shrugged, then set aside his coffee cup. "You know," he said, folding his hands. "There are only two ways to do something. You can do it right—or you can do it over. Doing it over takes longer."

Derek lowered his head in shame.

"Well, now you'll have to do this the old fashioned way. Flowers, a nice restaurant, champagne, and then at the end of the meal, you go down on your knee and ask her to marry you. There's no way even you can mess this up."

Derek blushed.

"So what are you waiting for," the old man chided him. "Go on, go. Book a nice restaurant. Go!" The old man made a shooing motion.

Derek leapt to his feet. He nodded vigorously at the old man, and then hurried out of the cafe into the rain. The old man went back to reading his paper.                                

[elowygn-blog]

Homewards

The old man was the only other passenger in the bus. When the last stop came, both he and I got down. The next bus wasn't until another half hour. A half hour more, and then I'd be on my way to freedom and beyond. There were tiny plastic chairs in the bus stop, and I went and sat on the furthest one, pulling up the hood of my jacket over my head.

From the far corner, I glanced at the old man, studying his profile. He looked ancient, frail and stooped. His head was bald like an egg. He was peering at the route board, studying it intently. He looked up and glanced about, then turned and looked at me. I instantly looked away.

"Er, excuse me?" he addressed me, his voice timid and uncertain.

Normally, I would have ignored him, but something about his voice caught my attention. I looked at him, able to see his face now. He was crying, tears streaming down his face. The sight of him crying really unsettled me. Before I knew what I was doing, I was on my feet, walking in his direction.

"Hello. Can I help you?" I asked him. Up close, the man looked really helpless, almost pitiful. His face was lined and spotted with age. Unshed tears were clinging to his eyelashes, wobbling with his harried breaths.

The old man was clenching and unclenching his hands, looking pained. "Please." He hesitated several times before he spoke again. "Please. The thing is, the thing is..." he broke off, sobbing. "Please. I can't remember where I live."

He looked deeply ashamed as he spoke those words, every word seemed to cause him agony. His fists were tightly clenched now, shaking and quivering. He wasn't even looking at me, he was staring at his feet.

I was taken aback, both my his plight and his words. I felt my gut clench with pity. I didn't know how to react. "Well, um, okay," I spoke uncertainly, trying to string together some helpful words. "Do you have any ID cards?"

He started patting his pant pockets. He pulled out an ancient looking brown wallet from his pocket and started flipping through it. He pulled out a battered looking drivers license. He held it out for me. I took it. It was a woman's ID.

"It says Enid Fairchild," I told him.

"Yes! Yes! That's my wife." The old man's voice was hopeful now.

I smiled at him. There was a contact number on it. "Okay. I'll call her."

"Oh, wait," he old man said, frowning deeply. "Wait, I remember now. She died six years ago." He looked crestfallen at this sudden re-realization.

"Mr. Fairchild? Do you have any children?"

"Yes. I have a son. He lives in Florida."

"Do you have his contact number?"

"It was in my cellphone. But I left that at home."

"Oh.Okay. Look, why don't you sit down? Maybe it'll come to you in a while?" I suggested hopefully, guiding him towards a chair.

He shook his head. "I've been trying to remember it since I got on the bus." Fresh tears streamed from his eyes.

I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes till my bus arrived.

I looked at the old man. He had buried his head in his kerchief, crying like a child. His sobs echoed in my head.

"Please don't cry," I said, patting him gently on the arm. "I'll call the police. They'll be able to help you."

The old man looked up at me. "They will?"

"Yeah, of course. Don't worry. Look, I'm calling them now." I dialed the number. An operator picked it up. I explained the situation to him. "He says that someone will be here in twenty minutes."

"Thank you, dear," the old man sobbed, grasping my hand tightly.

We sat quietly, the old man's occasional sobs breaking the silence. Ten minutes later, when my bus came, I did not go. I just sat there with the old man, holding his hand. When the police arrived, I saw that my mother was in the car with them. My heart sank.

The police took the old man, to his home I guess. My mother took me back to my prison.                                

[elowygn-blog]

Thrill of the Hunt

"There is nothing that excites a hunter more, than the hunt for a fellow man. A wanted man. A powerful man. A predator, now the prey," the blond man spoke softly.

