Saturday, 23 November 2013


Everyone looked at the box that he left on the bench with apprehension. It could be a bomb. You couldn’t be too sure these days. Terrorists came in all shapes and sizes. Yeah. But it was an old man who left that box. Why would he be carrying a bomb? That’s ridiculous. Plain stupid. Borderline crazy. Shut up. You can still see that old man. Maybe we could give him lunchbox back. Yeah, and do our good deed for the day. Hey old man! You forgot your….


It was such simple tasks that made him smile. People would do anything to get out of paying the cab fare. Like, I don’t know, cleaning his windshield, letting him make a phone call or dropping off an unsuspecting package on a park bench on the way home. He smiled. Anything to avoid paying. 

He drove an old model Hyundai Santro. It made funny noises when you turned left. The mileage was not that good. He didn’t like being a taxi driver. But it was perfect for him. He met people. He talked to people. And when he talked, people listened. Words flowed from his mouth. His voice was a low baritone, almost hypnotic. And when you listened to him. You got voices in your head. Voices telling you what to do. Voices telling you that a stupid favor is better than paying him. It’s just a phone call. And he says its urgent. Why not? It’s just a little package. Kinda lightweight. And there was a park bench on the way home.

They didn’t know he had been planning this for month. The contents in the package, they had to be in the right amount. And the memories. They haunted him. It was because of the memories that he decided on doing the park bench thing.

He wasn’t a monster. No. Oh dear, why would you think that? Because of the bomb? Silly me. It was a bomb. But not that typical ‘I go boom and people die and shit’. No. It was confetti. It was not just a park bench for him. It was where he met his wife (May her soul rest in peace) for the first time. The bench was where they first held hands. Where he asked her to marry him. (Three times, before she said yes)

It was their fiftieth wedding anniversary. And she deserved a little celebration. A confetti cracker would make her look down and smile. He knew she was in heaven. He smiled.

Or in hell. After all, she had suggested using a real bomb.   


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