On National Duty

My first bitch-thought regarding my background  the insignificance of a place that didn't even qualify for a place on U.P's map, of we' re-all-brothers-and-sisters-Doordarshan, of Ramayana on Sundays, being the weekly attraction  sprouted in me. I hung on to my values because it was the only thread I could hold on to. An ancient, small-town freak. Versus the one who is comfortable with what he is. I faked comfort. They saw through it.

I see through it. All those fabricated smile, societal handshakes, feigned admiration. Many that arrive here greet him. Safe to assume he hasn't encountered the manner of greeting that I'll extend to him today. I know those puppets they call the upholders of law will get me sooner or later. Yet what I achieve today will be significant to me, irrespective of whether my capture rouses the dormant hate for material hierarchy in our social system, I'd know I did my part, cast my vote. And each vote is important, isn't it, even if a billion voters exercised theirs? I'm waiting for the opportune moment lurking in silence, awaiting the moment that my prey steps out squarely into the direct flight path of my gunshot.

I don't resemble my uncle one bit. I have none of his waist falling over his belt. I have none of his comfort with himself. He has nothing of me. Not my passion. Not my self-esteemlessness. He succumbed at an early age, accepted his lust for money, and worked towards the achievement of that vice. I'd despise myself more if I did that without a fight. Orwell, Heller and others have done me that disservice. They didn't allow me the easy path; ensured that I didn't become part of the assembly line that jumps onto the narrow one-dimensional path that capitalism propounds. They kept attached virtuousness to the old system of values.

Fuck! It missed him by a whisker and thud in the cardboard of the wall. Nobody seemed to have noticed courtesy the silencer and the heavy metallic strum of Pantera's electric guitar. Before the idea became clear in my mind, my finger had squeezed the trigger stimulated by his movement into a suitable area of focus. He stopped for a fraction of a second and that turned to be the most precious second of his life. I pride myself on being a good shooter. I load all of my remaining five rounds.