The old man regarded the blond intently. He was young, probably in his early twenties. But there was something about him, something indefinable, that made the old man fear him instinctively.The old man was reminded of the child soldiers he had employed long ago in Africa. Innocent looking, pitiful. And deadly. The blond was thin and tall, and very good looking. The kind of good looks that must have attracted people to him, making his work all the more easier. For there was no doubt in the old man's mind about the blond man. He was here for him.

"Who sent you?" the old man asked, taking a sip of his wine.

The blond man swirled his wine glass, a wry smile on his lips. "Henrich."

The old man nodded slightly. He motioned to the maitre d' to bring another bottle of wine. He waited until the maitre d' poured wine into his glass and left. "I can pay you much more, you know."

"Oh I know." The blond man raised the wine glass to his nose, smelling its rich, fruity flavor.

"Do you expect to make it out of here alive?" the old man asked. It was not a threat, the old man already knew the answer.

"No." The blond man was smiling more broadly now.

The old man looked into the blond man's eyes. They were alive with passion. The blond was no mercenary, he was enjoying this. The old man was curious now. "May I ask your interest in this matter?"

The blond took another sip of wine, and smiled at the group of women who had just taken a table near them. The ladies giggled, and waved to him. He waved back, and then turned to the old man. "None of your business."

"Humor me," the old man snapped at him, irritated by the blond man's casual attitude.

The blond concentrated for a moment, choosing his next words with extreme care. "Ernest Hemingway wrote 'There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter' "

The old man laughed. "So you will kill me out of ennui?"

"Oui," the blond replied. In a split second, he pulled out his revolver and shot the old man squarely in the forehead.

The old man was dead before any one could register what had happened. As his corpse slupmed forward, the restaurant erupted in screams.

Amongst the chaos, the blond man sat and sipped his wine, winking at the ladies from the next table as they fled. He was about to finish his glass of wine, when he was riddled with bullets. He fell sideways from the chair. The wine glass shattered under the weight of his dead body.                                

[elowygn-blog]

Locked, not Loaded

"Oh puh-lease, spare me the horror," said a cool metallic female voice with a slight nasal twang. The voice was emanating from the lock that the world's greatest thief was trying to unlock. "You'll never be successful. I don't know why you're even trying. Give up, go home."

"Yeah, yeah," the master thief replied, his voice nonchalant. He continued at his attempts to pick the lock, using the most elaborate tools.

"While you're at it, how much are you being paid to pick me?" the lock asked curiously.

The master thief mentioned an obscenely large amount.

"That's it?" the lock replied in a mocking tone. "That's way less than the last guy"

This caught the master thief's attention. His head snapped up, but there was no face he could face. So he contended himself by staring at the lock he held in his hands. "Someone's tried this before?""Wasn't that clear from what I just said? God, you are slow."

The master thief started to roll his eyes, but stopped when he recalled that the lock couldn't see him. "What I meant," he replied in a clipped voice, "was that someone actually managed to break into the building, get past all that security and get all the way here?"

"Why do you sound surprised? You managed to do it didn't you? And you seem so thick."

"I," the master thief retorted defensively, "am the world's greatest thief, okay! I have broken into the most heavily guarded vaults. Have you heard of the missing green diamond? Well, I am the one who stole that! I am the only person in this world to steal the Mars rocks from NASA. This, you, are just a walk in the garden compared to that! Just you wait and see..."

"Blah, Blah! You're all talk. The last guy was able to do twice as much as you in this much time."

The lock sounded at ease, almost bored. It's attitude was beginning bruise the master thief's master ego. He redoubled his efforts, and within a matter of minutes tore through another two layers of security on the lock. Another ten minutes later, he had opened the lock. It was almost too easy.

"Aha! I did it. See that, huh, you stupid piece of metal."

The master thief opened the door that was being locked by the lock. He strode inside and picked up the package at far end of the vault. Just then, the door swung and slammed shut trapping the master thief in a three foot thick titanium vault. There was a sharp grinding of gears as the lock reconfigured it self to secure the door.

"Master thief you may be," the lock's voice penetrated through the walls, "master lock pick you most certainly are not."

[elowygn-blog]

The Temple of Gates

The exorcist clanged the cymbals, and a loud reverberating sound emanated. The pillars in the room shook, as though in an earthquake. A strong breeze started to blow, flickering the lamps and the candles, spreading the scent of the incense far and wide. The exorcist opened his eyes, and saw a white snake sitting between the two candles in front of him.

