Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Death / Heartbreak / Loss
- Published: 01/25/2013
The Bullet for Ferindiue
Born 1992, F, from Jeddah, Saudi ArabiaFerindiue clutched the gunshot wound on his arm tightly, the blood seeping through his fingers. He had turned off the television a while ago and the house was quiet, unlike the outdoors.
His breath was getting jagged and uneven, the tears in his eyes stinging with pain. He tried to stand up and reach for the kitchen cabinet where Dora usually kept the bandages, but the ensuing violence out of his window intimidated him. Staying low was a good idea right now. But he had to bandage the wound to prevent the bleeding from getting worse. He tried to tear up his t-shirt, but the pain made it difficult to tear through the fabric. He could hear gunfire now, and more screams. The screeching of car tires. Dogs barking. Smoke and fear in the air. He winced as the strain grew.
It had been going on for days, these rumours about upcoming violence. Over coffee mugs and newspapers, people talked about the restlessness among the Brunhalces, the tribe of arts and craftsmen in his country, who had always been economically and educationally backward, presently most of them being thrown into domestic work and hotel services and even prostitution, as their work became unsalable in the modern economy. Education was a long process and the change in the market was too fast. Suddenly poverty, homelessness, crime and drugs rose at an alarming rate. The Brunhalces protested against the Hulghux, their economically socially, educationally better counterpart tribe. They blamed the Hulghux for their economic depression. This was not new.
Since centuries, the social friction was always imminent among the two tribes, and nothing, not even the fast modernism had changed it. In fact now, as the current situation showed, it had only made things worse. The friction had become spicy and hot in the last couple of years, especially as the unemployment rose among the Brunhalces. Protests and curfew grew common. Safety had become an issue. A few months ago, riots had broken out in the capital Versak. And now, in Hoople, the city where they lived.
The government Police force was essentially Hulghux, and the riots were set ablaze even more. The killings and riots were uncontrollable. The police were stuck in an ugly position, most of them being thrown in a dilemma to choose between a tribe and their duty. Whenever the Police intervened, it only added to another twist in the violent drama.
Ferindiue’s thoughts rushed to Dora and her safety. He recalled their last week’s conversation, as they were dining just before Dora left for her Political Science Lecture tour.
“There are differences between these tribes and there always had been and most probably there always will be,” Dora had said over plates of Clove and Olive Chicken and honey bread with cranberry jam. Lesskip’s ears pricked up at this, as he was pouring Carrot juice into the goblets. Lesskip, who was a Brunhalces, had been working for them since two years.
“Oh,” Ferindiue had groaned. “Don’t bring your Political Science back home.” He had laughed, looking into her eyes. Though she had smiled back, he could see in her eyes that she was serious and concerned.
“What?” He had asked.
“Things are going to change, Ferindiue,” She had replied, as she watched Lesskip go into the kitchen for some more salted baked prawns. “And it’s going to get a lot uglier.”
They had been thoughtfully silent for the rest of the meal.
But the political and social drama had not been so simple. The political situation and social security was changing from worse to worst. The riots were becoming deadly. It was a nightmare for every citizen until Geruyt Larkegh rose in the politics. He had a father from an aristocratic Hulghux family and a mother from Brunhalces, who had worked as a classical Brunhalces performer, travelling across the country with the troupe.
When times changed and most of the musicians had turned to the new kind of entertainment that seemed to earn more and attract more audiences, she had even more firmly fixed her arts on the traditional music. Soon, people began noticing her. They supported her love for nationalism and the Brunhalces began seeing her as a symbol of Brunhalces nationalism. But she had refused to get into politics and had then shocked everyone by marrying a member of the Hulghux aristocracy. Some called it a fraud by first displaying Brunhalces solidarity and then marrying a Hulghux. Some had said she had done it for money. Others had called her a disgrace for the Brunhalces.
Simply she said, “I had never preached Brunhalces solidarity anywhere. My music was Brunhalces, but first, I am a citizen of this country. I cannot let the differences between our tribes affect my personal life.”
