Metaphor's game, my (not so :P) short story inspired by the Jigsaw Killer in the Saw film series. I've tried to keep up the whole death-is-connected to his life's deeds kind of theme. Plus a little maniacal element as well. Lemme know what u think...
Metaphor’s game
15th May 2006, Norfolk county
‘For long you have tried hard to catch me. Your efforts are indeed laudable, but they will forever fall short of what you require to get to me. All I have done, all those clues that I left behind, were in the hope that you, the best officer in the country, would give me a worthy chase. But that has not been the case. So I’m making you a deal now. Come to 28, Yardley Street at 3 am, on the 17th. We shall play a little game, our Battle Royale. May the best man win Captain.’
I banged the note down on my table in frustration. Even the note was composed of letters cut out of papers. We didn’t have his handwriting. It was true that he had given me chances, outside ones, but chances nonetheless. And I had failed to catch him. It was no open secret that all of his murders were an open challenge for me to get to him. The scene of the first murder, where he had named me, was clear as crystal in my mind.
It was a black man, a drug dealer, one I’d myself accosted many a time. But there was never enough proof to nail him. When I’d received the call at seven in the evening, I thought he’d finally done something to get him in. Upon reaching the scene, a dark, narrow lane in one of the run-down neighborhoods, I found myself unprepared for the gruesome spectacle. The guy was hanging from a flagpole two stories above the ground, his face white with some kind of powder. When we hauled him down, we saw that it was cocaine that was smeared all over his face. Even his nostrils were stuffed with the drug. It was clear that he had either snorted too much, had some sort of reaction, or he had simply choked on it all. But upon closer inspection of his neck, we had seen two sets of prints, which indicated a struggle. That was when the cold realization hit me that he had been made to suffocate in the cocaine. This was murder. That was when one of the constables aimed his light upwards and saw words on the wall that made my heart plummet.
‘Sir, there’s something on the wall here. Some sort of message. And…it has your name…’ he said, giving me a look that bordered on concern and suspicion combined. I took the light from him and read the words on the alley wall.
‘Quite the last high, wouldn’t you say Captain Hawkins? In the literal sense. I just wanted to see how the drugs that he peddled among innocents would affect him. The slow death that he distributed among people just caught up with him today. The city is a bad place, Captain, an evil place. And you’re its reluctant protectors, defending the sinners. I’m your godsend; I will test your faith in your cause now, Captain. Follow my trail, and you shall get to me. I am waiting.
Signed, The Metaphor.’
Unbidden, my mind had wandered to what could have started all this. Two months ago, I had been awarded the Queen’s Police distinguished service award for my commanding role in the storming of an auditorium that had been hijacked by terrorists. The usual PR trip had followed, interviews, conferences, the whole ten yards.
I had been yanked back to the present by the constable’s grip on my jacket. There was more. A drawing of a drop of water, crude but unmistakable; and an arrow pointing to the right. I tried to make sense of what it meant. I knew it had something to do with water, his next victim. But being in a port city, there were too many fronts to cover and too many possibilities. I kept pondering over it, but two weeks later I did not need to ponder any more. The phone had rung, and I heard the words I dreaded. ‘There’s been another one Captain, here at the fisheries. And there’s another message for you, so it’s the same guy.’
The fisheries is dark and filthy, an overwhelming stench of fish pervading the place. It was in one of the tubs used to melt the ice that we had found the body. I remembered seeing that face somewhere before. He was a businessman of some sort.All the physiological appearances pointed towards death by drowning, but there was also something else. Somehow the water looked funny. And of course, there was another message addressed to me.
‘Countless fishes and animals have died because of the pollutants this man’s company dumped in our seas. Therefore I drowned him in water laden with his own pollutants, surrounded by the beings that he himself helped kill. Probably this way he might be more accountable to the souls he extinguished. You are not catching up soon enough, Captain. And there will be a price to pay, there shall be more murders. Until then, this is yours truly,
The Metaphor.’
