You know, I never thought I could feel this way about someone. Forget feeling “this way”; I never ever had any feelings for someone. How could I? I had never experienced that. As a kid, they teach you a lot of things. To be good to people around you, helping your fellow human beings, empathizing with those who aren’t as fortunate as you are, the good things and bad things in life and why it is important to follow the right path – all these things are something that people around you teach you when you are a kid. Be it parents or teachers. That is why when a child does something wrong it’s the parents who are blamed. Because they are supposed to teach their kids what is wrong and what is right. But I never had that chance. I never got to know my parents. I don’t even know if they died or abandoned me just like that. As far as I can remember, I used to sleep on the streets. Nobody even had the time to stop and look at a homeless kid whose condition was nothing less than pathetic. I used to wander a lot. One day I’m here and I make it my home. That is, until I get bullied by someone. Most of them just used to kick me on those streets just like one would kick a street dog. I recall hearing and laughing innumerable times at the word humanity. Everywhere I went, it was anything but human. It wasn’t long before I realized humanity is just a silly joke people keep blabbing about day in and day out.
When kids my age were looking for a reason to bunk school each day, I was looking for a way to fill my stomach. By the time those kids mastered the alphabet, I had made my first kill. I stabbed a person in his chest. Thrice. And all that killing was merely for a piece of mouldy bread. It was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted until then. That was the first time I was ever happy in my life. The first time I emoted positively. Prior to that, I cried, begged and pleaded people for things like allowing me to sleep outside their house because the bullies out there would beat the hell out of me every time they saw me. Pretty soon, I started begging for food and I don’t think I need to elucidate on how such people are treated. So the day I made my first kill, I realized two things. One – If you want something very badly, just go for it no matter what the circumstances are. Two – In this world where injustice and crimes happen on a daily basis and not much is being done about it, it doesn’t matter how you live your life. Fuck that shit. Surviving itself is a big uncertainty. And leading a life with austerity and all the bull shit that the so-called noble humans blabber about – that’s like making life tougher. I prefer the easy way. That was precisely why I shifted to guns. I didn’t stop with the first killing. I didn’t give it up. Instead I had become an expert. If you could put your finger on something and accurately say that this is where it all started, then that was it. But that’s the only significance that it could have. I started killing people for better things. Like if I needed water, I’d kill someone. If I needed pizza, I’d kill someone. If I needed a bike, I’d kill someone. Basically I thrived on killing people. Then came the big reason to kill. Money. Undoubtedly the mother of all evil and I was nothing short of being evil. I just embraced it. It was something that had to be done.
I remember shooting a man to death for a huge amount. I had heard he was a very powerful man and all regular stuff that you generally hear in movies about the villains. When I was asking people for his details, I could see that they either hated him but were afraid of tackling him or they were devoted to him yet they were afraid of him. So he had instilled fear in everyone around him. I liked that guy. I genuinely felt he was cool. I had told him the same thing before shooting him in the temple. It was that event which changed things for me. I had met a guy who asked me how I could procure a gun at such a tender age. I told him I had killed someone for it. He asked me if I wasn’t afraid of THE man and if I had any second thoughts about killing THE man. I told him I had lived long enough to know fear can get you killed quite easily. Just like that. I couldn’t help but recall how the bullies that once pummelled me went missing one by one until their bodies were found. I chuckled. Anyway that incident had landed me a job in a group which went by the name GangBangers. A funny name if you’d ask me. They were experts in forgery, theft and, of course, killing. A little bit of training and I was pretty soon the best shooter in the gang despite being the youngest. There were many other verticals too and everyone was an expert in one thing or the other. This gang was so special. But what was even more special was that we had managed to forge a pretty strong connect with everyone. Brothers, uncles, father, mother, sister – name it and you had someone to call them by that name. They had become my family. I finally had a family. Every time we went out on a “mission”, I only wanted everyone to be safe. To return home. And every time we returned safely and we were one large family again. But as they say, good things don’t last forever. One betrayal and my whole family was taken away from me. This time, they never returned. Unfortunately, I barely managed to escape. Yes, I used the word “unfortunately” deliberately. What’s the point of living when all your loved ones (YES, I loved every single one of them including the one who betrayed us) are no more around you? But yes, I did live and it was for vengeance. With the kind of skill I had, it wasn’t that tough. I had terminated the parasite and though it made me happy, I realized I couldn’t share that happiness with anyone around me. Happiness is gratifying only when you can share it with those you love and I had no one around. My whole life had flipped 180 in a very short span. That’s not even a month. That was it! I couldn’t handle it anymore. It shattered me. I was once again devoid of any emotion. I became impassive. I even killed people who were dying just to put them out of their misery. I was just too kind. I was helping them. After all death is kinder than life.
Post that, everything was just a business deal. I was pretty famous in my circles. I was the most sought after man to carry out killings. Be it terminating dangerous gangs or some high profile hotshot or some innocent guy, I could do it all. It didn’t matter to me at all. Never did I feel sorry for anyone. There was no good or bad. Everyone was just a target. Just a stuffed potato inside which I had to put a bullet. I never felt the slightest bit of guilt whenever I put an end to anyone’s misery. Like I already said I was helping people and helping people is a good thing, isn’t it? It was a pretty simple equation. Not being emotionally attached to anyone is the greatest thing that can happen in anyone’s life. Life was pretty smooth that way. There were only two people in my life. The one I had to kill. The other who would pay me for killing. I had made a decision that I’d never have a family again.
But then it all changed. One more person in my life. Due to some strange twist of fate that I wouldn’t like to discuss right now, he had become close to me. He had become my father. He basically meant everything to me. In fact, he means everything to me right now. Can say that he adopted me but yes, he still is a father to me. I still remember the first time that I saw him. There was nothing sensational about it. Yet, it was odd. Odd in the current times. How often do you see someone coming to a public telephone booth to make a call? I was lighting a cigarette when I saw an old man, apparently talking to his son who lived in Australia. Didn’t care much about that but it was a regular habit for the old man to go there and talk to his son as it was for me to go there and smoke. The last time I saw him, his phone call ended with the following question - “Son, it’s been a long time since we’ve met. All the money in the world does not mean anything to me without you. When are you coming home?” He seemed disappointed with the answer that he got and left the place with his head down. He was still hopeful that his son would return any time to see his father so he gave the owner of the telephone booth his phone number (he had bought a new mobile phone finally) and asked him to tell his son to contact him on that number if his son called him. Little does he know that he would never be receiving a call from his son. His son was dead. I’m the one who killed him. I had never intended to do that. I didn’t know he was his son. He was just one of those good guys in the list of people I had to terminate. Just another target. This is the first time in my life I’m actually feeling guilty. Guilt is the worst feeling that one can ever experience and that’s exactly what’s eating me up from the inside. I don’t know how long this is going to happen but I don’t know what to do. Currently I’m smoking my cigarette, most probably, my last one. After I’m finished stubbing it, I’ll take out my Baby Glock and shoot myself. The gun that I used for killing a whole lot of people, is the one that I’m going to end my life with. I’m not sure if I should do that to me. If I’m dead, I don’t know what will happen to the old man for he sure hasn’t found safe haven. And I can’t live this life any longer especially after what I did. Not any longer. I can’t take this anymore. Should I pull the trigger?
Story