the missing adjective (1/4)

I closed my laptop.

It’s so quiet. A thin leak from the glass lit an impulse for the living beings.   A young boy on a headset jerked off, A little girl awakened and An old woman uttered in a foreign language at an annoying decibel. Any patience left to learn that gibberish might have helped to hear as I quote,

Don’t you dare give me a heart attack on the bus, you moron…

A young woman understood the humor of my expressions and closed the window.

“So, I assume you know…?”

“Yeah, I am a journalist. As a matter of fact, she scolded you.”

“Really ?”

She smiled and the silence continued.

One moment, I am enjoying music in the traditional way of humming, as the bus attributed enough hip-hop on the roads of a forest. The other, on the wave of an unexpected minute, led my bleeding nose sniffing for oxygen. An accident, our best guess had not lasted more than a minute.

As everyone in the bus digesting the situation on their own fashion, a group of people entered the bus. As far as footsteps are concerned, They are not in much of a hurry to help.

I couldn’t move, neither was the journalist.

The hustle of agony seized with an echo of a gunshot resumed with the sounds of terror. A cold voice“ Kill them all. We ain’t need any witness ” rattled the pain into fear. Guns are being fired in a periodic way. Some screamed at their best, Some pleaded for an excuse, some fighting but not all at once. yet they all became lifeless.

I couldn’t feel my legs. A severe pain in the chest, as if I feel a sensation of bone. A broken rib, probably.

My reckoning of tomorrow in a fat salary job is no good to be true.

Here I am, beside a young woman who went unnoticed even with her stunning looks. As if nature has enough jolts for me, she cut her hand and placed on her stomach. She signaled me and closed her eyes.

“Waste no bullets. Not free. ” The same voice, approached us.

I sensed a thing weigh same as a bull and scent of a smelled pig, which claimed the voice. It took some time to understand her signal but not too late. It is a cliche idea but not if it is the only trick left. I can assure that the fate I possess is a true bitch. I quote, Pay well to play along.  I am lucky enough that his reality coincides with an image of two people bled to death. He kicked my face. I offered no resistance as the barrel of gun itching my skin.

“Tour is over. Let’s move out ”

The more of a minute he would have taken to investigate, the less of many would have known the story of mine.



Thank you for reading…

To read the next quarter, click the missing adjective(2/4).




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