Indeed there had been. For the next two months, there had been five more murders. Clues, subtle hints really, had been left behind at every scene, accompanying a taunting message. The manner of death was always connected to the person’s life. The papers didn’t really write about much else. The Metaphor killer was gaining favor with the romantics, who were supporting him wholeheartedly. Rational people were scared out of their wits, and the police was under unprecedented pressure, especially me, as I’d been singled out by the murderer. It had been a gut-wrenchingly torrid past three months.
And so today the prospect of facing off with my nemesis had me salivating; I wanted to end this once and for all. But I did not want to make the mistake of underestimating my enemy. Not after being outfoxed by him repeatedly. I read the note once again, memorizing the address, conditioning my mind for the impending showdown only two days away. The next two days were spent going once again through all my tactical, physical and mental training. The plans of the building at 28, Yardley Street were studied thoroughly; it was an abandoned office building.Our strategy was in place for the night. But I could not rest easy; something told me the Metaphor knew exactly what we were expected to do and he would be ready for that somehow. And it was in such a mood that the 17th arrived.
17th May 2006, 2.48 am, 28th Yardley Street
In hushed whispers my team and I rehearsed our strategy, forming a 100-yard perimeter around the building. Eleven members of the Elite Urban Forward Action team were with me, forming a squad, and I felt confident tonight. Decked up in all combat gear, save helmets, we looked like we were in waiting to storm the building. The area was vacant in the radius of a few blocks; it was one of the old, abandoned parts of the city. The citizens need not have to know about the happenings here tonight. That was when a voice boomed over a loudspeaker that crushed my blossoming hope with indulgent cruelty.
‘Tut tut, Captain. No cheating! If anyone other than you enters the building, my special guest here will be subjected to a very painful death. Look up’ he said flatly. We all looked up and stared in horror at the distinctive figure of the city mayor hanging on a TV antenna, six stories above the ground. He was hanging onto a metal wire that extended from the antenna over the side of the building. A foot upwards from where his hands were grasping it, the wire was barbed, forbidding him to climb his way out of there. His feet were perched gingerly on a narrow half foot ledge jutting out of the building just enough so he could put his feet on it.
‘I have rigged up the antenna to act like an electrical conductor,’ the voice boomed on. ‘One button to press and 440 volts will give our mayor the shock of his life; just as his suspect landslide victories in the elections have shocked his many detractors. That is if he holds on for dear life. There is always the option of letting go and taking his chances with gravity. It’s about time our high-flying mayor took account of the ground realities, don’t you think?’ The voice chuckled at the joke, and then got very serious again.
‘I advise you not to tempt me into pressing the button. Tell your comrades to get in their van and go away. You can give them your radio set. The only conversation tonight shall be between us. Once that’s done, enter unarmed through the front door, and we shall begin.’
I gave a long look to the people assembled around me and nodded. Silently, the men jogged into a van waiting a quarter of a mile away. In two minutes, they had left and I was alone again. I knew this was to be expected. I walked slowly to the front door, empty hands in the air and turned the brass knob. The door opened soundlessly and was locked shut after me. Metaphor probably had the whole place rigged up to his senile requirements. The lock’s thud resonated through the dark, empty room. I was in.
For a moment the room was soundless, save for my beating heart. Then Metaphor’s layered, velvety and heartless voice rang out again.
‘Welcome captain. It was a wise decision to listen to me. Now, our game is simple. I am in the same building as you are. The windows are barred and the doors electronically locked. Don’t try breaking either of them; you’ll only be wasting your time. You have till sunrise to catch me. You can see a sundial in front of you. Make sure you and the mayor are not in the building when the sunlight strikes a straight line on the dial. Because then two things will happen; it will detonate the bomb I have planted in the building, hopefully after I will have escaped through the secret exit that only I know of. And of course, our dear mayor will be getting an appointment with his maker. There are trip mechanisms surrounding the sundial; try to touch it and the shotguns toted at you will blow you to kingdom come.’
