He walks a lonely road

The wind is howling as he slowly approaches the steps of the railway station. The only television in the entire station is tuned to the news channel. The weather man is discussing the imminent showers and thunder storms due latter in the night. He looks around and smiles to himself; there is not much happening today; just what he needed. He pushed his cap further down and adjusts his shades. He tried to look as cool and composed as his facial muscles would allow him to be. His hands are thrust into the pockets of his jacket. He strolled around the station stopping at the small food stall to grab a chai and a samosa. He checks his watch, there was still plenty of time. Sipping the lukewarm milky concoction and grabbing an occasional bite he observes the people around him.  A few coolies resting their backs on the wall waiting for the next passenger train, the station master going over his charts, the lone potbellied constable thumping his lathi on the pillar and deriving pleasure from the sound it generated, few people waiting for the next train. He felt confident that he wouldn’t fail today. He had been planning for this day since six months. The newscaster a young girl fresh out of college, now reverted back to the upcoming general elections and the IPL tournament and proclaimed that the nation was going to be glued to the television for the next thirty days. The news made way for filmy time program showing a young actor and actress embraced in a lip lock sequence with the movie title ek serial kisser ki dastaan in stylish bold letters. Nice photoshop work ! he grins to himself. He checks his watch. More twenty minutes.

He walks slowly in the shadows towards the far end of the platform. He picks a big steel column and hides behind it waiting. The area is very poorly lit. He slides a hand into the inner pocket of the jacket and feels the loaded gun with it’s silencer screwed. He is waiting with bated breath. He glances at his watch. Five minutes. He hears footsteps coming towards him from the dark. They come near him and stop. There is a confused murmuring. A silhouette of a man glistens in the moonlight. The silhouette has a thick unruly mop of hair. The visitor lights up a cigarette cursing the wind. He blows a few rings into the air and keeps shifting his weight from one leg to another impatiently.

He comes out of the shadows and takes a few steps towards the visitor. The visitor on hearing the footsteps quickly blows out the cigarette stomping it under his heavy boots and tries to make out a face from the shadows. The visitor unable to make out a definite face in the dark and not wanting to wait any longer in the worsening weather, asks for the stuff.

He laughs. He laughs out aloud and steps out into the moonlight. With gleams of silver light striking him the visitor catches a glimpse of his face and steps back in horror. His face turns pale white; a white only which death can bring. The visitor stumbles and falls. He is on his knees begging for mercy.                           

He pulls out the gun. Points it at the visitor’s temples and says “ you never should have broken the bro code.” Six muffled shots ring out into the night. The visitor collapses into a bloody mess with his brains blown out. He slides the gun into the jacket and walks back into the shadows.  

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