There is a stern, often traced as a stone face appeared before the camera. The broadcast titled “The officer on the bridge” made a greater attention than expected. As it is a weekend, the count keeps going up on the dinner time. It took no time to tell the tale of an unforgettable incident in his life… With a sharp voice,
While I was guarding the bridge under my senior officer, I could see the despair mounting on every face. It’s been an uncomfortable period of work under the freezing atmosphere decorated with a full moon.
A young couple going home… A boy with a girl, certainly a prostitute… A man smuggling cocaine…
Past the hours of clichéd outcomes,
A young boy with dark eyes,
“Where are you going, kid?”
“To the city..”
I made no efforts to ask and started to check. The car began to accelerate into a wild beast, as I partially opened the truck.. I lost the balance and fall short of breaking the jaw. Everyone shifted their attention.
“I saw the blood..” I shouted.
My senior officer whom later I knew as the same man in the video ran up to me…
“Is there anyone inside?” He asked me in the hustle of alarm.
He processed the situation that I reckon with the help of past experiences.
“It is a setup. They are on the bridge.” He began to shout.
“Lock in’s and out’s. Send a few out on the pursuit. Move your asses, quick.” he turned to me and said “Tricky bastards. I will kill them”
While I read the descriptions of the car on the intercom, a soldier began to jog beside us and he didn’t bother to make his sentence sound low.
“That lady officer is damn hot. Isn’t she? ”
That sentence quickened the pace of blood in our nerves, as it seems only a few of us know that no lady is recruited for this operation.
Later on, we found two officers in the forest with a stolen clothes..”
This interview telecasted on the major channels of the city. Out of many people, only one man seemed to find his perspective of narration would be different.
“Hi, I am Rastogi verma..”
The other end of voice is a human, modified into a robot through the years.
“I am calling to know about a Journalist..”
He saw a picture on TV of a woman, who was said to be beside him on the bus.
Her eyes were dark…He thought she might not have a night sleep.
Her hair was blonde… She might have applied the dye.
He wanted the picture to be who it was supposed to be, but nothing felt true. The journalist erased her history. And once again, Rastogi was pushed into the mystery. He searched for days until a fine morning.
An envelope is on his doorstep. It is white on every side with no names. He opened to contain a letter along with a check…
“ Dear Rastogi,
I know this letter finds you with many doubts. Allow me to say that I am amazed. Although the story is a lie, it held the purpose. Ask it yourself, why would a fortunate woman like me spy on you unless..? In our whole journey, I always tempted to say that we share the same bloodline. I want to say one thing. I read your resignation letter while you’re typing beside me. We both know it is not the reason. I wonder how it would be the same man who saved my life when he truly believes a story to be true. Not a long ago, our father passed away in a peaceful way. We both have built this company through the storm of many unsuccessful years. I don’t consider money as a debt. The reason I give you a few of them is to say that it shouldn’t be a concern for what you really want. For the years forward,
Be seeing you… ”
He smiled. A smile that exiled the feeling of mystery.
He went on for a vacation.