I looked around the room. It was a large square room, with a side exit leading to a flight of stairs. An empty fireplace sat in a corner, its polished grate and silver floor sparkling. Indeed, there was a sundial right in front of me, sandy in color, about four feet in diameter. The outer ring was embedded with photovoltaic cell chips that would produce the voltage needed to blast the bomb using the sunlight. The window above the door behind me would bathe the dial in light come sunrise. There were seven 12-gauge shotguns trained at the approximate region around the sundial, covering all angles.
‘So you see, I’m not lying. Now, being the organizer of the game here, obviously I have a few advantages. Unlike you, I will not be unarmed and you better have a good prayer on your lips, if you can find me and face me. Also there are traps set up at various locations, and your actions could trigger them at any time. Also, the remote to unlock all the doors and to haul up the mayor’s tether is in my pocket. But, if you try to stop the bomb before saving him, he will be electrocuted. You have to save him before you save yourself. So effectively, you will not get out of here before going through me.’
Right then, as if on cue, a clock struck three, the sound amplified by the speakers, resonating throughout the empty building.
‘My clock has struck three, Captain. So then, let the games begin.’
3-2
I unsheathed the bowie knife from my hip holster. I was not going to lay all my cards on the table yet; I had some surprises for him yet. The mayor was on the top floor, so it was logical that Metaphor would want to be somewhere close to his quarry. It made sense to stake out the top floors first. I sprinted for the stairs, only to trip over a near invisible wire, falling face-front a second later, ice cold water splashing all over my face.
‘That was a wake-up call. Your predictable logic will not help you here. Nothing is normal here; neither should be your thought. I will give you no more chances, no more warnings. Over and out’ the voice resonated for the last time.
I pushed myself up, promising Metaphor a lingering death if and when I would get the chance. I was thinking what to do next, when a thud from three floors above me caught my attention. Carefully eyeing the staircase for any more traps, I made my way up. On the third landing, lay a knife, brown with old blood stains. Curious, I bent down to pick it up, thereby applying pressure on the floorboard beneath my feet. The hitherto unseen cord that I had placed my right leg in, was released as a result, and retracted, yanking me bodily off the ground, inverting me two feet above the ground. Below me was a mat of dull spikes two by two feet, the nails an inch long. Frustrated, I whirled and looked around me. On the east side wall, there was inverted writing on the wall, which I could now in my position, read upright.
‘Repeating the same mistakes, are we Captain? Curiosity may have killed the cat, but I thought you would be some better. Obviously, the lure of a knife proved too much for you. However, this time there shall be a penalty. Use that knife to cut through the cord and free yourself. But, decide which part of your body you would like to impale on those spikes. They are not deep enough to kill you, but they will hurt. Oh, and do not try to swing out of the way of the mat when you cut. The cord has been adjusted just enough to take your weight. Any acrobatics and you’ll go down.’
I shut my eyes in anguish. It was foolish of me to reach for the knife when I had my own anyways. This mistake was going to cost me. For the next ten minutes I reasoned on which part of my body to land upon. I would need my legs to run. My upper torso had the vital organs that I could not risk; I didn’t want to take Metaphor’s word on the potency of those nails. Anything above my shoulders was ruled out. So it came down to my arms, of which I needed my right one more. I decided upon the left forearm, as my bicep was of greater use. I slowly positioned myself thus, expecting the cord to snap any minute. Once in position, I reached up to cut the cord, but hesitated. It is hard to lead yourself to deliberate pain. After about another five minutes of convincing myself, I cut the cord.
THUD! SPLAT!
