The angel failed fighting the devil: Mr Shaw who ended the story

June 24, 2017 Humair Subhani

“Mr. Shaw, please, please don’t, there has been a mistake, I don’t even know you, PLEASE!” He kept whimpering, crying, crawling on his broken leg, begging for mercy. I grinned, cleaning the moist forehead and settled in my chair with a mug of my dark latte. I gulped down, took a deep breath and picked up the next maneuver of my assault. A 25-pound ridged steel rod grinding against the concrete floor, the rustic sound blissfully hit my ears but ironically frightened the already bleeding man. “Chocking, he cried again, Mr. Shaw, I don’t remember, I really don’t, I beg you, please!” You must ponder Mr. Samuel, or this will sure make your brain work. Slashing the rod against the broken shin, cutting through the skin tissue, the pain soared his muscles and clenched his nerves, shrieks and cries echoed the emptiness. Another slash across the lower spine and the blood splattered on the wall, opening a cleave deep enough to expose the bone anatomy. The story does not ends here.

story

The cries just amplified. He has already lost 1/3rd of his vitals and is now screeching to death. The exigent blows have numbed his senses and now he lays still, passed off as the pain struck his system, but I don’t want him to die before he knows. I want him to remember, I want him to know, I want him to feel the exact same way as she did. I dragged him across the room and made him sit on the chair, tied his feet and arms and sprinkled water on his face. Senses steered back in, dark swollen eyes gazing right into the Ice Pick which I held in my fist. While I walked at the back of the chair, Samuel started shivering, anticipating, palpitating, craving to halt his pulse and escape the hour. I hissed in his ear, “Do you recall 24th of September, a Tuesday, restrooms of Lady Isabel senior secondary school?” Oh! she was petite, she was fragile, she was alone, frightened and helpless. Unaware of the gaze, unaware of the sultry in your eyes, unaware of your intentions & unaware of the pain. I caressed his neck with the tip of the Ice pick, hissed again, “I want you to remember the pain which she went through, I want you to bleed!” I pushed the length of the pick into his trapezoidal section, intentionally missing on the carotid, but pinching the right nerves to slowly squeeze out the life left in him. Pushed to exactly where it would puncture the right lung and then pulled out explosively. The whizzing blood stream erupted through the hole and stippled our clothes. He groaned in pain, flexed his arms and thumped his feet on the ground, helpless. I asked, “Do you recall professor?” Speak up, Mr. Samuel, Former physics professor, “Do you now realize the amount of pain you inflicted on her? The day you forcefully got inside her. “Did you not feel pity for her, did you not think that she is too young, too delicate to handle the pressure of being physically and mentally assaulted?” The story continues

Story

Yes, she cried, tried to stop, but she was helpless while being pressed under the weight of lust and pedophilia. Later, crushed under the obscene statements of the society, crushed under the accusations of her peers, you crushed my doll like she bore no value. The rage in me rose higher and above and I uttered words way out of sanity. My body was shaking with the emotions running through, the nostalgia of togetherness, the feeling of being loved, with moistened eyes and a heavy heart, I composed myself again, walked to the barren wall and spoke; I received her in broken pieces of her demise. She couldn’t even move a muscle, smirk in childish treachery which she always played, she could neither see nor feel the warmth of my embrace. My fortune, my accomplice, my warrior, she was my beloved daughter. She was pious, her chastity never allowed her to look down on anyone, she was a believer. She would bow down every morning to seek forgiveness and goodwill, she was courteous. Awardee of the best athlete, aspiring to join the armed forces; she was a fighter. You pierced her soul which I had crafted with so much love and compassion. The gushing emotions had filled my heart and tears had started rolling, words came out in huffed voices, but the anger weighed greater than remorse. You devil, Samuel, you tore her apart, romped her dreams with your petty fetish, nipped the bud which was bound to bloom. The angel failed fighting the devil. She did speak to me, her last words being, “I couldn’t be strong enough daddy!” Oh, she was a strong girl, she was tough as a rock, just that the burden of being raped was beyond her caliber. I walked to the chair again, facing him, I spoke, “Mr. Samuel, you don’t deserve to live, you never did deserve this life.” I looked in to his eyes and pushed the pick across the jaw, into the neck, through the carotid, puncturing the wind pipe and popping out of the other side of the neck. Tears dripped out of the eyes, I turned around, and hummed the rhyme my daughter taught me when she was 10. 

“He is a savior, he is the guardian,
He’ll give me strength while flying like a falcon;
He is a mighty, he is the one.”

-Author

Story

The gun shot silenced the chore and the hall melancholily laid still, lifeless! 

And hence the story ends. Do we need people like Mr. Shaw ? Aren't too many of Mr. Samuel out there ? Let not this story happen again. Share it. Do the good work.

Also you may like to read this little story of a boy and his teenage aspirations. Farewell my family-What did the young boy thought?

or Murder on 25th street

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