The snake's tiny eyes were a deep red color, in stark contrast to its white skin. It studied the exorcist with a fixed stare, as though able to read his mind. When it spoke, it's voice was human, a voice of an old man, proud and powerful. "Who dare's disturb me?" The snake did not sound angry, rather, it sounded genuinely curious.

The exorcist was taken aback. He had not expected such a demon. Moreover, for the first time in his limited career, a demon had actually spoken to him. He was about to sputter a hasty reply, when he thought otherwise. "Who wishes to know?" the exorcist asked, in a voice more confident than he felt.

"It is I, Maauru, the master of this temple of gates." The snake was rising his head now, so that it was almost level with the exorcist's eyes.

The exorcist resisted the impulse to back away. He had never heard of a demon named Maauru, or of a temple of gates. "Lord Maauru," he addressed the demon, "I am known as Aum."

"A blessed name," the snake replied. "What brings you to my door, Master Aum. Do not tell lies."

The exorcist was finding it hard to maintain eye contact with the snake. "I am an exorcist," he admitted. "I am here to purify this place."

"Purify?" the snake laughed gently. "I think you mean you are here to rid this place of me."

The exorcist did not reply. He could feel energy radiating from the snake's lithe body.

The snake slithered closer to the exorcist. "You are a mere boy. You do not even know of me. You do not know of the ancient temple you stand in. Tell me, Master Aum, who has sent you here? They seem more dangerous to you than to me."

The exorcist pondered over the snake's words. He was only a novice, who been told of a simple exorcism in an old abandoned monastery. Just for practice. He had only recently started performing exorcisms alone. He looked at the snake, who was staring at him expectantly, waiting for a reply. "My teachers sent me here," he told the snake. "The old man who lives here complained of strange noises."

"Look around you, Master Aum," the snake replied, "does this place look like it is inhabited by humans. No, it doesn't, does it? It seems someone lied to you."

The exorcist was starting to feel a tingle of fear in his gut. The snake's words sounded true. "Why would the old man lie? Why would he want to lure exorcists here?"

The snake looked at him with pity. "Why do you think that it was the old man who lied?"

"But, but.." the exorcist stammered, sweating with fright now. "Why would the teacher's lie? Why would they send..."

"My dear Master Aum, think. The answer is very simple."

Realization dawned too late on the exorcist. By the time he started to run towards the entrance, it had already disappeared.                                

[elowygn-blog]

A Violent Death

My kind of profession has always had the risk of death by violence. We all know it, understand it and accept it. It's not unusual to hear of three, four deaths a month, and that's on a low month. It's the risk we all take, because, hey, bigger the risk, greater the reward.

So, now, as I lay tied up in a dingy, abandoned warehouse, all I can think of is that my time has come. I feel almost at peace, knowing that in a few moments my life will be extinguished, and I will be nothing more than a statistic associated with my job. I close my eyes and say a quiet farewell to this beautiful world. As I recall the most memorable moments of my life, I realize that I have led quite a great life, the kind of life most people can only dream of.

I hear soft footsteps. My would be killer has returned. I instinctively open my eyes to take a good look at him. He's in his early twenties, tall, thin, blonde. I realize that he's actually quite good looking, something like a Burberry model. He must be quite popular with the ladies. I suddenly envy him.

He bends down in front of me, taking a closer look at my injured forehead. He's calm. He's by no means an amateur, though I can tell that he's not been in our profession for very long.

He pulls out the wad of cloth stuffed into my mouth. I gasp immediately, taking a long, deep breath.

He speaks softly, in an even, unemotional tone. "Do you know why you are here? Just say yes or no."

"Yes," I reply, my voice hoarse from lack of moisture.

"Would you like something to eat? Or some water perhaps?" he asks, no sense of urgency in his voice.

"A cigarette, if you've got one?" I ask calmly. This is what they would ask for in the movies.

He nods, and takes out a sleek silver case from the pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a cigarette, and carefully, almost gently, places it between my lips, and lights it with a lighter engraved with the initials D.H.

He lights one for himself too. We smoke in silence. I take my sweet time smoking the cigarette, letting my body enjoy the last hit of nicotine. He finishes his cigarette before I do, and sits beside me, waiting patiently, not hurrying me. I'm starting to like this guy, I feel confident that he won't make a mess of things.

Once I'm done with the cigarette, he takes out a kerchief from the breast pocket of his pristine white shirt and wipes away the ashes from my shirt. He gets up and stands in front of me, and finally draws his gun. He loads it with a single bullet, and fits the silencer in place. He points it squarely towards my forehead.

