Forgive your enemies, but don’t forget their names

 

He lay in the intensive care unit waiting for the grim reaper to tide over. Not that being alive mattered anymore for he had a led a zestful existence. The market was his altar and he was it’s GOD. Sometimes  he did yearn for the good old days. One of these reminiscences drove him to remember THEM. Who were they…His competition. The three Musketeers they called themselves. And in a long drawn out battle lasting a decade they had finally driven him to the ground. They were the new GOD’s. He was content now; yet for that one nagging itch.

He called out to his son who was furiously walking in circles around his bed (in anticipation/preparation for  his last rites ? ) and expressed his penultimate wish of meeting the Musketeers to make his peace.

Never the types to  drawback from a confrontation with him they duly arrived. A decade of struggle had worn them all out. Potbellied and balding they cut a sorry figure standing by his bed with a sort of remorse in their eyes. He made an attempt to sit up but couldn’t budge. They propped a pillow under his spine as he flopped down. He spoke to them in a kind voice recounting how foolish they had  been and how life evened out all odds. He began sobbing heavily and requested his son to step out for a minute as he had to speak in private to the three.

He said to them, “ I have been very mean and deceitful to you. I have sinned so much that I am sure to roast in the fires of hell. I ask of you one final act of kindness for you are the ones that need to forgive me. I want you to promise me that you will do what I ask you to do.”

The musketeers suffering from a bout of hero syndrome readily agreed to whatever he was about to say after all he was the one handing them an olive branch. He was the first one to throw in the towel.

“I want to be emancipated from this gordian knot  of our hate filled lives. I want you three to strangle me to death. For you have earned the right to kill me. These are not the ramblings of an senile man. I am in my right senses. Death will be upon me any minute now but I want you to kill me so that I can finally have closure. Maybe in my next life we will be friends. For now free me from this worldly existence. Please.”

The three huddled together to make a decision. It was always the same with them. Individually none could ever come to a conclusion. They decided since he was dying anyways maybe we could garner some good karma for complying to his last wish and haven’t we always wanted to strangle him in retribution for what he did to us.

They moved to closer to his bed and gripped his neck unsure of how to proceed. He encouraged them by cursing them; angered they began strangling him hard.

He yelled out loud “ HELP. THE BASTARDS ARE KILLING ME. ” They withdrew their hands in shock. But he was already dead.

Three months latter.

“After taking into consideration the many testimonies by witnesses, forensic evidence, the autopsy report and the past history of antagonism I hereby sentence the three musketeers to death by hanging for strangling an old defenseless man. Open and shut case Johnson.”

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* I read this story as a Kid and decide to give a shot at rewriting it today to take my grey cells out for a jog 😉

The market was his altar and he was it’s GOD is inspired from this bio.