SELF PRESERVATION
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
-unlicensed to kill-
He was getting ready for work. He packed his things, sipped a few from his cup of coffee and kissed his family goodbye. He’s in his early thirties but with his built and the few lines in his forehead, he looked a little older. It was another ordinary day. The sun was up; the streets were dry and noisy. It was another busy day. He checked his backpack, made sure he got everything. The bag even had his lunch box tied with a yellow cloth.
His wife was the sweetest and a woman of habits. She was doing the same lunch packing since they got together over six years ago.
She came from a middle class family and had only learned to fry food. She was 8 years his junior. Having just graduated from college and high hopes from her family, it was painful for them when she decided to elope with him. They never liked him but she loved him, a lot.
Having checked that he got everything, he wore his helmet and headed off with his motorbike, passing through the busy streets, passing through the high-rise buildings.
It was lunch break, the offices started to be emptied. He’d been patient. He’d waited for this right moment and he was still two days ahead of schedule. He learned his gestures and whereabouts and planned to shoot him in his most vulnerable moment – unguarded, middle of day, in a very crowded place while having lunch with his mates.
When the time was right, he pulled the trigger and shot his target in the head while the latter was finishing his soup. The crowd was horrified. They looked around and not a suspicious man to be found, everything seemed to be fine except for the dead man with his soup. A few minutes later, policemen came after someone dialed their number. Investigation started, interrogation followed, and then the cafeteria became a police area with yellow ribbons.
He headed home. He kissed his family hello. They had dinner, the fried chicken. He did it for 10 grand. And his young family would have something to eat again for the next month. He could pay the rent for his small apartment and the bills on time. It didn’t matter who he shot that lunch time or why he did it. It was his job. He’s just following orders. He must not feel guilty; not now that his family seemed to be contented. He’ll keep doing this, survival instinct.
It was another ordinary day, the sun was down, and he drank a few cans of beer and attempted to sleep. Tomorrow is another day.
1 comments
nice hehehe
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