The spikes did run deep, and a bolt of pain shot through my forearm. They had pierced and come out the other side. I roared in agony for a few seconds, after which I mentally tried to alienate myself from that part. In a few moments, the pain dulled down to a throbbing jolt in the background of my mind. Quickly taking out my shirt from within my bulletproof vest I ripped a shred from it and tied it around my profusely bleeding arm. In the blink of an eye the cloth turned crimson, and I hoped I wasn’t losing blood too quickly. However, it settled down soon and besides feeling a little weak and slightly dizzy, I was okay.
I got up and sheathed the old, bloody knife in a spare holster. It could be of use later.I tried to be as silent as possible when I walked. I got past the landing, a room to my right and left. A slight sound to my left caught my ear. It was a short, breathing sound, like a muffled panting sound. Someone was there! Slowly, extra careful this time, I made my way into the room. I traced the sound to the ventilator shaft above me, right in the centre of the room; that’s where he was. Taking my knife in my good arm, I stood atop a nearby table and reached up to the shaft opening. In one sharp motion I pulled away the cover and took several frenzied stabs within using my knife, but it only found air. Then suddenly, my hands found fell upon something, and I pulled it out. It was a tape player and it was still running, emitting the panting sound that I had heard. Then all of a sudden, it emanated a high, cold and demonic laugh that froze my blood.
‘Gotcha…’ was all it whispered malevolently, and then fell silent. I ground my teeth in anger. Metaphor was playing games with my mind. He was in control of the situation, and that was I circumstance I loathed. All of a sudden then, Richard Wagner’s ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ blared out from the other room, a chilling accompaniment to our ongoing fight. I did not budge, convinced that it was another trick to lure me to the room.
That was when I saw a black hooded figure walk out of the room, its face concealed. It was tall, wiry and its gait exuded strength. It walked quick, stood in front of the stairs for a moment, looking right at me. I was staring, trying to get a look at the face. That was then the figure tore up the stairs, its body language showing alarm. I followed in pursuit, taking my knife as I did so. Just as I was about to pass by the room he had come out from, a blast from within lifted me off my feet and hurled me five feet away. I let myself fall, and almost welcomed the blackness that followed...
Everything seemed distant. The pain, the fear, the anger. Even Wagner’s notes sounded dreamlike. I felt a face linger inches from mine, the hood touching my face. I could only discern gray, lifeless eyes staring at me. Any more effort was not possible right now. I felt him do something to my Kevlar vest and then the figure left. I was powerless to even try anything, so I concentrated on relaxing myself, inducing a coma in me.
After about ten minutes, I tried to flex my fingers and toes and found them responsive. Then I moved my arms and legs, and finally, painfully lifted myself up and sat. In a minute, I was up and moving again, albeit even slower than before. I felt myself all over and saw that most of the bomb fragments had been stopped by my vest and very few had penetrated. It was the shock wave that had knocked me out. I wondered that if this was a bomb he had used so plaintively, what I would have in store if I exceeded the timeline. It was then I noticed the note that the figure had stuck upon my vest.
‘You grow weaker with every attempt to get closer to me. I have trumped you at every stage of our game. You know, I’m having second thoughts about going up against you. I should have chosen someone more worthy of my time. Are you going to give me a fight or what?’
Hot blood diffused through my body, numbing the pain, the dizziness and the weakness. I was not confused or unsure any more. My mind had one clear goal now: this Metaphor character was going to die at my hands.
Holding my knife in my hands, I stalked my way up to the next floor. It was devoid of people; however it bore the unmistakable signs of Metaphor’s madness. There were drawings on the wall of various ways to kill people. There were mirrors of various shapes and sizes, just like in a fun house. Mad ravings had been scratched upon the floor. The room was like a tribute to the utter instability of his brain. I searched the room for any weapon to use or any clue towards his location, but to no avail. I got to the fifth floor. On the fifth landing, I stopped short of putting my foot down, retreating a few steps instead as my eyes had fallen upon the fine wire stretched across the stairs. I clambered down to the lower floor and brought with me a piece of wood lying there. Using that, I tripped the wire, which sent a huge tree-axe rushing from the side like a pendulum. It swung its deadly arc and embedded itself in the wall. Had I been standing there I would surely have been decapitated. Taking a deep breath, I moved forward, going to the room on the right. Once again, there was writing on the wall to greet me.
