"Who long have you been in this." The officer once again asked a ridiculous question,
Sitting opposite to him, Damien remained quiet, with no obvious reason, he simply doesn't desire to speak anymore.
From an hour now, the officer with odd fashioned mustaches, bulging belly barely packed in his plain blue shirt of his uniform, they were going back and forth, with certain questions,
The officer was inert, harsh undertone tinging in his words;
Damien wasn't illusory, he knew his future was ruined once police got involved, crime record,
He knew had to face series of trails and then lifetime jail But he would gladly bear witness of Elijah's crime,
"Why did you kill your own boss?, Were you working for someone else?"
Damien's eyes never strayed from his hands which now plainly covered in bandages, but a while ago was coloured in his blood,
dark scarlet blemishing fine long fingers.
The officer raised from his chairs, which scratched and fell loudly on the floor, he repeated himself violently.
Damien kept scrutinizing his hands, which soon balled into fist, red bloomsed under the white covers around his knuckles.
"He isn't dead, is he?" Damien had a foreign accent twirling along his words, perphaps it was because the
Froce he was using to hide himself from cracking.
"Whom are you working for, who else is involved!"
He had always loathed the snobbish features curved in Elijah's face, as soon as he got an upper hand, he oathed to crack his facial bones,
The sound of his fist landing and paring the barrier of skin, was overwhelming his nerves, blood splashing on his face, the sight itself was a mercy upon his long wait.
He didn't stop, not even when with a groan, Elijah twisted a knife in his abdomen, not even when the pain tore a cry out of him, chocking him on his blood,
Soon Elijah's sluggish body laid under him, he stood up, stumbling on his feets,
Mouth wide open, blood and saliva dripping down on Elijah comatose self,
He knew Elijah wasn't dead, he didn't wanted him dead,
The fear he saw in Elijah's eyes had awaken something in him, Damien wanted for him to live his remaining, rotting behind bars, with the fright of death.
Standing admist of chaos, wide bloodshot eyes, blury vision, both wounded hands pressed against the open slit on his skin, dazy head.
Gradually his eyes darted, engulfing his war-torn surroundings,
In the darkness of corner, among many curpus, she laid, hunched over, in fetal position,
Her Mavi
He, in a heartbeat leaped in the air, one foot dangling over another, stepping on bodies, which heaved a tortured cry under his weight, he moved forwards.
Until he was again on his keen, his forehead touching hers, in the mess of his tears and blood, looming grief, and tender sorrow,
He hated her
He hesitantly, clutched her thin wrist in his shivering hand.
He hated her so much.
A sadist wing of his heart, wanted her dead,
A part of him wanted her alive, so only he could fall out of her love.
YOU ARE READING
Wanted to be loved (Islamic Story)
Spiritual"You will do it. You have to teach me. I will make you do it." He took a step toward me. I didn't stepped back, expressing that I was not afraid, ready for anything. "I will inform the Principal that you have caused another plight. And he will blind...
