Fallen Leaves

Winter was about to come in this part of the world. There was a slight chill in the air, the kind that you want to absorb every morning as you step out of the bed. It tingles your skin for few moments as your hand approaches the alarm clock and you swiftly tighten the blanket for the extra five minutes. Those are the happiest five minutes of your day. Winter had a strange ability to instill a delay in time & a delay in movements.

He did not take any extra time to sleep that morning. Something had been bothering him all night, and he couldn't sleep at all. It wasn’t unusual though. There were nights when too many memories wouldn’t let him sleep and there were nights when a certain emptiness couldn’t let him sleep. His profession was deeply connected with good rest. It relaxed his nerves, something that was most crucial to him. They said a sleep deprived brain could not control the body well. And for him his fingers meant his life. He stared at the mirror for a long time. His reflection was piercing into his soul through his eyes. He looked away.

Today he did not feel composed. He took a deep breath, thinking about the consequences of the job that lay ahead of him. For a fleeting moment, he felt himself shudder at the thought of doing it. He recalled some entrepreneurship coach saying that one should be very confident of one's actions when one wakes up, which led to a purposeful day. He almost smirked mentally. Giving lectures was easy. Doing it, was difficult.

He remembered the old days, detailed down to every single moment. He could almost see that demonic dimple on his own face. A familiar old feeling of unrequited Love and sharp shards of betrayal cut through his mental fabric. He shook himself instantly. He wouldn't have imagined back then that he would become what he had. And more than that, he would do what he was going to do. He felt a surge of seething anger jab through his innards. His head throbbed suddenly and he clenched his fists. His body was beginning to show signs of a resolve of steel. This was going to be the full stop to an old tale. He feared the beginning of a new story. He took a long cold bath that soothed his uncertain mind. It is my destiny, and I shall not flinch.

***

She took her time to wake up that morning. It was a Saturday and the Bank where she worked wouldn’t open before eleven. She lazed in her bed. Life had been sweet. Her boyfriend was loving, owned an S-Class Mercedes and had a high cheekbone, one to die for. She remembered the nights they were away and couldn't sleep. And the nights they were together and wouldn't sleep. Her mind slipped in and out of slumber and reverie. She walked to the window and inhaled the misty morning air, stretching her arms wide..

She stood in front of the mirror and stared at her own beauty. She couldn’t help but smile, exposing her little dimple on the right cheek. Her boyfriend loved it the most. Suddenly she was reminded of someone else who wrote a million words of praise for her dimple. That single thought brought a mix of sad and pitiful emotions. She almost smirked mentally. He had been so naïve to give her his collection of poetry on the Valentine’s Day. Words are just mere words, she thought. Love, if it existed, had to be a measurable thing, not an intangible emotion. She felt sorry for him.

The next instant, a strange fear enveloped her. She had stopped smiling now. It felt that she wouldn’t be able to look at her beautiful reflection ever again. She quickly pushed away the silly thought and went to take a long warm bath that added to her sense of satisfaction. A light filled her head that consumed the small dark dot of doubt that lurked in the recesses of her mind. She took her time to get ready for the work, grooming every inch of herself, removing every wrinkle, moving her hands over her marble textured skin. Her life was like a bestselling novel, she thought, and someone must have written it brilliantly

***

The buildings were so high that merely looking at them for a while made you dizzy. The all-weather glass exterior reflected the sunrays to an eye pinching extent. This is why people generally did not stare towards the tall skyscrapers. The Gods of Architecture had made sure that nobody could look them right in the eye. One such glass monster had many uninhabited upper floors.

The Dragunov sat on the dusty windowsill, perched like an eagle. The early December sun glazed over the chrome finish barrel, much like the predator’s shiny feathers. It was silent, waiting, still as a dead clock. The lens of the detachable optical sight shone, like the sharp vision scanning the area for its target, the busy Bank Square. It was high above the ground, much high, and hidden from view. Its prey, somewhere in the crowds below.

The eye on the other side of the lens, blinked.

The dimple and the reflection were going to embrace the end. It reminded him of something poetic. The last few seconds of the prey’s life.

The bullet of revenge seared through her cold heart as she fell down lifeless.