‘If you are reading this, it means you have narrowly escaped death just now and have finally understood what this game is all about. Now we shall have some fun. Welcome to my plane of thought, Captain.’
A grim smile played upon my lips as I read it. It had been a while since I had been really and truly challenged, and now I was actually beginning to enjoy this. That was when another sound from three floors below me reached my ears. Slowly, I peered over the banister, when a bullet whistled past the bridge of my nose, its wind rustling my hair.
The hooded figure three floors below had a maniacal laughter, which died out in whimpers.
‘Are you enjoying yourself Captain?’ Another crazy laugh, ‘Because I’m having the TIME OF MY LIFE!!’ he bellowed, hooting like a hyena now. He was dancing about, evading any sort of aim I could lock on him. I resisted the urge, and decided to continue with my knife; now was not the time. However I took careful aim and threw the old knife that he’d left for me. It flew through the air with a whistle and thudded itself into the wall behind him, with his right arm pinned with it. He yelled.
‘AHHH! Nice shot Captain! You may have some fight in you after all.’ Saying so, he ran towards his right hand side room. Blood boiling with rage and adrenalin, I followed him down and in half a minute was at the door. Mindlessly, I entered the room, noticing the heavily reinforced steel door only after it shut behind me. There was no sign of Metaphor. I groaned; more words awaited me on the wall.
‘If you’re here, you’ve probably injured me in some way and have been led here. Now it’s time to prove whether your brain matched your brawn. The room you are in will fill with Sarin gas in the next ten minutes, killing you very quickly. To get out you must solve some progressively difficult riddles that I have set for you. The quicker you do it the better, the gas will make you nauseous and thinking will soon get difficult. Your first clue is really simple: Open the refrigerator’
Right at that moment, a low hum filled the room and I saw a pale yellow gas stream slowly into the room, coming in from the ventilators above.
I read the last line again. It was more like an instruction. I looked around the room, the walls were once again filled with his ravings and floorboards were ripped open, shredded chairs and empty closets lay about, and in the corner of the room was a small refrigerator. I ran to it, but hesitated to open. By now I had rightly developed I thorough distrust in whatever Metaphor said. There was a note on the door of the fridge.
‘No really, trust me. Just open it.’
Sidestepping, I slowly opened the door, expecting something spectacular. After a few seconds of nothing happening, I looked into the fridge. It was devoid of all its racks and had nothing inside it. There was just an inscription on the back wall that said, ‘Find ME’
I coughed as the first effects of the gas seeped in. I looked around the room, trying to understand how I could find him. I looked at the walls and noticed that amidst all his insane writing, he had written his name intermittently in many places. My sweeping gaze caught something out of the ordinary on one of the walls, and I did a double take. In one of his names, the first two letters of his name were in the capital case, reading MEtaphor. There it was! I ran up to it and looked around for any clues. A tap on the wall revealed a hollow construction, so I planted a powerful punch on the wall. It ruptured, revealing a box. I took it out and opened it, to find another note.
‘From there we came and to that we shall return,Find the key and proceed to the next turn.’
I gagged and coughed at the gas started taking greater effect; I knew very soon that my clarity of thought would be disrupted.I read the first line again. It was a very popular phrase used in reference to the earth and mud. But where could there be mud in the second floor of a building? My thoughts were getting sluggish. I looked around lazily, and my eyes fell on a patch of brown within the dismembered floorboards. I slowly walked up to it, and dropping down on my knees, started searching for a key. Soon my hands fell upon one and I took it out.
