The Murder of the Year

The city is always dark at night. Not the lively, happy dark of glitzy nightclubs and discotheques but the gloomy, mournful dark of crime scenes and funerals.

Every night casts a pall over this city. Tonight was no different.

Except for one thing.

Somewhere down a nondescript back alleyway, an old man was running for his life. Everywhere he turned it seemed as if the very shadows were out for his blood. Skirting the darkness, staying close to the light, upturning trash cans as he ran, hoping to slow his pursuer.

Catching sight of another alley, he turns abruptly into it. The pain in his back hampers his leap over a pile of rubbish bags in front of him. There is a muttered curse as he falls face-first into them, startling a cat. It hisses displeasedly.

The shadow behind him grows larger. His pursuer nears. Panicking, he picks himself up and continues running.

As he runs, he is vaguely aware of his knees struggling to keep him on his feet. His joints scream in protest with every movement he makes. Something throbs dully within his chest.

Abruptly the pursuit ends. A brick wall in front of him, going straight up for what seems like miles. No way out save the way he came in. Trapped like a rat! He turns at a sudden noise.

His pursuer, now in front of him, nears, footsteps so soft you can barely hear them even over the silence of the city. The old man backs up against the wall, pulls out a knife. His pursuer speaks.

You have one minute left, old man.

“No, stay back!”

Do you really wish to waste your last fifty seconds of life with futile banter?

“You can’t! I.. I.. Don’t come any closer!”

The pursuer presses on. Do you think that knife will stop the inevitable, old man?

The old man shivers. Breathing heavily, he now feels his heart clench tightly in his chest. Unable to stop himself, he doubles over in pain, clutching himself and willing himself to continue to stand.

Twenty seconds.

Yet he cannot summon the will to do so. His body will not respond. He falls to his knees, a position of involuntary submission in front of his pursuer.

You see, old man. The passage of time cannot, and will not be stopped by anyone. Not even you. Three, two, one.

Somewhere around them, a clock chimes. One ring, then two, then three.

The pursuer draws a silver revolver and aims it at the old man’s head. the clock rings five, six, then seven. The hammer is thumbed back. Nine rings, then ten.

The old man closes his eyes and prays.

At the precise moment of the twelfth ring, there is a gunshot in the night. A wet splashing sound, followed by a dull thud.

Somewhere else in the city, a newborn cries as his mother cradles him in her arms.

The old must make way for the young,
A tragic song that’s yearly sung,
The transition ends, the night is mine,
2008 becomes 2009..

Every night casts a pall over this city. Tonight was no different.

Except for one thing.

About Jared

I am all the awesomesauce you could ever want in a handsome, neat package, and you know it.
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5 Responses to The Murder of the Year

  1. Henry Yew says:

    OMG ANOTHER ONE?!?! And I thought you’d totally given up blogging, and permanently on Twitter, since it’s much more compact, isn’t it?

    Anyway, I find it strange that you’re switching back to WordPress, since you’ve been comfortable with Blogger.

    Anyway, UPDATED MY LINKS already.

  2. Jared says:

    Yeah, strange innit? I guess that’s life.😄

  3. blog walking mampir ya

  4. NJ says:

    Jared: that’s so true ahahaha

  5. Jared says:

    @deskapahendri
    Hi there!🙂

    @NJ
    What’s life without some strangeness to quirk things up?😀

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