The software engineer had his intense, intelligent eyes fixated on a leaf which was being propelled around helplessly and aimlessly by the wind. He reveled in this simple sight by comparing his life to the course of this simple leaf – directionless, controlled by external factors, drifting without a sign into the nothingness…
‘Token number: Five, Zero.’
‘Token number: two, seven, eight.’
‘Token number: four, number: eight six … ‘
The metallic voices in the food court irked him like his ears were being torn apart by hot spikes. Droning on and on in his head, he detested these voices as they were inhuman, they were tormenting, monotonous and ruthless – how much ever you shouted they would never stop or they could never be outshouted, they could not be drowned. You HAD to submit to the power of the voice coming from the loudspeaker. In short, the whole thing reminded him of encounters with his boss.
He sat in front of the machine that had come to mean more than half his life. His PC. This is where the pointlessness of life began to raise its ugly head and entangle him within it. What was his life beyond the sickening lines of endless code? Meaningless mails which promised employees a great working experience and which fooled them into believing that they were living a great life flooded his inbox. He shift deleted every mail, and opened the forwards. Hahaha, the forwards. Now that was some fresh lease of life… By the way, how could life be so sad ass that forwards meant salvation?
What had he ever wanted in life? He didn’t know. He never did. He had been a wet sponge full of energy, ready to get into a literary career right after barely scraping out of school. Four years of engineering had squeezed this sponge dry; life’s juices, life’s essence had been squeezed out of him.
Lunch. The wind was still blowing hard, and the leaves were still flying around. Then his eyes fell on the tree. The tree which stood its ground irrespective of how much the wind howled. That was when he decided – he would be the tree. He would cease being the leaf.
‘Token number: four, one, six’
‘Token, two,:number, nine.’
‘Number: Token, six, … ‘
That was it. He could take it no longer. In front of him stood a bespectacled young chap, waiting for his token number to flash on the screen. He tapped the guy on the shoulder and when he turned, Rudran laid a resounding punch right on the bridge of that unsuspecting guy’s nose.
“AAaaaoouuu!” Wailed the guy in pain. Blood sprouted from his nose and by the time anything else could happen, shocked people moved away from the counter and kept watching what was happening. This gave ample time for Rudran to get the hell out of there without second thoughts.
He was panting and his lungs, greedy for air, kept him gasping till he regained composure. He was thrilled. Adrenaline pumped through him and gave him a powerful feeling, like he was the Lord of the world. That was how it all started.
The next day. Around 8 pm. The Food Court was deserted save for few. Even though the people were few, the token machines droned on. . .
‘Token number: eight, four,
‘Token,number seven,three, number.’
‘Token Nambarrr, eight, five, six, … ‘
The Psychoware had been booted in his head. His face acquired a contorted glow. His whole presence filled up with malicious satisfaction. He needed a place to perform his operations... Aha! He had spotted it. The broom closet which was conveniently pocketed away in a remote corner– you wouldn’t notice it if you were just walking by. This was the venue where he would take them.
“Err.. I would like to show you something really interesting!” Rudran was addressing a gullible looking guy.
The guy looked at him from head to toe, unyielding.
“I have to catch the last shuttle…”
Rudran placed a hand on this guy’s shoulder in an aggressive fashion.
“No no, shuttle doesn’t matter anymore. You HAVE to see this interesting thing.” He said, clamping his hand on the guy’s shoulder and applying pressure.
“Ok, ok I’ll come!” The other guy cowered.
Hahaha, just the typical kind of guy – eats like a pig, looks like a huge bull, and still scared of me because I intimidate him, though I am smaller than him. What a sucker.
“It’s just in here man, come on in!” Called Rudran pleasantly. A broom and bucket happened to mark their presence in that closet.
Ah, the tools of the trade!
“See, this broom… It has qualities which you can never imagine. It’s usually used to wipe the floor, but I’ve ascertained that your head would function better than this mop. And I’m not going to waste phenyl on this. I’m going to use blood which oozes out. You pathetic fuck! “
THWACK!
A resounding sound echoed against the walls of the small broom closet. A totally unwary and unprotected skull came into contact with the thick, heavy plastic of a rather sturdy broom, resulting in the cracking of the former.
Hahaha! Take this you over- eating, ass-glued-to-seat, eyes-glued-to-system bastard! You deserve every blow from this thick plastic. Yessssss …
The plastic cracked, and this was when Rudran ceased the pounding.
Rudran announced in general -
“Victim number : Zero, Two… “
