This is the post excerpt.


I write poems, articles short stories and series.

I want to reach out to all the voiceless throngs in the world and let their voice be heard. Get deep inside your hearts and bring out the true emotions that lie within you.

In here, you will meet different people and different scenarios every Thursday. If it intrigues you so much, like, comment and share the links. But first, FOLLOW the account. Drag your friends along.

Lets get going.
©Rashid Hunt 2017




Darkness, the true darkness is not the absence of light. It is the conviction that the light was there and it is no longer there. That the light has to come to fix all that is wrong. That the light always returns, to show us things that are familiar, cars, humans, beds. Things entirely new, Grim reaper, demons. It shows us new possibilities and challenges us to pursue them. This time, the light shone on my hero. Our darkness runs deep and seems to swallow. But these heroes are always here at all times, to remind us that hope is real, that you can see it. All you have to do is look.

With all the brain matter scattered on the faces of the security detail, the commotion built up. I checked out of the Royal Hotel only to meet Cassie again. I felt her eyes penetrate my skin as she took the .50 from me. Sometimes the only way to get into someone’s head is to hit them with a sledge-hammer. I felt the hitting pain. I felt the avalanche of feelings inside her and decided to ignore it. More important things were on bay. I didn’t entirely trust Cassie, it is so disquieting to put all your eggs in one tiny frail of a basket. On the other hand, every blessing ignored is a curse. I played with the odds presented. The Smith and Wesson .38 Special was still with me. I gave it out. The job was over. I got the next taxi on the parkway and left before anything got out of hand. The mission was a success, the escape was marvelous. The execution, lovely. I got to Top Tank Hotel only to get the saddening news on TV that the minister for education was no more.

I got to the room, took a very fast shower and checked out. The airport was on strict, agile and vigilant security. Although I kind of felt the ants in pants I made it out of the four security check ups very safe. Well, you can’t stop what you can’t see of course. It was almost satirical when the cabin crew personnel wished me a safe journey and said I was welcomed again in Mexico.

I was solemn and reflective throughout the flight back. I thought to myself that death makes people a lot more aware of their lives. It was even funnier that on the time of death, one would still struggle hard to keep his life. Do we really want to live forever? What is the fun of living forever. It’s so emotionally tiresome. Our human endurance can not last us a lifetime. The essence of life is that any minute, your breathing may be curtailed. Knowing that death is nigh. This is what gives life a meaning.

My flight back to Belfast was faster that I expected. More relaxing and satisfactory. To lead a satisfactory life is to live with fear being a part of you. Pumping a lot of fear into someone until they snap. Until the fear saturates the mind and you become numb to fear. We call that the point break. The point where your fear becomes the master. It not about going about it for personal gain. It’s about being part of another life. Are we ready for that? Well, the aspect of courage is not that your heart should not quack but nobody else should know it does. Nobody else.

It was all serene in Belfast, everything so normal. Just a normal Saturday. Night had already fallen and I walked in the streets like I owned them. That’s the feeling you get when you know you have nothing that may compromise your movement if in any case you got lifted. Talking about compromise, I got home only to find someone sited on the stairs landing. She was female. Her areola looked familiar. I walked closer. If death was near, I would know. She stood up as I approached. I noticed her eyes were blood-red. The redness was born of long hours spent crying. It was Roisin. She watched me come. The situation was very awkward but I kept my cool. She had a box of pizza with her.

“I don’t remember ordering any pizza today”, I spoke candidly. She didn’t speak.  I took a glance at her and went ahead to open the door. “Can I come in?” she spoke so softly that saying no would feel like breaking her even more.

It was some minutes past 8pm and I was hungry so I thought the pizza would come in handy. We got in and I got to my phone. The first text I got was about a credit transaction made on my account. I smiled. “That must be someone you love” Roisin commented. I was stunned. I hated the fact that I was so transparent to this human. I changed the perspective. “What’s up? You look fucked up.” “My dad has been killed. He has been assassinated today.” Roisin said. “Damn, that’s bad.” I said while comprehending how our killing industry was advancing. “How did it happen?” I added. “He was going to a press conference in Malinalco. It’s in Mexico.” Roisin said between sobs. My pupils dilated. I felt some bitter saliva go down my gut. I hugged her. Gave her the shoulder. It was the first time I ever felt sorry for anyone since I started reasoning. I felt her pain. I felt her weakness.

