The Culling - Anarchy

An Apple in the Rain

Flickering lampposts; the thunk of raindrops on a leather briefcase used as an umbrella; the splash of shoes in a puddle. This was the eerie setting on the cold night in Arabia when Abdul Nassir was running from his pursuers in the slums. 

 Abdul didn't know where he was running to, only that he was. He had to get away. All the threats and intimidation – it wasn't worth coming home for. The heavy pants created clouds of cold air that clouded his vision and caused a sharp blink. Awkwardly twisting his neck, he looked down the never-ending street he had come from, looking avidly for the man in the mask. But he wasn't there. He should've been there. 

 The sharp flicker of a dying lamppost shook Abdul. He impulsive ran into a pitch-black alley, constantly looking over his shoulder like a nervous-twitch. His heart running faster with every breath as he ran further into the darkness. In his rushed frenzy, Abdul lost his footing on the wet ground and smacked his face into the dirt, his briefcase flying open and spraying a collage of documents labelled 'classified'. 

 Abdul slowly adjusted to the heavy clothes, sore teeth, and wet ground as he attempted to push himself up. His hair dripping like a shower. A footstep lightly splashed in a puddle – but it wasn't his. 

 "Oh, Abdul. Why did you have to run? I honestly thought we were just coming to an understanding." A strong mechanical voice spoke in the shadows. A voice that Abdul wished he didn't recognise. 

 Abdul felt his body start to shake. His genuine fear had evolved into terror. The man stepped from the shadows into the dim light of the flickering lamppost from the end of the alley. He was dressed not smartly but with power and authority. Mostly wet black leather that glistened in the light. And fabric hood that concealed a full-face mask. White with a red spray-painted 'A'. For anarchy. 

 "Stop snivelling, Abdul, and stand up. Show some respect for yourself." 

 With quivering legs and soaked clothes, Abdul reluctantly stood to meet the mask of the man he knew as Anarchy. 

 Anarchy gave Abdul a strong clap on both his shoulders, giving Abdul another shock. "There you go, much better. Now Abdul, down to business, as they say." 

 This sentence and Anarchy's echoed voice gave Abdul every possible bad impression. Was he about to die? Would he have to live a life of torment to get Anarchy to leave him alone? 

 Anarchy reached inside his long leather trench coat and the lack of facial expression hid his intent from Abdul. Abdul tried to back away but with every subtle movement Anarchy's head twitched toward him. There was no escape – but was there a life after this encounter? A tear streamed down Abdul's face, perfectly blended with the rain, followed by another and another. Anarchy's hand then, finally, retreated from his coat. A deep red apple sat like a beautiful globe in the hand of Anarchy. Abdul collapsed onto his knees and started sobbing. 

 "Jesus man, don't be so tense. I'm not going to kill you. Here," he gestured the apple to Abdul, "Take it. A bite to eat might put you at ease." 

 Abdul raised his head and took the apple. He was suspicious of Anarchy's actions but the apple was a good distraction. Abdul was about to take a chunk from the apple, he could feel the skin against his teeth, when he heard a more mechanical noise from Anarchy and his head stuttered upward to look. 

 Anarchy had pulled a small cylindrical laser pointer from his pocket but Abdul couldn't see that in the light. He began shaking again in a mixture of nerves and curiosity. 

 "Wha-What is that?"

 "A laser pointer," came Anarchy's simplistic, almost innocent answer. 

 Abdul instantly linked it to his first thought of death – "But I thought..."

 "I told you Abdul," Anarchy interrupted, turning on the laser pointer and pointing it between Abdul's eyes. "I'm not going to kill you."

 A gun-shot could be heard throughout the slums of Arabia but only one person witnessed the sniper bullet that penetrated Abdul's skull and sent him flying onto his back. The small pond that Abdul's head now rested in began to surge with a crimson red. There was no life left in the man, as the apple rolled from his hand.

 Anarchy clicked the laser pointer and placed it back in his coat. Taking a knee next to Abdul, Anarchy took the apple and began polishing it with his sleeve.

 "You know, Abdul," Anarchy began as if talking to a familiar friend. "The problem with this democracy you are so fond off: it leaves so many unanswered questions. Leaving to one side that it stopped being real democracy after the Greeks. People don't know where they stand in democracy. They don't truly know who has the power. It just sets you up to fail. Now anarchy – that's a system that gives the real answers. You know exactly where you stand and who has the power. That's what I'll show them. Yeah. Sounds like a plan. There see just how much better it can be if you strip away all the complicated stuff. All those rules. And laws. What good have they done anyone anyway?"

 Anarchy stood, facing his mask to the rainy sky. Lovely night, he thought.

 "I probably should've said all that before he died. Poor guy."

 Anarchy lifted his mask just past his upper lip, crunching into the particularly juicy apple and having to wipe his chin before putting the mask back down. Stepping back into the shadow, Anarchy echoed a parting statement – "Abdul, my friend, this is where 'The Culling' begins."