I look into his eyes. They are completely devoid of any emotion.

He speaks softly. "I need you to understand something before I kill you."

I don't say anything, so he goes on. "This is only business. Nothing personal. Say yes, if you understand."

I doubt very much that my saying no would make any difference. "Yes."

I close my eyes.                                                                                

[elowygn-blog]

A Goodbye

Jen. My love, my life. A thousand kisses and hugs from your mother on your birthday. May god bless you and look after you as you go through life's ups and downs. May you always smile like you do, and brighten the life of those around you.

I have to go now, my baby, and you'll never see me again. I'm so sorry. Please don't cry when you read this. Be strong. Mom loves you and will always watch over you. Please look after Dad after I'm gone, he's not as strong as you are. He'll need you, now more than ever.

I so desperately want to see you before I go, but time wont permit me. Please know that I love you with all my heart and soul. You are the light of my life, my motivation and reason to live. The day I realized I was pregnant with you was the happiest day of my life. I had never believed people when they said that a child can give you the strength to over come all odds. But its true baby. You gave me and your father the strength to cross mountains and deserts and seas and storms. When I held you in my arms for the first time, I just knew that every thing was going to be alright. You brought me and Dad immense and profound strength. And joy. As I write this note, I am struggling to find the right words to describe what you mean to us.

I'm truly sorry I never told you all this before. It might have lessened the suddenness of this goodbye. I don't want to leave, my love. But my past has caught up with me, and now I must pay.

I don't want you to worry about me, love. I can take care of myself. But promise me that you'll look after Dad. And yourself. I have watched you grow before my eyes, and I know that you too, like me, will be alright. It might not seem like that to you, but trust me, a mother always knows.

I took this photo at the camp where you were born. That's your grandmother, Iris, holding you. She just held you like that for hours and hours. She was too old to make it. It was the only time I saw your father cry. Something inside him died when she did. I have never shown this photo to him.

I cannot go on writing, my baby. I must leave now. Please remember me kindly.

Love,

Mom

[elowygn-blog]

For Love

Daniel picked up the gun and loaded it with bullets. He lit a cigarette and took a deep draw, letting the smoke fill up his lungs. He switched on the TV, went into the kitchen to pour himself a drink. Whiskey and a cigarette. He felt slightly better already. He smoked in silence for a while, waiting.

He finished his drink and poured himself another one. Looking out the window, he saw a black car pull up in front of his apartment building. His hand tightened against his gun. Two people got out of the car and entered the building. Daniel started counting the seconds.

He quickly poured himself another drink and drank it one go. He could hear footsteps outside his door now. He had left it unlocked. He watched as the door slowly began to open. Knowing there was nothing he could do, he braced himself for the worst.

The two men he had seen getting out of the car entered his tiny apartment. They spotted him standing in his kitchen, a gun in one hand, a glass of whiskey in the other. The shorter of the two men closed the apartment door. The tall, bulky guy went into the kitchen.

"Hello, Daniel." The tall man's voice was gruff and hoarse. He was looking Daniel straight in the eyes. "Put down the gun. It's not going to help you now."

"Oh, I know that. Even the Devil can't help me now." Daniel's voice was calm; the whiskey had done it's job. Daniel shrugged his shoulders and set the glass down on the counter with a loud clank. He wiped his lips with the back of his free hand. "Would you boy's like a drink? No? Well, suit your self."

The short man had entered the kitchen as well. He was looking around with an expression of mild distaste on his face. "Great place you've got here. Perfect for a rat like you."

"Thank you, my good sir." Daniel curtsied towards the short man. His words were slurred now. He could feel the alcohol induced dizzyness take over him. "Would you like a tour?"

The two men looked at each other and nodded. The tall man moved towards Daniel, who immediately pointed the gun at him. The tall man stopped in his tracks.

The short man took out a gun and pointed it at Daniel. "Well, this is awkward now, isn't it Daniel? Be a good boy and put down your gun."

Daniel gave a small grunt of laughter. "I'll be damned before I do that. I'm not going down without a fight. You wanna get me, you gotta pay the price."

"Why don't you shoot already then? Get it over with?" The tall man took a step towards Daniel, who took a step back, but didn't shoot.

Daniel lowered his gun slightly. "How did you know it was me?"

The short man did not lower his gun. "Sherry told us. Wasn't too difficult to beat it out of her."