Her son, Geruyt Larkegh, who had been fully trained in Brunhalces music, said the influence of his mother in his life had convinced him that he was a Brunhalces by blood and thus he advocated educational and economic progress for his tribe. He tried for a place in the political jigsaw.
“But,” he said, “Our progress shall only come from dignified means and hard work and unity. We shall not let violence and enmity for our fellow citizens threaten the pure name of the Brunhalces. Riots never helped us develop, and they never will. We will stand in peace as we progress.”
It was a strange time for them. Here was a man whose mother almost had a political scandal and a Hulghux aristocrat for a father. Now he preached nonviolent progress for the Brunhalces. But for some reason that would always puzzle the political scientists, his fame grew and the Bruhalces went from trusting him to hailing him as a saviour for their tribe. Riots did not stop, but they surely decreased. The ray of hope began to shine through, or so they thought. But the drama took a sharp turn as Larkegh was murdered grotesquely, days before a major election.
Then, all hell broke loose. Very few of the Brunhalces remembered the nonviolent thoughts of their ‘saviour’. They vowed to avenge his death. The riots grew as they never had before. Killings burgeoned. As in every home, fear sank into Ferindiue’s and Dora’s lives. Ferindiue closed down his business for a while. Dora’s University closed down for a few weeks. People went to the supermarket armed with knives and pepper sprays. In a single trip, they shopped the necessities for two months. Sleep was shallow and fitful; their days were edged with uncertainty.
For Ferindiue and Dora, topping up the stress and anxiety was their growing unborn child. For them though, this pause in their everyday gruelling schedule was a chance to bond their relationship by making up for the time they never had spent together in months. They were amazed at spotting minor changes in each other, discussing about things that meant nothing in war, surprised at how they had missed all this. They sat at home, wanting to run away from all this, but the reality had no escape. The reality out there was a lot darker, because they lived with a truth they did not want to live with.
Dora’s full name was Dora Lyes Larkegh. She was the sister of Geruyt Larkegh. In the eyes of people, she had followed the footsteps of her mother and ‘sinned’ by marrying Ferindiue, a Hulghux.
But she had never taken any sides. She had a doctorate in Political Science and History, and was a well-known professor at the National University. She constantly toured around the country to give lectures, fearlessly but humbly preaching the truth to which one has to ultimately come to: peace. She wanted to lead a simple life, trying to seek out all that a human naturally seeks: happiness, acceptance, fulfilment and love. Amid the recent dark events, she had even denied government security.
Famously, she had once said: “This war is surely a complex thing from all angles. But two things about this legendary rivalry of the Brunhalces and the Hulghux are very simple: one, that it will end as nobody’s victory and two, that ultimately and hopefully when this ugliness ends, we’ll see the answer very simple and clear on the horizon. And we’ll regret it. Not because we did not know it before, but because we had it in our hands and we dumped it for other seemingly bold and great weapons to kill each other. That answer is Peace.”
Presently, Dora’s lecture tour that was to begin in Versak had been planned weeks ago. But, she thought, it had to be cancelled now. The Dean of her University surprised her by saying no.
She pleaded, saying it was impossible right now, but he said it had taken weeks for the people to arrange for it and make it a safe gathering. If she would not turn up, it would not be a good idea. She had taken that as a warning.
And Ferindiue had to let her go. She promised to call every day, but Ferindiue knew that wouldn’t happen. She would as usual be too busy. For a week, Ferindiue had stayed at home, watching movies and browsing through dusty albums, while Lesskip cooked and cleaned. But a couple of days ago, Lesskip, who had always been quiet, spoke.
“Times are not good, Mr Ferindiue. I’d rather leave.”
He did not object. The next morning, before he woke up, Lesskip had left. Somewhere, he felt that this had been bound to happen.
The next day the news made Ferindiue choke on his morning coffee. Fresh riots and clashes had broken up in Hulte, Versak. The very place where Dora had a lecture to deliver. He tried to reach her on her mobile, and she finally answered.
“Sorry, Ferindiue. I was just…”
“When’s your lecture?”
“Tomorrow,”
“Oh just never mind, you’re not giving the damn lecture anyway.”
