Lucky

By Hamza Arshad

 

‘Well, at last you are here’.

‘Yes’, the boy replied, ‘and I’m also surprised to see you’. ‘But you are in a miserable condition Dad’, asked the boy, looking at his throat.

‘O come on, now it doesn’t matter’, the elderly man replied, but I was worried about you all’.

The boy looked sad.

‘Are others still there’, the man asked. ‘I don’t know’ the boy shook his head and then he moved toward him.

There was queer darkness around.

Far, very far away, a shadow was moving in the dusk. No step, no sound, no tread, just moving and moving on. He was headed towards them. He could not see but something was driving him towards that place.

‘I thought’, the man said in a gloomy voice, ‘they would spare you. You should be there for more years, many more’. He tried to weep but could not.

‘See’, the boy looked at a direction without moving his finger or raising his hand, ‘see, he is coming’.

The father got up.

‘So you too, my little boxer, you too’. And he felt great weight on him, and he looked down, very down, deep through the space where loud explosion was still felt. Many more were coming.

‘What happened to you’, both asked the new comer simultaneously.

‘Beheaded with a chopper’.

‘Oh you little flower’, the dad moaned.

‘Dad your throat’, the first boy asked.

‘Yes, I was also slaughtered’, he said, ‘and slaughtered with a saw.’

‘And you?’ Both asked the first boy.

‘I was shot’, he replied.

‘You are lucky’, the headless shadow said.

‘Not so’, he replied, ‘they got me with two magazines. Only the last bullet sank in my heart’.

And three of them started looking towards a far off blue planet that was now turning red.