Check out my other website at rashidhunt.writersnerve.allansacuity

©Rashid Hunt 2018




There is a very thin line between love, lust and infatuation. A few can distinguish the difference but most humans cannot. The concepts get even further blurry when there is some disposable pussies and influx of dicks. Pussy niggers get even more confused, especially when one can be absorbed into a clitoris for a whole night. Well, for a feminist, women rule the world but for a chauvinist, dicks are far more paramount. That’s the very reason why the population of women outshines that of men by more than a dozen times. It’s all God’s doing.

So many thoughts were still piling up while I was still comprehending the magnitude of the situation. The phone was still ringing. Then some bright light interrupted me. I raised my head. My gaze moved from the bed to the path that led to the bathroom. It was a glowing female body. It was blinding me. She was entirely naked. I was first amazed, then amused. All my reflexes were put on sudden halt. I was drawn to another world of fantasy. I got stuck in the exotic world. A world full of intense intimacy. I saw her kiss me. I felt her lips. My fantasy was curtailed by the lady coaking a gun. She had already concealed the heaven that I had seen. The phone was still ringing. My first words to her “nice trick.”

She looked down my torso, saw the bulge and gave a crooked smile. She switched the play. “Pick it up” she said, so candidly. She had a Smith and Wesson .38 special on my forehead.

“A blessing in disguise” I commented. “I won’t ask again Robert” now in a firmer voice.

Tequila was still calling. I picked it up and listened. My head was not in the call. I was calculating how I would take the Smith and Wesson .38 special from her. My calculations were perturbed by the familiar voice I heard. “Robert, this line is secure. The bag contains all that you require for tomorrow. Make sure to confirm execution before leaving. Half of the cash is in your account…” “Wait, what?” I interrupted. “You are too fast. Is it my Barret.50 Cal? And what’s with the female eventualities?”. I knew the voice was Abraham’s and he had some important information. “You are too slow. Your favorites are in the bag. And the girl who has a Smith and Wesson .38 special with her is yours for the night. Make the best out of it. However, the Barrett.50 Cal is loaded with one bullet, you only have one shot” He hang up.

I looked up and smiled. She handed back my gun and smiled. I opened the bag and confirmed his utterances. Things were getting harder each minute. She watched me go back and forth. She stood there. Silent. I went for my laptop. I saw the cash. It was there. She also saw it. She was stunned of course and all she could say was “wow.” I closed the laptop so she won’t see more. The door was still open. As I went for the door, she started undressing. She got on the bed. The door was now closed. I turned, looked straight to her eyes and said “Robert.” She giggled. “Well, I could have the pleasure of knowing your name.” I continued. “Oh, c’mon Allan. I know all about you. I came here on my own volition. I’m sorry for the unpleasant welcome. Come to bed, I’ll make it up.” She giggled again. I know it was foolish for me to hesitate but who gets served with gold on a silver platter?

Just like the juxtaposition of choosing stupidity over intelligence, I headed for the washroom to take out the heat. I got out to find dinner. She got us some fast foods. We traded stories as we ate. We talked mostly about the missions I’ve done and how excellent I have been. I told her I had never missed a target. We got so much attached with Cassie and we kicked it. We got hail Mary for like 2 hours and I wasn’t entirely exhausted. She did most of the job. I said most, not all. She was better than me of course, that’s what you get when you dedicate half of your life learning how to kill people and spending the other half killing for a living.

We both slept off and some bad dream woke me up earlier than expected. In that dream, Roisin and I were holding hands. Dancing. It was all night and we were in a cemetery. Dancing on our graves. It was creepy how a delivery girl would come to my head and dance. It was even more creepy when we danced on our graves. I left Cassie on the bed and got to my laptop. I confirmed the attendance of Miguel. I watched his videos more and remembered his moustache and the rings on his left fingers. I got my equipment, everything was in check. No faults.