“Ferindiue, what on earth are you…”
“Are you blind? There are clashes out there…”
“I know. But the police have half-ended it. By tomorrow, it will be quiet…”
“Dora, please. I know how important it is to you, but you are more important to me than that…”
“Ferindiue, I have learnt something just a while ago. When I stepped out of our home last week, whatever was destined…see, whatever is written in my fate will happen. Nobody can stop that. We are not safe anywhere, Ferindiue. I know very well, and I trust that you understand.”
And the phone went dead. Swearing, Ferindiue smashed it across the table.
That very night, the government had to announce a curfew, but the Brunhalces rebels broke out into the streets of Versak again. Then, within a few hours, rebels hit the streets of Hoople, where Ferindiue was preparing to go to bed. He had switched off the news channel, vexed and cranky.
Then it happened in the kitchen, where he was pouring out some water for himself just before going to sleep. The window pane smashed and the bullet penetrated through his right arm. It was a thick bullet, and the blood stained through everything.
He fell to the ground and a few more bullets were fired through the glass. Screaming, gunfire, chaos.
He sat there, writhing in pain, unable to do anything. The phone was in the living room; he had to forget the idea.
He stood up, with effort, only to fall down again as the gunfire roared again. He whispered a prayer. Dora. What a fool he had been to let her go. He sat there, wheezing through his teeth, thinking. Half an hour later, the front door crashed open. Ferindiue held his breath. There were six masked men who crashed in, long gleaming rifles in their arms, yelling and aiming at this and that, smashing whatever came in their way. They spotted Ferindiue in less than ten seconds. One of them aimed at him. Ferindiue instinctively tried to move away.
Some broke the cupboard doors open, searching for cash and valuables. Others shot at the television and windows. Ferindiue tasted something he had only felt all along these times: fear. Raw, naked fear. He preferred to close his eyes.
The intruder aiming at him was standing there, frozen. His eyes revealed nothing.
“Kill him,” One of the intruders muttered casually.
But then the intruder removed his mask and kept down the rifle. Ferindiue choked.
“Lesskip?!”
“Mr Ferindiue.”
“Please leave me alone,” Ferindiue begged.
“The police killed my brother last night. I had to join the rebels.”
Lesskip saw Ferindiue staring at the Brunhalces logo on his T-shirt. Blood stains were apparent across it.
“What’s the drama?” The intruder spat. A couple of them ran upstairs and others continued with their smashing.
Ferindiue stopped breathing. His heart skipped a beat.
Then Lesskip spoke, not to Ferindiue, but to the intruder. “The Larkegh woman,” he asked. “She’s dead?”
“You mean the professor at the Hulte lecture auditorium?”
Lesskip nodded.
“That’s right. She was shot dead before she could talk any of her nonsense. And you better put your mask back on and get along. We have work.” He muttered angrily, rummaging through the refrigerator.
Lesskip put on his mask. Ferindiue stared stupidly.
Suddenly, there was an explosion outdoors. Yelling, the men rushed outside, their rifles clutched hard against their chests. Lesskip turned around, caught off guard. His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. Then he looked down at Ferindiue. They were alone in the room, amid the debris of recent violence and blood, in the wake of an explosion. Dora was dead.
“I have not come here to kill you,” He said. Then, in a quieter voice Lesskip said, “Yet, it is not my duty to save you.”
The expression across his face was rigid. For some reason, Ferindiue believed him. There was nothing Lesskip would lie to him for. Dora’s face floated across his mind, and he imagined her blood staining her clothes, her papers. He imagined her hair strewn across her face, her glasses broken.
“That answer is peace.”
With more pain he thought of their unborn child, lifeless now.
Lesskip had masked himself again. He had picked up his rifle and was walking out.
Ferindiue yelled for him. When Lesskip walked in again, he said, “Kill me,”
Lesskip hesitated for a while. His eyes took in Ferindiue’s tears and the blooded wound.
“There’s nothing left for me here, Lesskip. I want none of this ugliness anymore. Do one last favour and make this easier for me.” Ferindiue begged.
Lesskip picked up the rifle and aimed at Ferindiue. “This one’s for my brother,” he muttered.
The rifle roared once and Lesskip walked out of the broken front door into the danger and gunfire.