Daniel felt a knot of dread in his gut. "She dead?"

"Nah. Just a little banged up. Will be back in business in no time." The tall man grinned to himself as he made a crude gesture with his hands.

Daniel immediately raised his gun again, disgust and anger in every line of his face.

The tall man's grin faded and a hard expression took over his face. "Yeah. That love is the reason you don't wanna shoot. You're gonna die anyways, don't make things worse for the girl."

"Yeah Daniel. Just put down the gun." The short man gestured towards the kitchen counter with his gun.

Daniel looked from one man to the other. They both smirked at him. With shaking hands, Daniel put down the gun onto the counter. The short man lowered his gun and the tall man grabbed Daniel's shoulders.

In a split second, Daniel grabbed the bottle of whiskey and swung it hard onto the tall man's head. The impact was hard, it tore open the tall man's skull and his blood splashed Daniel. The short man fired at Daniel, but he ducked. The bullet hit the refrigerator. Before the short man could fire again, Daniel shoved the broken handle of the whiskey bottle in his face.

The short man howled with pain and dropped the gun. Daniel grabbed it and shot him in the head. He turned around and shot the tall man. He kept shooting him till the bullets ran out.

Daniel dropped the gun and slid onto the floor. He watched the blood flow from the two bodies. None of it felt very real. He pulled out his cellphone from his pocket and took a pic of the two men. He sent the pic to his undercover handler. Within seconds, his phone started ringing, but he felt too weak to pick it up. He just sat there on the floor, holding his head, until the cops came.

[elowygn-blog]

Facade

breakup.                 pills.                            hospital.                 mother. father.                 tears. smile.                 smile.                            smile.                 suffocation.

[elowygn-blog]

The red riding hood story

The young woman was wearing a red dress, which in a sleepy village cemetery, was shockingly odd. The caretakers and other mourners gawked at her, but she did not seem to notice. She quietly, determinedly, made her way to the back of the cemetery, where family plots were located. She knelt down before a beautiful white marble headstone. She closed her eyes, lips moving as though in a silent prayer. When she opened her eyes, she saw an old man standing behind the plot, watching her. Even though it had been fifteen years since she had last seen him, she recognized him instantly. She got up, dusted her knees, and went to the old man.

