THE BULLET

I was walking out of the house fiddling with the idea that a stray bullet, from nowhere, might pierce my heart. As I stepped out, I placed my right hand on my left breast and began tapping my index and middle fingers in rapid successions. Looking around, I saw that there were scantily scattered people, mostly women. A man was seated on what seemed like a park bench, under a Neem tree some distance away, his hands spread out on the top of the back of the bench in a relaxing posture. The stood women in groups of twos and threes signaled a keke napep (a tricycle) that stopped and after a moment speedily drove past them. The women disorganizedly started walking to where I had no idea about. Anyone would perceive that something was amiss in the environment.

Earlier, when I had just awoken, I received a call.

“How are you doing?” asked the voice

“I am good, sir.” I recognized the voice. It was an older cousin of mine living in the next city.

“I heard the road has been blocked, that someone was killed. Have you heard anything?” he sounded worried.

“No, oh! I haven’t heard anything yet. Maybe that happened last night. As of this morning, I’ve not heard anything…but I’ll try to ask.”

“Okay. If you find out, let me know.”

At the time he hung up I was close to a friend’s house. But he wasn’t inside, he was seated with some neighbors on a corridor opposite his house. He knew the language of this people better and must have heard something concerning the recent happening. I asked him and he told me that a soldier shot a driver that wouldn’t stop when they ordered him to.

“They said he misbehaved. He was driving a car with lots of gallons of oil. When he didn’t stop, they shot him.”

I was in rush. I called my older cousin and told him all I was told. Because I was in a hurry, I did not inquire further. Though, I didn’t understand that story, so also did my mother not get it when I narrated the incident. She was quite perplexed.

“If he was driving past them they could only have shot at his tyres. How did they manage to shoot him?”

“That’s what I am thinking. Or it could be that after he stopped and didn’t comply with whatever they asked him to do, and was about to move, they bursted his tyres with a few bullets and threatened him and when he proved otherwise, they shot him in the chest.”

It was after the long analysis of this story that I later stepped out, toying with the thought that I might be shot, too.

The bona fide members of the community were having a peaceful protest all the while I was discussing with my mother. I later learnt it wasn’t an all round peaceful protest, that the protesters had destroyed some police checkpoints, and the police station in the public market in which apprehended pickpockets used to get some good beating.

I was outside the house to go check if any of the stalls had opened. But none had. As I was returning, a herd of protesters were violently flocking my way. I looked up and saw that there were two armour cars lazily following the protesters. The cars began firing. I wanted to run but my legs were stiff, I was struck with overwhelming fear. I couldn’t just move. I was seized in this fright while the cars fired and some protesters fell dead and others ran past me for refuge. I began trembling, and fell face down. I saw that my left breast pocket was soaked in red. I turned my tired body over, my eyes were unreadily bulging out, my whole body was hot; like a scalding liquid was oozing out of my ears, like the hair in my nostrils were singeing; I felt all this in a flash. I saw one of the armour cars pass by, then I became blind. It was all dark.

*Fiction