The Bullet for Ferindiue(Tahameem Sultana)
Ferindiue clutched the gunshot wound on his arm tightly, the blood seeping through his fingers. He had turned off the television a while ago and the house was quiet, unlike the outdoors.
His breath was getting jagged and uneven, the tears in his eyes stinging with pain. He tried to stand up and reach for the kitchen cabinet where Dora usually kept the bandages, but the ensuing violence out of his window intimidated him. Staying low was a good idea right now. But he had to bandage the wound to prevent the bleeding from getting worse. He tried to tear up his t-shirt, but the pain made it difficult to tear through the fabric. He could hear gunfire now, and more screams. The screeching of car tires. Dogs barking. Smoke and fear in the air. He winced as the strain grew.
It had been going on for days, these rumours about upcoming violence. Over coffee mugs and newspapers, people talked about the restlessness among the Brunhalces, the tribe of arts and craftsmen in his country, who had always been economically and educationally backward, presently most of them being thrown into domestic work and hotel services and even prostitution, as their work became unsalable in the modern economy. Education was a long process and the change in the market was too fast. Suddenly poverty, homelessness, crime and drugs rose at an alarming rate. The Brunhalces protested against the Hulghux, their economically socially, educationally better counterpart tribe. They blamed the Hulghux for their economic depression. This was not new.
Since centuries, the social friction was always imminent among the two tribes, and nothing, not even the fast modernism had changed it. In fact now, as the current situation showed, it had only made things worse. The friction had become spicy and hot in the last couple of years, especially as the unemployment rose among the Brunhalces. Protests and curfew grew common. Safety had become an issue. A few months ago, riots had broken out in the capital Versak. And now, in Hoople, the city where they lived.
The government Police force was essentially Hulghux, and the riots were set ablaze even more. The killings and riots were uncontrollable. The police were stuck in an ugly position, most of them being thrown in a dilemma to choose between a tribe and their duty. Whenever the Police intervened, it only added to another twist in the violent drama.
Ferindiue’s thoughts rushed to Dora and her safety. He recalled their last week’s conversation, as they were dining just before Dora left for her Political Science Lecture tour.
“There are differences between these tribes and there always had been and most probably there always will be,” Dora had said over plates of Clove and Olive Chicken and honey bread with cranberry jam. Lesskip’s ears pricked up at this, as he was pouring Carrot juice into the goblets. Lesskip, who was a Brunhalces, had been working for them since two years.
“Oh,” Ferindiue had groaned. “Don’t bring your Political Science back home.” He had laughed, looking into her eyes. Though she had smiled back, he could see in her eyes that she was serious and concerned.
“What?” He had asked.
“Things are going to change, Ferindiue,” She had replied, as she watched Lesskip go into the kitchen for some more salted baked prawns. “And it’s going to get a lot uglier.”
They had been thoughtfully silent for the rest of the meal.
But the political and social drama had not been so simple. The political situation and social security was changing from worse to worst. The riots were becoming deadly. It was a nightmare for every citizen until Geruyt Larkegh rose in the politics. He had a father from an aristocratic Hulghux family and a mother from Brunhalces, who had worked as a classical Brunhalces performer, travelling across the country with the troupe.
When times changed and most of the musicians had turned to the new kind of entertainment that seemed to earn more and attract more audiences, she had even more firmly fixed her arts on the traditional music. Soon, people began noticing her. They supported her love for nationalism and the Brunhalces began seeing her as a symbol of Brunhalces nationalism. But she had refused to get into politics and had then shocked everyone by marrying a member of the Hulghux aristocracy. Some called it a fraud by first displaying Brunhalces solidarity and then marrying a Hulghux. Some had said she had done it for money. Others had called her a disgrace for the Brunhalces.
Simply she said, “I had never preached Brunhalces solidarity anywhere. My music was Brunhalces, but first, I am a citizen of this country. I cannot let the differences between our tribes affect my personal life.”
Her son, Geruyt Larkegh, who had been fully trained in Brunhalces music, said the influence of his mother in his life had convinced him that he was a Brunhalces by blood and thus he advocated educational and economic progress for his tribe. He tried for a place in the political jigsaw.