My map, my calculations were all in my head. No tangible calculations. All of them, the execution, the escape. All of it. There’s no way something was going to be wrong. Cassie woke up to find me cleaning my Smith and Wesson .38 special “want to kill me darling?” she joked. “I want to have you for breakfast.” “Oh, you getting addicted. Your reputation allows you to get more than Cassie. The Kardashians are your level.” What better thing than a woman putting you on a pedestal?

The morning was glorious. Despite all that Cassie and I did, I felt some premonition of doom. My intuitions were telling me that something is entirely off. I scrapped it off since my paranoid self would ruin the moment. And Cassie had a good way of making me think of other human things. I felt relieved. Still, I didn’t go to Mexico to get laid. I woke up. Put my stuff in check. My flight back was at 1730 hours, approximately 2 hours after execution. With all that commotion built up and the time wasted at the 4 stops for security check up before boarding the plane, I wouldn’t have time to pack.

All was set and I left for Malinalco at 1500 hours. Maneuvered through some path ways and got to some restaurant to assess the situation. My bag pack with me. There was so much security and it was so much satirical that the Angel of death was there and they did not recognize him. I turned my gaze only to find Cassie coming. She was damn sexy and I hated her for being a distraction. She knew what I would say so she spoke first. She was brief. “Accommodate the back door.” She left. I knew where the backdoor was but the shot from there was quite risky. A reflection could expose me.

I took the drive way to the end of the cul-de-sac and got to the Royal hotel. The room I had booked yesterday was still unoccupied. It was half past 3 and I was running out of time. I got to the window. It was confusing that the only way to get the view of the back door was if I made the shot from the balcony. It was not that hard considering that the room was at the top floor of a 21 storey building but that would expose me to the scorching sun. I had to make a decision. I took out my Barrett.50 Cal and confirmed the single bullet. I raised it and waited. Targeting both the front and the back door. There were so many cars but I knew his car. 20 minutes past and still his car was not there.

It was past time but I still waited. I couldn’t afford to fail the mission. As I thought how hard I worked and how far I came from, his car came in and the applause from people alerted me. Everyone got out but the sight of Miguel Garcia was still unconfirmed. I moved my Barrett.50 Cal to the back door just in time to see some security detail opening the door. I felt his presence. They moved as a unit but I noticed the silver rings shining on his left fingers. I had to make a calculated guess on where his head would be. I took a deep breath, held my lover tightly and released my baby. The bullet got through the wooden door and someone was down. I confirmed the rings on the fingers of the dead person. Perfect shot. Cassie was right. I smiled.

©Rashid Hunt 2018


Dearly beloved,

Its my sincere hope that this benedicted piece of paper finds you in your best moods; and that you are fairing on well at the other end of the country. You’ll be flabbergasted, no doubt, to receive this letter but I could not withhold myself from scribbling because of reasons best known to the High Deity. Well, we are just condemned to live in this world, as for the planning and how things would run chronologically, that’s for God.

I know that you might consider my handwriting so pathetic as my desk mate Joe Ngatia does but, that’s how I massage the truth with oils of words. However, for me this letter is a celebration, a final act of love, a quality which, in spite of my studies, in spite of tomorrow’s verdict (which you have no idea about but in the fullness of time you’ll hear about), I do possess in abundance.

Its been a while, hasn’t it? Usually I pour out a few words at this juncture to explain why I’ve not written to you for such an elongated period of time. I could, but I’m not going to. Words of excuse may seem boring at this stage and also a little bit pointless. This is because from being a desk mate I may be an inmate and if the judge is so much considerate, subject me to the chair which will not let me see the struggle again behind bars. At least that was my thought when I pleaded guilty. Promise me that you won’t cry.
I always treasure the day I met you and that was when I realized that the world was new and fishes flew in golden ponds while pigeons swam in sapphire skies. In the love we them shared have I found happiness, a true resting place, a shelter from the many storms that have buffeted my brief life. This may surprise you considering that our love was never consummated and that you may have possibly forgotten me, having not seen me these two years but it is logic that on the night before tomorrow I should write to you and pour out my consolement.

