In her eyes...

                                                      “In her eyes…”
                                                    --------------------------

                                                                                By Umer Amir


The sun is losing its brightness as it sinks faraway in the grey sea. The reddening sky is sad. The home-going birds are sad. The one by one striking waves and the sea breeze is sad. I don’t know when was the last time I felt sad? I don’t even know when I felt happier. Look, I am not a writer. So I should better cut this artistic crap and come to point.

I am Jaffer Ali. People call me Jaffo. I like it. I am an assassin. I know, I know, don’t frown. I am no different than you are. Look, I am a professional. Killing is my bread and butter. It is a job just like managing files, building bridges or bombing countries. As you know, my job requires no emotions. It was recently, after 10 years of professional service, that I had to confront an emotional storm that shook me inside out. I wanted to share it to lighten me up. So here it goes.

I was hired for kidnapping a minister’s family. The job was risky but good cash was involved in it. Despite weeks of planning, things went bad. During the action one of my men died, two guards were shot and minister’s son also expired due to a direct hit at a police check point. However, after a nerve-racking chase, I was able to doge the cops and finally reached my safe house with minister’s wife and daughter.

My safe house is a small, two room house surrounded by a boundary wall. It is located in deserted outskirts of the city. Both women were unconscious due to chloroform, and I had to drag them into the room. I tied them separately. As I was about to leave the room I heard a feeble voice,

“Mama… Mama…”

It was the daughter. She was coming to senses. I went to her. Gripping her neck tightly with my right hand, I pulled her up. She opened her eyes. Something struck me hard. Was that her red eyes, innocent face or shivering lips? I had given it a lot of thought lately but I still don’t know. That moment suddenly tired me, more than the four hours life and death fray I had been through.

“No voice, not even a whisper. Remain silent or I will pull your tongue out.” I whispered in her ear. Her body was shivering. Before leaving the room I turned and looked at her. She was staring at me. Damn! Those eyes were powerful.

The sky was clear that night. Wind was absent and stillness engulfed the atmosphere. I was not feeling well. I planned to sleep and took two sleeping pills. After bolting hostage’s room, I crawled into my bed.

I was physically exhausted. I had taken two high potency valium pills. But even after trying hard to shut my self up for 30 minutes, sleep was miles away from my eyes. It was strange. Look, I am not a sentimental kind of guy. Once I killed a guy in bed and then took a nap with his dead body. Sleeping is the only passion I have, of course, after killing. I started to get annoyed at the nameless discomposure girding my mind.

Finally I opened up my eyes and tried to focus on this anonymous discomfiture. I realized it started from the eyes of my feminine hostage. As I traced the string, I found my heart silently missing a beat. I know, a smile has just appeared on your lips. We all foolishly relate love with heart and heart beats. But I don’t believe in this rubbish. Love is not my style. After all, I am a sensible professional.

The strange thing was that my heart felt a strain which was gradually intensifying. Yes, it felt kind of painful but also like a twinge that feels sweet. That was not all. The rising pressure in my chest also started to emit waves of feelings to my mind.

Initially it was an isolated feeling; the ancient feeling of loneliness. I seldom feel alone. I am my best friend and I don’t feel alone with my best friend. Don’t you? So it felt strange. Loneliness was followed by another feeling. This feeling didn’t felt strange, it felt searing.

Look, my parents were murdered when I was eight. As I grew up, I struggled hard to wipe out those gross images from my memory. I finally did. Since then the memory of my family kept astray from my mind. That night, to my utmost surprise, I started to miss my family.

It felt like a sand storm rising. I heard my Mama calling my name. I heard my father laughing. Then gunshots, screams. Bloody images flashed back. Mama and Papa lying in a pool of blood, stretchers being moved into an ambulance. Bodies being lowered into graves. Sweat appeared over my forehead. It felt bad, really bad!

The voices and memories didn’t stop. It felt like a Pandora box had been opened. My professional ventures started to flash back. One by one the images of my kills started to flip in my mind: Khurram Bajwa, the chubby business tycoon, lying flat in elevator; Micas, the journalist, gasping his last breaths near wash-basin; Kurt hafiz, the detective, blood bathed in front seat of his car; Professor Derek, lying dead near a stream. Body after body. I could also hear shots from my 30 bore pistol, mixed up with terrified pleads and horrified screams.

Repentance has always remained a stranger for me. One-shot-one-kill and forget-without-will, is my way of doing things. But that night I started feeling guilty. The dark cloak of sin engulfed me. My chest felt like a sealed chamber about to explode. My throat dried. My whole body was enwrapped in a paroxysm. Shouts, screams and gunshots echoed. Twisted dead bodies and blood kept on flashing. I sat up.

“This is all because of that girl,” a voice whispered.

“She is just a girl. I have been with many. No, I just need some sleep.”
I grumbled to myself.

“Are you sure? It all started when your eyes looked inside hers,” the voice reappeared.

“It is not like that. This is an illogical idea. No! This is not possible”

“ha ha ha.”

The laughter grew louder and vicious. Screams were getting higher. Cries more painful. Perspiration was rolling over my face.

“This is because of her,” the voice said.

“This is because of her,” I repeated.

I entered the room with a thud. Both women sat-up. I went to the girl.

“Who are you?”

She looked at me. For a second those eyes met mine. She turned her eyes away.

“Leave her alone. Talk to me you bastard!” her mother shouted.

“Is your daughter a witch” I turned towards the mother. She gave me a dead-pan look. I again looked at the daughter. She was looking at me. Those big eyes were again whispering a spell. Shots were being fired, my mother was calling me, my father was laughing.

“Shut up!” I took out my pistol and pointed it towards her. She looked at me. My hands were trembling. I heard a shot being fired. Warm blood covered my hand and few drops landed on my face. She fell sideways. I fired two shots to silent her screaming mother.

I remained confined to my city flat for 2 days. The third morning, the day seemed bright and the air fresh. So I decided to visit this beautiful beach on which I am presently sitting and writing this ammm… whatever you call it. I think you are expecting that I should tell you why I killed her. I won’t. You should know that!

I feel much better now. Initially I had decided to tear this writing after finishing it. But I can see that a wave just brought an empty bottle at the shore. I think the bottle looks odd on these black rocks so it should go back into the sea. Dear bottle, as you go take this writing with you. Take it to a far-off land to somebody who can understand what was in those eyes? Damn! Those eyes were powerful.

                                                                                          [Word Count 1375]

[If you have read it then please do give a comment. Don't worry about hurting me. I just want to hear your comments]