“But,” he said, “Our progress shall only come from dignified means and hard work and unity. We shall not let violence and enmity for our fellow citizens threaten the pure name of the Brunhalces. Riots never helped us develop, and they never will. We will stand in peace as we progress.”
It was a strange time for them. Here was a man whose mother almost had a political scandal and a Hulghux aristocrat for a father. Now he preached nonviolent progress for the Brunhalces. But for some reason that would always puzzle the political scientists, his fame grew and the Bruhalces went from trusting him to hailing him as a saviour for their tribe. Riots did not stop, but they surely decreased. The ray of hope began to shine through, or so they thought. But the drama took a sharp turn as Larkegh was murdered grotesquely, days before a major election.
Then, all hell broke loose. Very few of the Brunhalces remembered the nonviolent thoughts of their ‘saviour’. They vowed to avenge his death. The riots grew as they never had before. Killings burgeoned. As in every home, fear sank into Ferindiue’s and Dora’s lives. Ferindiue closed down his business for a while. Dora’s University closed down for a few weeks. People went to the supermarket armed with knives and pepper sprays. In a single trip, they shopped the necessities for two months. Sleep was shallow and fitful; their days were edged with uncertainty.
For Ferindiue and Dora, topping up the stress and anxiety was their growing unborn child. For them though, this pause in their everyday gruelling schedule was a chance to bond their relationship by making up for the time they never had spent together in months. They were amazed at spotting minor changes in each other, discussing about things that meant nothing in war, surprised at how they had missed all this. They sat at home, wanting to run away from all this, but the reality had no escape. The reality out there was a lot darker, because they lived with a truth they did not want to live with.
Dora’s full name was Dora Lyes Larkegh. She was the sister of Geruyt Larkegh. In the eyes of people, she had followed the footsteps of her mother and ‘sinned’ by marrying Ferindiue, a Hulghux.
But she had never taken any sides. She had a doctorate in Political Science and History, and was a well-known professor at the National University. She constantly toured around the country to give lectures, fearlessly but humbly preaching the truth to which one has to ultimately come to: peace. She wanted to lead a simple life, trying to seek out all that a human naturally seeks: happiness, acceptance, fulfilment and love. Amid the recent dark events, she had even denied government security.
Famously, she had once said: “This war is surely a complex thing from all angles. But two things about this legendary rivalry of the Brunhalces and the Hulghux are very simple: one, that it will end as nobody’s victory and two, that ultimately and hopefully when this ugliness ends, we’ll see the answer very simple and clear on the horizon. And we’ll regret it. Not because we did not know it before, but because we had it in our hands and we dumped it for other seemingly bold and great weapons to kill each other. That answer is Peace.”
Presently, Dora’s lecture tour that was to begin in Versak had been planned weeks ago. But, she thought, it had to be cancelled now. The Dean of her University surprised her by saying no.
She pleaded, saying it was impossible right now, but he said it had taken weeks for the people to arrange for it and make it a safe gathering. If she would not turn up, it would not be a good idea. She had taken that as a warning.
And Ferindiue had to let her go. She promised to call every day, but Ferindiue knew that wouldn’t happen. She would as usual be too busy. For a week, Ferindiue had stayed at home, watching movies and browsing through dusty albums, while Lesskip cooked and cleaned. But a couple of days ago, Lesskip, who had always been quiet, spoke.
“Times are not good, Mr Ferindiue. I’d rather leave.”
He did not object. The next morning, before he woke up, Lesskip had left. Somewhere, he felt that this had been bound to happen.
The next day the news made Ferindiue choke on his morning coffee. Fresh riots and clashes had broken up in Hulte, Versak. The very place where Dora had a lecture to deliver. He tried to reach her on her mobile, and she finally answered.
“Sorry, Ferindiue. I was just…”
“When’s your lecture?”
“Tomorrow,”
“Oh just never mind, you’re not giving the damn lecture anyway.”