Have you ever been on the eye of a raging hurricane or in the middle of a fierce storm such that the storm destroys everything around it? Well, I was attracted by the storm in your eyes which inexorably pulls me towards you and I never gained the strength to resist.
For as much the reason for writing to you is unknown and the reason for refraining myself was also in absentia, the reason why I wrote to you in the near past was that the zeal and anxiety would grow in you so that every day, you may want me in the threshold of your being. I miss you. Actually, my dream was for us to have an extremely fabulous and outrageous wedding that will culminate to a humongous house on a hill-top in the leafy suburbs of Nairobi. That dream is no more valid.

I am not asking for your understanding nor sympathy, I need neither. What I want is for you to take care of yourself and I must confess that without you, the world would come to a standstill. I know you would weep for having lost the best but the only step is to move on. Don’t settle for a single star while there’s a whole galaxy to be explored.

I love you with all the strength of my tenacious mind. My heart is as light as the daylight which seeps stealthily into our darkened world. My time is up sweetheart. Its dawn. I send you all my love. Be a good girl.
Yours loving,

©Rashid Hunt 2018


My body is numb and weary

For I know not writing on paper

Papers may be strewn by the wind

But my body dies and lives with my writing
I know the prick is painful when I write

So the ink joins me in my fight

I ink my body to my sorrow

So I may get to see another tomorrow
The scent of a companion remains unknown

For I feel dejected, rejected and beaten

You now come by as a  confidant

To stand with me as I fight to my healing

But my pen is still bleeding and pleading 

In my writing I die, in my writing I am born

©Rashid Hunt 2018



A bullet will kill you in three ways. The first one. One shot on your lower abdomen that penetrates your liver, stomach or a major artery. It takes 10 to 15 minutes before you bleed out. Or you give in to a fatal hemorrhage. The second one. Any where on the chest. The bullet will tumble, lots of bones breaking. Separating. The heart or the arteries get hit. Blood pressure drops to zero. The final one is the kill shot. On your head. The bullet will open up your skull and disturb the serenity of your brain matter. You are dead before your brain can process what happened. Snipers change everything.
I was packing so hurriedly since Abraham Satraken had put me on an emergency flight that was to take off at 0530 hours on 18/7/2015. I barely slept at night. The emergency flight was to and fro. The return ticket was indicated that I would travel back to Belfast on Saturday, 19/7/2015 at 1730 hours. My time in Mexico was so limited. The mission was so abrupt and I felt the pressure. The difficulty. It would normally take me two weeks before execution to get the right spot to take the shot. This would entail calculating air resistance, getting the speed of the bullet and the distance the bullet will travel. All these were dependent on the gun I would use. This was uncertain since I was supposed to be entirely unarmed. I was also supposed to watch the target’s vehicle as so to know which car he will travel in, that is in case of tinted windows. How the car will be packed and from which side of the car he will get out. It was a whole load of calculations that I was supposed to do in 24 hours. It was extremely tiresome. I hated the mission already. But after all, I signed up for it.
I took a taxi through Maori highway. The driver deviated to another route which I later realised it was a shorter route to the airport. The atmosphere at Belfast International Airport was quite lovely and I had an exquisite trip. I watched so many videos of Miguel Garcia. I got familiar with every aspect of his being. I could recognise his smile without seeing his whole body. He had a moustache, protruding forehead and big eyes that would lead you to hate him at first sight.
I finally arrived at Mexico. Not so much jet lag as I had presumed. A taxi was sent specifically for Robert Bangford. I bought the local newspaper on my way to the hotel. News about the Minister of Education attending the press conference at Malinalco hit the front page. I got absorbed. Then I fell asleep.

“Mr Robert. We have arrived.”The driver confidently said.
It was barely two hours! I took out my bag and briefcase which had some clothes and a laptop respectively. I turned round and saw a banner written Toptank Hotel. I was taken to room 59, third floor.