The old man gazed at her for a few seconds, then held his hand out for her to shake. The young woman shook his hand weakly, before pulling her hand away. She struggled to come up with an appropriate greeting. "Would you like to talk for a while?" she spoke hesitatingly. The old man nodded. "There's a pub just down the road." The two of them walked in silence. They reached the pub and stepped in to a warm and cheery parlor. They both took a mug of Irish coffee and went and sat in an empty, isolated booth. The old man spoke first. "You seem to be doing well." The young woman nodded. "Yes. I am doing well. You don't too bad yourself." The old man smiled briefly in agreement. He took a deep sip of the coffee. "So what brings you back here, after all these years?" The young woman pondered over the question for a few seconds before replying. "It's hard to say. I've tried my best to not think about the events of the past. My family moved to Switzerland you know. To get away from it all. But no matter how hard I tried, I felt like something was waiting for me here. Sounds morbid, I know. But I couldn't take it any more. So I decided to come here and put those feeling to rest once and for all." "And what feelings might those be?" the old man asked, setting his mug down on the table. "Well, I guess, first is my gratitude to you. If it wasn't for you, I would have met a fate that I am too terrified to even think of. I never really got a chance to thank you back then." The young woman smiled at the man, but he did not smile back. She was a bit taken aback by his coldness, but continued to speak. "And then there's that question. Who? Why?" The old man regarded her with an expressionless face. "You don't remember anything, do you?" The young woman shook her head. Something in the old man's face softened. "It's best not to dig up the past, lassie. Let the bodies remain where they are. You're doing well now, so how..." "But I need to know!" the young woman interrupted him, her voice shrill, desperate. "You don't understand! I have these dreams where I'm covered in blood. Her blood. And there's this laughter. It keeps echoing in my head. I feel like I'm going insane. That it's driving me insane." She covered her ears, tears streaming down her cheeks. The old man reached out and grabbed the young woman's hands. The young woman continued to sob. "Dear girl," the old man spoke gently, "poor girl. Oh, may the lord bless the innocent. " He squeezed the young woman's hands. "I'll tell you everything, if it brings peace to your soul." "Please," the young woman whispered between sobs, "please. just tell me." The old man hesitated, as though battling some inner demons. He suddenly spoke in a rush. "There had always been these rumors about your grandmother. Nasty village gossip. About her younger brother. Her daughter. How they had died so young. How her husband died. How your father ran away from here. How no one liked to work at her house or gardens. And then, how that man moved in with her. Years later, you and your mother show up here, without your father. City people, smart and posh. A few days later, your mother stops by here for a drink, all alone. Say's you're at home with granny. That's when Paul, the barkeeper, calls me up, asks me to check up on you. Your grandmother's house was close to my workshop, so I rush over." The old man paused, gulping for air. "I can never forget what I saw then. You were stumbling around the gardens, holding an axe, splattered with blood. I went inside and saw the dead bodies. I grabbed you and called the police." The young woman had stopped crying. She tried to free her hands from the old man's grasp, but he held on. The old man continued. "Your father was abroad, but came over the next day. Your mother had brought you here without telling him. He was shouting at her here, in the pub. The whole village was watching. Your mother kept apologizing. They both took you and returned to the city. The police investigation continued for a long, long time. The police connected your grandmother and that man to at least five other missing children from the county. Their parents set her house on fire, threw stones at the police. I suspect your parents left the country to spare you from repeated interrogations. " The old man let go of her hands. The young woman stared at them for a long time. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "In all these years, I never suspected. I never remembered. Not even now. How can I be so naive. So stupid. Of course, I should have realized. I should...." The old man interrupted her. "You're not stupid. You're brave. You were brave enough to protect yourself back then. And now, you're brave enough to face your demons. Not everyone would have had the courage to come down here looking for answers. They would have just slowly died inside. But not you." The two of them sat in silence for a long time. Finally, the young woman took a paper napkin and wiped away her tears. She smiled at the old man. The smile took all her effort. "Thank you. For telling me the truth. And those kind words. I'm not sure if I'm okay, but I know that I will be one day. It's like they say the truth shall set you free." There was a quiet determination in her voice now. She dug around in her purse, and pulled out a white envelope. "I'm getting married next month. I want you to come. Please, don't say no." The old man took the invitation and nodded. The two of them rose. The young woman kissed him on the cheek, then left without another word. The old man watched her until she turned a corner and disappeared from his view.            

[elowygn-blog]

Going with the flow of things.

Curled up in blankets besides a dim fire, she strokes my hair, gently teasing it and twirling it in her fingers. I grin lazily, and watch her fingers for a while. They are short, with rounded tips and broad, chipped nails. I grab her hand and bite her fingers playfully. She smacks me with a pillow, but doesn't pull her hand away. I bite her fingers again, and then kiss them, then the back of her hand, her arm, her elbow, her shoulder, neck. I roll on top of her and kiss her lips. Her fingers are still playing with my hair.

*

An hour later, I watch her walking down the front steps of my building through my living room window. Her dark hair is gently blowing in the wind. I watch as a cab stops by her and she gets in. She looks up at my window, and catches me. It's too late for me to duck, so I wave at her, once. She waves back, and the cab drives off.

I set about straightening the room, picking up the blankets and pillows, trying to hide all traces of her visit. I am just about finished when the front door opens and my roommate, his girlfriend, and her bff come in. They are all pink from the cold. I get up and offer to take the bff's coat, and she lets me. We all start talking about their trip to the mall, and how I missed seeing the huge tree that had been put up. The girlfriend chides me gently for being so lazy, and I put on a goofy grin.

My roommate steers the conversation towards the exhibition in the new art gallery downtown, and how we should all go sometime. He hints, again, that maybe the bff should join us. And by us, he means me. The bff looks at me, and I nod coyly. It's all settled then, and we make plans. My roommate and his girlfriend head to the kitchen to cook, and the bff and I chat about classes and work.

I see a small hairpin, barely sticking out from under the rug. It's hers, one of the many that she drops behind. They turn up every now and then when we clean the place. My roommate never comments about them. Doesn't try to poke his nose. Never asks. Doesn't really care.

The bff doesn't notice the hairpin. She's putting on a record from my collection. I really like the record. My roommate's girlfriend likes it too. My roommate just pretends to like it, more for her sake than mine. The music fills the room, the bff talks about the one time she saw the band perform. My roommate does a really terrible sing along, and I throw a cushion at him. I miss, he sings louder.

