The Man Holding the Dagger

in OCD2 years ago

Kill.jpg

HAVE come in this city a man holding a dagger. Meanwhile, the wind is still wilting. Fresh and cold, refreshing everything that is touched. And, the man had just arrived on a night train. Still he felt the breeze that crushed his body to cold. Meanwhile, the morning had tiptoed, dancing with the sunlight wailing. In this city, yes, looking for who is he here? Are there old acquaintances?

However, in his eyes so clearly radiated glow of light filled with revenge. The old, burning revenge on his chest. Now he seemed to step firmly. Crashing into the wilds of the city, compact cars. Dragging his body with his legs slumped on the shoulder of the road, holding a dagger. Sometimes, the dagger shimmered in the light, shiny, like ready to cut anyone's neck. Perhaps, this event will become big news, published by regional newspapers. What is clear, the work of the police will also increase. But that was only the first possibility. And this situation will be exacerbated if he really did his revenge. Also visible, his clothes worn and dusty. Apparently, he had not changed clothes for months. A line of brown that looks so faded has long been attached to it.

Days rushed quickly, swooping in so panic. Seconds of an hour as strong as a fly, crawling the gray sky. Day or night, is there ever any difference?

For a moment, he held his breath. Looking at a city that is always crowded, passing vehicles like weeds. Chaotic. Crowded, coming in endlessly. Stop over from one place to another. Bring new people who have never known before. He will try to understand the character of people through his face. Although, sometimes even realizing the face can be deceiving. We immediately judge people by their faces, aren't things like that unfair?

**

The first day, he was still standing here, holding a dagger. Perhaps, he was ready to face it all. Then he looked carefully at the city. Light flickering everywhere, charming night, glowing. Take it to the past:

"Catch! Catch that person !!! " someone shouted in the market crowd. "Who?"

"The person in the black jacket!" "Why?" another exclaimed. "Thief!!" Then the mass scattered from all directions, "Thief! Chase!! Catch until you can !!! "

He was still breathing hard, his breathing felt too short this time. His footsteps farther, weaker. A moment later, he felt a hand reaching into his jacket. "Got hit, you !!" He fell kissed the road. Before long, from all directions he heard footsteps, rows of feet approaching. Bugs. His body aches, sore. Showered with punches and kicks. In between the beating, he was still trying to hold with his hands. Also the voice, "No, not me!" "Lie! Where is there a thief who confesses! If you confess, the prison must be full! " He landed dozens more blows, tens of kicked legs, iron clubs, and wood. Gedebag-gedebug. Fishy blood. He can only surrender. Gore thick blood on the face that is bruised, blue. Faintly still heard a voice, "Already, burn it! Yes, burn! " Some people have already taken gasoline,

Fortunately, there were several officers who intervened. Sometimes the officers panicked, too, seeing such a crowd. For him, the officer was a god of savior despite his arrival so late. "Quiet. Calm down, sir! We will resolve it through the law, "one of the officers said, only to reduce the action. And, he, the man prayed, thanked God. But why does he only remember God when death is so close? Or why did he have to remember God when he was hit and unfortunate and disastrous? But not when happy and happy? Nevertheless, he felt so relieved. Vaguely, the officer took him to the police station.

"So, you are the thief of this wallet?"

"Not! No sir!!"

"But, the proof is this wallet in your hands? Still want to be absent? "

"Actually, I was the one who wanted to help this man when he was picked. But, unfortunately, instead I myself was yelled at by a thief, "the man recited the word in a stammer. His mouth was still trembling and swallowed blood that felt very salty on the base of his tongue. For some reason, even after the interrogation the officers were obedient. However, he was still accused of stealing. Thus, the court then sentenced him to prison for two years.

Ah, how disappointed he was. Disappointed that kept submerged for so long. He didn't do it, but how come he has to undergo his sentence?

Since then, he felt how the law can only be imposed on a small person like himself. A small person, even though he is not the one who is guilty, is the bitter reward he receives. However, for big people? Ah never mind!

The wind swirled, drowning bitter memories. Wind absorbs alienation. Silence. Blow dust to kilometers away. Two years is not a short time. For 2 x 365 days, he stayed behind cold iron bars. With potluck food. 730 days he lived with dozens of people with problems. Eat corn rice that is almost stale on a rusty plate. When mealtime arrives, officials sometimes kick the rusty tin cans through iron bars. Yes, fortunately he still can survive until now. Two years is a long distance, without acquaintances or visiting family. Because, he is considered a disgrace. A time loop that feels long. Sleep every night, with dozens of bloodthirsty mosquitoes on a cold floor. Ah, he could no longer remember it!

**

Now, he has passed those two years. Equipped with mediocre money, he returned to this city. After an overnight stay, enjoy an economic train trip that smells musty. So, he decided to restore his pride that had been scattered. As if he wanted to claim his rights as a citizen of a city he had once abandoned, a city that had imprisoned him. Not so long ago, he sketched. Sniff like a cat to recognize fish. Squeeze in the narrow gaps of this city. In the aisles that are so dirty and dank.

He was still holding a dagger, also a grudge. Looking for his pride, which has been torn for so long. It appeared, so sparkling and the conviction that shined in his eyes was so horrified to be seen. He traces his past, he still memorizes the actual pickpockets face curves. He so firmly remembered the pickpocket's face that had caused him to swallow the harsh reality. With a swollen face, never healed, he dragged his feet, he dragged his revenge ...

**

He had been stalking the pickpocket for a long time, letting the pickpocket's hands were so good at taking anything. Either wallet, jewelry, also shopping goods. Now, he held the dagger tightly, holding everything in his chest. Pickpockets work so quickly finished. Neat and perfect. Twilight decays, getting further away. Only the orange light, which might soon fade soon. And, the shadow of the night will slowly approach the sky, picking up the almost dying orange light. Hug the city with a dark color, a real black.

In a moment, the darkness will be completely replaced by light-pet light. Glowing mercury, suck up electricity that continues to glow. He watched the pickpockets, he continued to follow. Steps are dragged so hurriedly. Enter the narrow alleys of the city. Night that opens a dark segment. A challenging night, juggling secrets. When the dark colors go hand in hand, stay on the horizon. A night that reminds him of somewhere, in the past. When he was beaten by the masses, only because of false accusations.

Slowly but surely. He rolled his steps ... approached ... approached and started stabbing with one move. The pickpocket widened, said the man who carried the dagger, "Karma! All must be reciprocated. One eye for one eye, one hand, for one hand, "blood spurts. Rancid. The man stabbed a violent dagger. As if to resolve his old emotions. He was so crazy, his body felt crazy, unrelenting. Until his body sweats, so he feels so tired. The man smiled, who knows for whom. However, what is clear, he was so relieved at this time. And no one knows. No one knows…

Night burst, the city continued to noise. The man was still holding a dagger, there was a look of victory there. He no longer needs to clean the blood. After all, no one knows. He hurriedly jumped away, still holding a dagger. A dagger still covered in blood.

**

The next day, in a local newspaper, written a news titled: "Found a Body, There Are No Traces of the Killer."

So, far away, the man whistled as he folded the newspaper. In front of him lay a dagger with dried blood ...

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