The room was lovely. I thought of bringing a hoe, sometime. After all, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. But that part would come later. I checked the washroom, closets and under the bed to see if there’s any Assassins planted. I only trust my instincts. I sat on the bed. Took out my laptop. Copied the coordinates of Malinalco Conference Hall on a piece of paper and walked out. Unarmed. I only carried my keys and some cash. A taxi cab pulled up on the driveway and I got in. “Malinalco,” I coughed. And the engine was hot. I marked all landmarks that led to Malinalco from Toptank Hotel. I got to the hall and admired how spacious it was. As the amazing tall buildings impressed me, I wondered why I was supposed to assassinate the Minister of Education and not the damn President. Killing prominent people was quite fun. Drawing their lives was very exciting. They didn’t know when it was coming. How and when the lights will go out. I will know if someone is coming to take my life. And when they come, I will take theirs first. Even the angel of death knows, that’s why he doesn’t come. Or maybe I am the angel of death. Maybe. But I fear death. I fear death not because oblivion might lie beyond it but oblivion might not.

I got familiar with the neighborhood. Got in a cyber cafe to get a Google map of the location. I drew the plan, the roads, the landmarks. All the relevant information. I couldn’t establish for sure where it would be the most approximate position to make the execution because the guns and my bike were still uncertain. I walked on the subways, making turns in driveways and parkways. I programmed the routes in me like I was a native. It takes a great deal of ingenuity.
I always love night missions because the camouflage is easier. With here, so many people will flock the streets. This makes the security agile. The sun may also bring inconveniences for a reflection may be created. I stayed in Malinalco for the rest of the midmorning, through the afternoon and down to the dawn. I wanted to see the sun set. Having covered all aspects, I headed back to Toptank Hotel. As I alighted from the cab, I noticed the lights in my room were on. I checked in and took the stairs to the third floor. I was even more confused when I saw the door to room 59 slightly open. I pushed it wide and took cover. I waited. Nothing. I crouched and peeped. No one. Behind the door. No one. I saw a big bag on the bed. Beside it, a phone. Then I heard movements in the washroom. The shower was on. Before I made a step to the washroom, the phone rang. The caller’s name, Tequila.

© Rashid Hunt 2018



Time has been more or less like every physical entity. It is just that it has always been vaunted curative powers, since time immemorial. I always fed on it. I always embraced patience. I always waited. The correct time to strike was not to be speculated but established. That is better than blowing everything up. It saves on energy and also on time. Just as the words of a certain philosopher which go as “Be sure to put your legs in the right place, then stand firm.”

All these thoughts of time and optimism saturated my brain and a man who came from behind, taking my Smith and Wesson .38 special brought me back to reality. The other guy was still pointing the gun towards me. My heart was drilling through my ribs. I felt nauseated. For the first time in my life, I was afraid. I had to put my hands in my pockets as so these bozos won’t see them shaking. What gave me hope was that these guys were not cops. If they were, where are their badges? What bugged me the most is how they knew my name. Allan Cork McCummings was a fictional name. After the real me died.
The guy sank in my chair. He was rolling my Smith and Wesson .38 special in his finger as he made himself comfortable. He spoke. “Great job you did Marcus, I’ll take it from here.” No sooner had Marcus put down his aim than I turned him round and skillfully took his gun out of him. My left hand firmly on his neck and my right hand pointing the gun on his head.
“Wow Allan. Relax. We are here to talk.” The other guy spoke so candidly. He was still rolling my Smith and Wesson .38 special.

“Start talking before I blow his brains.” I said.

“Don’t do something you will regret.”

“No one tells me what to do.”

“I am Abraham Satraken.”

Abraham Satraken was the owner of the armoury where I ordered my guns and ammunition. We never met because the order is done online and the deliveries always go to a different address. Then I could pick up my parcel later on. Payment was made before deliveries. By bank.

” I know all my clients and since you’ve been a consistent buyer, I did a speed check on you. I have to know everyone so no one can turn on me. You have a great deal of skill, I’m impressed. ” He spoke with a face life had chewed on.

