The Last Day

Start with Death

Some memories fail to fade away. It might have been the usual bitter winter day for anyone else in the hamlet, but not for him. Those cries of pain still hammered in his mind loud and clear even today. On this very day, he had experienced a bundle of unprecedented elation; a whiff of fresh air had entered their household, with the birth of his loved one, which was now converted into stale tinge of struggle and sorrow. The happiness was 18 years ago. 

He had a monotonous routine for himself since 7 years, which included only one thing, looking out from his room, at the only object in sight: the swing. This swing had seen better days like he had before 18 years, particularly before that fateful day, which had taken away the joy from the lonely house. He was helpless, but had a fighting will, which refused to budge. The reason for his determined will was: the swing. This swing was the only object in sight from his dilapidated room. The green grass failed to cheer him up in the sunny mornings. This swing was a window to the beautiful memories which he cherished: memories of family, especially his son. He knew deep in the recesses of his mind, those days would never come back. Oh! How he wished to re-live them again!

The hamlet was quite in the afternoon. Swing moved slowly, in an irregular manner. Swing has lost its oscillation long ago he thought. 7 years of vacuum had engulfed him into deep sorrow. Past deeds were being repaid to him. He could feel the unease around that swing, primarily because of what had happened in the past, but today the air had a sinister motive sprinkled with this past memories. His heart started beating fast. He knew his time had come, and his body couldn't fight back. The only source of hope to live was the sweet, childhood memories associated with that swing. His body was too old and frail to go out of the house and feel the swing, feel the touch of the old happy days, which had vanished from his life along ago. But the sight of this swing helped him live on.

Amidst his nostalgia, he couldn't even hear the door knob to his back door move. Nor did he notice footsteps approaching his room. He had known one day this would be his fate. The price of his mistake had been paid by his entire family. His family had been debtors for something which they never borrowed. The showdown had begun 18 years ago, but it was about to have its dramatic and bloody climax today. The nostalgia had trapped him to such a great extent, the present unfolding of events in his small house didn't alarm him. They seemed a distant background for him too insignificant for him to move his mind away from the fateful day and the swing. His assassin knew today was the day. It was chosen carefully, well-planned to coincide with the date of fateful day, which the old man was busy was reminiscing today.

The assassin came too close to the old man's room, a distance which couldn't have been missed by any one. At a distance which would have sent any person in a frenzy to save his life. His sight itself would be enough for this weak man to get a cardiac arrest, yet they carried guns. But they knew their sight would not to do much for this fellow, who had a determined hope to live. Therefore according to his instructions he carried guns, guns which would execute, guns which had the potential to kill in a flick of second, guns which they knew was the final nail in the coffin to their plan initiated 18 years ago.

This very day, the old man saw his family die at the merciless hands of his enemies. This very day he saw his 18 years son's body on that swing. The cries of the family members numbed him even then, they do even today. Their small cottage now turned into a graveyard, on that day, with cold-blooded shooting happening in front of his eyes of all the people he loved. His son's life-less, tattered, blood-soaked body had lied on that swing, 7 years ago. His 18 years old son, now was being taken to the next world, without a goodbye to his father. The trauma of his seeing his family die made him a bed-ridden cripple. 7 years had passed, still he could feel the same numbness and anguish which he felt on that day. Why couldn't he save all of them? Why couldn't he?

He was a prisoner in his own house. The very same assassin killed his family 7 years ago, and he always anticipated his end would be the same. Maybe more brutal. They wanted a secret, a secret which was necessary for the assassin and their heart-less masters. Did they get it 7 years ago by killing his family? His eyes stuck like glue on the swing. Swing which made him realize, he needed to live. He had been living all this while to protect the secret. But today he was rest assured. The secret had found its resting place. Secret was with him, in his mind, beyond the reach of any gun, any enemy.

Swing stopped moving. Suddenly the air seemed thick. The old man smiled that day for the first time in months looking at the sky. Some intuition told him his time had come. The assassin was slyly waiting for the right time. A last memory crossed his mind before assassin made his last move. He saw his son's childhood on that swing, his laughter on that swing, his play on his swings calling his father to come up to him and see him go to and fro, acting as like he was touching the sky. He smiled at the swing.

Assassin made his move and the gun shot was fired, one in the heart, other in the forehead. Wail of the old man couldn't be heard. His house was too secluded for other villagers to see him die. He saw his assassin's eyes. They had vengeance in it. But more than revenge, it had desperation to find a secret. This secret would now belong to the dead man. There was defying silence in the house. As blood oozed out profusely from the old man's chest, the swing crashed to the ground, conveying what all it had withstood. Dead man indeed took away the memories of his family with him and the swing. Today was 6th of April, 1999. His family died on 6th April 1992. Today would have been his dead son's 25th birthday, and he was happy he was about to meet his son.