We eat, converse, laugh, drink, listen to music, discuss art, all at the same time. Soon, its just me and the bff, clearing away the dishes. We keep talking, she jokes, I laugh. She mockingly flirts with me, and I play along. We end up on the couch, making out. It's not bad, I enjoy kissing her. Then my roommate walks in, whoo-hooing. She gets flustered and pulls away. I grin at her, she grins back. Then she says she has to get up early. I offer to drop her home, but she say's she got her own car.

I walk her downstairs to her car, and watch and wave at her as she drives off. I slowly reach upstairs, suddenly feeling tired. My roommate is back in his room. I bend and pull the hairpin from under the rug. I take it with me to my room, wishing that things weren't so complicated.                                                                              

[elowygn-blog]

The Void Vastness

[elowygn-blog]

The night is nigh, and swine do fly

[elowygn-blog]

The Foster Kid

[elowygn-blog]

Family Secrets

[elowygn-blog]

A Third World Crime

I woke up to the sounds of mosquitoes buzzing near my ear. Without opening my eyes, I raised my hand to smack them away. There were simply too many of them. I tried to shake my head, to make them go away, and a sharp pain tore through my skull. My eyes watered with pain, and I accidentally bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming. I clutched my head between my hands, and curled up into a fetal position. As the pain subsided, I slowly opened my eyes. I was lying on the floor in a small room with no windows. There was a narrow door with bars on the frame. A feeling of fear crept up through my spine, my gut clenching with the horrible realization that I was in prison.

Still holding my head, I gingerly sat up, leaning against the wall, the plaster coating crumbling beneath my back. There was just another person in the cell, lying on the other side, either asleep or passed out. The events of last night came trickling back to my mind, and I felt sick at the realization of events that had come to pass. I felt horror and shock, but more than that, there was a feeling of righteous indignation burning up inside me. I hadn't done anything wrong, and yet here I was, in prison, while the true criminals roamed free.

I looked around and saw that my bag was not with me. It had all my travel documents, cameras, ID's, money and passport. I desperately hoped that the police had taken the bag when they put me in prison. I would be in much greater trouble if it was stolen. With my passport, I atleast had the option of approaching the embassy. Without it, I would probably be stuck in this hellhole for a very, very long time.

As I sat contemplating my misfortune, there was a sharp rap against the metal bars. I looked up to see a fat and sweaty police guard, looking down at me. He stared at me for a long time before speaking. "Get up," he barked. "Get up you," and then he proceeded to say something in his native tongue, no doubt insulting me.

I got up to my feet. The guard looked me up and down before opening the cell door and yanking me out by the arm. He led me through a narrow hall and out into a small room with wooden benches. There was a man sitting there, and I could tell that he was waiting for me. The guard pushed me into the bench opposite the man and left without saying another word.

Then man waited until the guard was out of earshot before speaking. "Mr. Hyde?"

"Yes, " I replied softly.

The man looked at my head wounds. "You're hurt, but not too badly."

I didn't say anything, so he continued. "Mr. Hyde,I will not sugar coat the situation for you. The charges against you are very serious. Kidnapping a minor, violent behavior and trespassing."

I couldn't believe my ears. "Kidnapping!"

"Yes, Mr. Hyde, " the man replied wearily.

"That girl was only seven, they were marrying her off to a sixty year old man! I was only trying to..." I yelled.

"Only trying to help." The man interrupted me, finishing my sentence. "Mr. Hyde, I suggest you keep your voice down. The police here do not take shouting lightly. I secured this interview with great difficulty. Your girlfriend has already informed us of the situation."

"I didn't do anything wrong! What they were doing is illegal, even in this country."

"This is the third world of the third world, Mr. Hyde. The laws don't quite work here they way they do in the rest of this country. Now the girl's family is willing to drop the charges. Of course... " the man's voice trailed off.

I was confused for a moment, but then it hit me. "You want me to pay them! Those filthy..."

"Mr. Hyde, you are in a lot of trouble, I cannot emphasize that enough. The embassy wants me to resolve this matter as quickly as possible, with minimum fuss. Your girlfriend has already arranged for the funds. The girl's father-in-law will be arriving here any minute now. He will withdraw his complaint, your girlfriend will pay him and you will be released. After that, you and your girlfriend will accompany me to the city, from where, I strongly suggest, you take the first flight home. I hope you find this plan agreeable?"

I wanted to shout a million things at this man, wanted to say no, wanted to lodge a counter complaint. But the seven year old girl was already married. So instead, I just mutely nodded.