First I tried the door, but it would not yield. Next I tried one of the doors of one of the closets in the room; no success their either. Then I tried it on the top one of the chest of drawers and it was a snug fit. I turned it and pulled it. There was a message etched in the wood.
‘Look deep Captain, look deep within. And find the power to face yourself, to put your faith to the test.’
By now I was not in any state to make sense of what that meant. I vomited as the gas was weakening me with every passing moment, the nausea making me feel faint. In a few seconds, I could barely stand, and I collapsed, bringing the top drawer down with me. I fell clumsily on the ground, and the drawer crashed beside me. That was when I saw the remote like device taped to its backside. So that was what deep meant; deep inside. I detached it and pressed the black button. A fake panel on the wall to me left slid aside instantly, revealing translucent mirror-like material. That was then a tiny speaker on the remote device spoke up. Apparently the device had a tape player too.
‘There’s your way out. There is a row of five such thin mirrors that separate you from fresh air. But you don’t know what is on the other side. You can either face certain death or gamble with your life. I want you to fight for your survival Captain; I want you to be determined to trust me. The choice is yours.’
I staggered to my feet. The gas was now making it difficult to breathe and I figured I had another minute before I passed out and then died. So, left with no choice really, I decided to chance the mirrors. I knew I had to build up momentum, or I wouldn’t get past all of them. Taking a run-up I took a deep breath, searching for some oxygen amidst all that poison. I then sprinted towards the mirrors, ignoring my body’s cries for rest. I second before I pounced into the mirrors, covering my face, I wondered if I had made a mistake believing him.
CRASH!! CRUNCH!!
I dashed through the five mirrors, the shattered pieces getting pulverized under my booming footsteps. I counted five crashes and then I put my hand down. My entire body was cut and bruised in many places, but it was nothing serious. Taking a breath of the fresh air, I collapsed to the ground, and for the second time that day, was unconscious.
5-6
I woke up five minutes later, with a massive headache and a severely dwindling will to continue. My body protested against any more action, and my strength was a shadow of its usual self. If I had to face Metaphor in this state, it would surely be a one sided battle. That was when I looked around the room and for the first time was pleasantly surprised. It was full of open windows through which fresh air streamed in rejuvenated me. In one corner of the room there was a tray containing some food and water. As expected, there was a note with it.
‘You have shown your faith in me my breaking through those mirrors and I commend you for that. Sustain yourself with this food; I want our battle to be fair. I promise you that by the end of the day, we will have faced each other, and any doubts about each other’s abilities will be cleared. I think you can now take me for my word.’
I wolfed down the contents of the tray and felt like something resembling alright. Gazing out of the windows I looked at the outside world, from which I was shut off for the present. My eyes fell upon the horizon and I saw tendrils of silver light snake their way across the vast, dark sky. Daybreak was fast approaching. That was when I realized with a jolt that very soon I was going to run out of time. I sat there, thinking of how I could get to Metaphor. He had been one step ahead of me every time, and I could never pinpoint his location at any point of time, he could be anywhere. That was when I realized that my assumption was not entirely right. Also, then I remembered something that I’d seen much earlier in the day and that was when I pieced together Metaphor’s entire plan. Instinctively, my hand slid towards my ankle, and I decided I would now end this. But it was going to be close. Awfully, awfully close…
The man in the hood was now confused; and angry because he wasn’t used to being confused. Metaphor was perplexed to see that Captain Hawkins had not made any sound, any movement for the last half hour. There were fifteen minutes till the bomb he had planted would be detonated. The captain didn’t seem like he wanted to get out. But James Matthews aka the Metaphor knew too well that it wasn’t going to be over so easily. He thought of what to do. He decided he’d stick around for ten more minutes, then head to his escape route and let the captain face the consequences of his decisions.
He went up to the sixth floor, looking out at every nook and cranny for Hawkins. There was no sign of him. Once there he went to his control center from where he could clearly see the mayor hanging out of the window in front of him. He smiled thinly at him.