“Ferindiue, what on earth are you…”
“Are you blind? There are clashes out there…”
“I know. But the police have half-ended it. By tomorrow, it will be quiet…”
“Dora, please. I know how important it is to you, but you are more important to me than that…”
“Ferindiue, I have learnt something just a while ago. When I stepped out of our home last week, whatever was destined…see, whatever is written in my fate will happen. Nobody can stop that. We are not safe anywhere, Ferindiue. I know very well, and I trust that you understand.”
And the phone went dead. Swearing, Ferindiue smashed it across the table.
That very night, the government had to announce a curfew, but the Brunhalces rebels broke out into the streets of Versak again. Then, within a few hours, rebels hit the streets of Hoople, where Ferindiue was preparing to go to bed. He had switched off the news channel, vexed and cranky.
Then it happened in the kitchen, where he was pouring out some water for himself just before going to sleep. The window pane smashed and the bullet penetrated through his right arm. It was a thick bullet, and the blood stained through everything.
He fell to the ground and a few more bullets were fired through the glass. Screaming, gunfire, chaos.
He sat there, writhing in pain, unable to do anything. The phone was in the living room; he had to forget the idea.
He stood up, with effort, only to fall down again as the gunfire roared again. He whispered a prayer. Dora. What a fool he had been to let her go. He sat there, wheezing through his teeth, thinking. Half an hour later, the front door crashed open. Ferindiue held his breath. There were six masked men who crashed in, long gleaming rifles in their arms, yelling and aiming at this and that, smashing whatever came in their way. They spotted Ferindiue in less than ten seconds. One of them aimed at him. Ferindiue instinctively tried to move away.
Some broke the cupboard doors open, searching for cash and valuables. Others shot at the television and windows. Ferindiue tasted something he had only felt all along these times: fear. Raw, naked fear. He preferred to close his eyes.
The intruder aiming at him was standing there, frozen. His eyes revealed nothing.
“Kill him,” One of the intruders muttered casually.
But then the intruder removed his mask and kept down the rifle. Ferindiue choked.
“Lesskip?!”
“Mr Ferindiue.”
“Please leave me alone,” Ferindiue begged.
“The police killed my brother last night. I had to join the rebels.”
Lesskip saw Ferindiue staring at the Brunhalces logo on his T-shirt. Blood stains were apparent across it.
“What’s the drama?” The intruder spat. A couple of them ran upstairs and others continued with their smashing.
Ferindiue stopped breathing. His heart skipped a beat.
Then Lesskip spoke, not to Ferindiue, but to the intruder. “The Larkegh woman,” he asked. “She’s dead?”
“You mean the professor at the Hulte lecture auditorium?”
Lesskip nodded.
“That’s right. She was shot dead before she could talk any of her nonsense. And you better put your mask back on and get along. We have work.” He muttered angrily, rummaging through the refrigerator.
Lesskip put on his mask. Ferindiue stared stupidly.
Suddenly, there was an explosion outdoors. Yelling, the men rushed outside, their rifles clutched hard against their chests. Lesskip turned around, caught off guard. His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. Then he looked down at Ferindiue. They were alone in the room, amid the debris of recent violence and blood, in the wake of an explosion. Dora was dead.
“I have not come here to kill you,” He said. Then, in a quieter voice Lesskip said, “Yet, it is not my duty to save you.”
The expression across his face was rigid. For some reason, Ferindiue believed him. There was nothing Lesskip would lie to him for. Dora’s face floated across his mind, and he imagined her blood staining her clothes, her papers. He imagined her hair strewn across her face, her glasses broken.
“That answer is peace.”
With more pain he thought of their unborn child, lifeless now.
Lesskip had masked himself again. He had picked up his rifle and was walking out.
Ferindiue yelled for him. When Lesskip walked in again, he said, “Kill me,”
Lesskip hesitated for a while. His eyes took in Ferindiue’s tears and the blooded wound.
“There’s nothing left for me here, Lesskip. I want none of this ugliness anymore. Do one last favour and make this easier for me.” Ferindiue begged.
Lesskip picked up the rifle and aimed at Ferindiue. “This one’s for my brother,” he muttered.
The rifle roared once and Lesskip walked out of the broken front door into the danger and gunfire.
- Share this story on
- 7
COMMENTS (0)