‘Your hero is not coming. He has decided to throw in the towel. Frankly though, I’m a little disappointed in him. Too bad for you. I hope you waved your wife and kids goodbye when you left them mayor. Goodnight; or rather, good morning.’
He turned and left the room, turning a deaf ear to the mayor’s cries for mercy. He took a long look at every room as he proceeded downstairs. He had designed every room for a purpose, had filled it with traps just for this day. What a disappointment Captain Hawkins had turned out to be. James would have to start all over again elsewhere.
It would be hard to detach from all the work he had put into lovingly building this world of his. He felt the remote control nestled in his pocket. Hawkins was a dead man if he didn’t do anything in the next five minutes. Thus thinking, he reached his escape route and slid aside the trap door to get out.
BANG!!
The bullet from the small spare gun in my ankle holster rammed itself into Metaphor’s nose, shattering it. His face was now a gaping hole. Although he was standing, he was already dead. Slowly his body keeled over and fell at my feet. I got out of the small tunnel under the floor of the fireplace.
Earlier in the day I had seen the silver floor of the fireplace. But then I realized later that floors were not supposed to be silver in color; it was metallic. The only mistake Metaphor had made was to keep the place clean, giving me a clear view of the false metal flooring.
I rummaged through his clothes, found the remote control device and pocketed it. Looking past his body I saw the first slivers of light seep through the window above the door. I looked at my watch. Three minutes for boom time. I knew what to do now.
Dragging his body with me I got close to the sundial, careful to avoid the trip wires. I hauled him up by his armpits and before I threw him on the sundial, I pulled his hood back. I had to look at the face of the person who had confounded me so much. It was a young man, about ten years younger than me, in his twenties. He had a long, evil face, grey lifeless eyes and a hooked nose. He looked sinister yes, but just like any other man you might pass by on the street.
I threw his body onto the dial, tripping the wires.
BOOM!! BANG!!
There was a cacophony of explosions as all of the shotguns went off at once, three of them hitting him in the body, turning it into a foul mass. But it had served its purpose, because exactly at that moment, the sunlight streaming in from the window reached a straight line on the dial, signaling the time for the bomb to detonate. But now Metaphor’s body lay between the light and the photovoltaic cells on the dial. There wasn’t enough voltage to blast the bomb. So that was taken care of.
Next I went up six floors, and used the remote to retract the tether holding the mayor. He collapsed upon reaching the safety of the floor and sobbed for a few minutes. Together, we went down, still looking out for any residual traps that might have previously escaped my attention. Once we were at the main door, I opened it using the remote. The mayor rushed forward to get to freedom, but I held him back by his collar for a second. For exactly at that second, a sharp guillotine like blade swept across the door frame, concealed between a gap in the doorway.
‘He never intended for me to leave the place alive, mayor. I knew he’d do something like this. Now we’re truly free to go, I think.’
Pushing aside the blade, we made our way into the sweet morning air, inhaling our freedom in deep gulps. We walked until we found a payphone from where I called my precinct and gave them my location.
Twenty minutes later, after the commissioner had arrived with police and paramedics and I was given temporary treatment for my many injuries, he congratulated me and said I deserved another award. To that I laughed and said.
‘Sir, I beg you to keep this adventure of mine classified. Who knows, someone else might read about me in the papers and decide to go up against me again? I wouldn’t mind a little anonymity for a while now, sir.’
I'm a simple regular teenager, who likes his music, books n friends etc. Nothin out of the ordinary, no real bids fr attention. I like havin fun wid friends, be it eating, jammin or road trips. I even like writin poems n stories when i'm in that obscure, contemplative mood:)...i've done the whole 'deep, dark music/talk' trip, n yes i'm fascinated by the darker unknowns of life, but i won't be hurling my opinions around...so a simple, uncomplicated association is much better...besides this, i don think there is much more to know abt me, not on the net at least :P...