“What do you want?” I asked condescendingly. Holding Marcus even more firm.

“I have a proposal for you. I give you assignments. Fire arms on discount. Most of them will be international missions.”

“I work alone.”

“If you don’t want to be a part of it, you can do only this one. It has to be executed. It has to be perfect. It has to be you. I’m not begging, I’m insisting.”

“My pay?”

“Goes through me. There’s a good potato in it cork sucker.”

“I’ll sleep on it.” I said. Face expressionless.

“Great talking to you Allan Cork McCummings.”

“Next time. Get your formalities right. Its Allan Wolf.” I said as I let Marcus loose.

“There will never be a next time Allan Wolf. Give me your answer before today midnight. Anchor is up by midnight, don’t be late.” Abraham Satraken said while handing me my Smith and Wesson .38 special. He opened the door.

“Oh! Look who’s hungry. Pizza is here.” Abraham Satraken added.
Marcus snatched his gun and followed Abraham Satraken. I put my Smith and Wesson .38 special at the back and waited. For the pizza ofcourse. I had even forgotten that I had ordered pizza from Dick’s. Dick’s always delivered their pizzas at my doorstep every Thursday and Sunday night. At exactly 17 minutes to 10 o’clock.
Apart from gas, pizza was the only thing I paid by cash. The delivery girl always handed the pizza, took the cash and left. Today she spoke.

“Those guys have colder eyes than yours.”

I was silent. Still wondering if I was so transparent.

“You are the only one out of town who orders pizza at night.” I was silent.

“Your wall clock is 6 hours and 11 minutes ahead. Creepy.” That captured me.

“Hey observant woman, you making me uncomfortable.” Already feeling my gun. Prepared.

“Roisin,” she said. “Although it’s written on my tag.”

“Jack,” I lied. “Your cash is on the table.”

“Have a good night Jack.”

“Great night to you.” I faked a smile. I watched her drive away. I closed the door. I put off the lights.

I sat down and reflected on the day. It was fucked up. I had no ride. The thoughts of Abraham Satraken pissing on my face and Roisin shitting even more were disturbing. I knew death if I saw it. It wasn’t nigh. I kinda liked Roisin because she had been nice. She was beautiful and had a fine posterior to match with. For Abraham Satraken, it was more than blackmail. He was desperate and I was the only hitman who could deliver. If I ordered ammunition that day, someone had to die. That was clear and evident. 13 missions all successful. 13 and counting because I just got started. I looked at my wall clock and did the maths. It was 17 minutes to midnight. I took my laptop and typed an email to ASSAD, Abraham Satraken Supplies of Armoury and Deliveries. ‘I’m in.’ Almost immediately, a reply came.

Agent: Anonymous

Mission: Terminate the target

Date: 19/7/2015

Time: 1540 – 1550 hours

Target: Miguel Garcia

Mexico Minister of Education

45 years of age

Location: Malinalco at a press conference.
Hint: silver rings on fingers of left hand.
If you accept the assignment. Send ACCEPT.

Thank you.
©Rashid Hunt 2017


One evening when the sun was at its most beautiful state, I lay still and quiet at my required position. With my Barrett. 50 Cal in front of me, already in position. Relaxed. I also carried a Smith and Wesson .38 Special just in case some uncertainties came by. The orders I got before the mission were so clear. Rules were upheld. No names. Half of the payment made before the mission and completed when the mission was confirmed successful. Payments made by bank. My bank account was untraceable. Cash flows and activities erased every 17 seconds. The holder unknown. It was like it never existed, but it was there.
“Target heading your way. Do you copy?”

I hurriedly put aside the bread and packet of milk that I was eating while crouching in the deserted house. Some of the milk poured, but I didn’t care. The job was worth a pool of diamonds. The procession moved so slowly to their desired destination. Wherever the were heading. I didn’t care. All I knew was that someone in the inside was coordinating.

“Copy that.” I replied. I knew which car he will be driven in and at what position he would be sitted at. In the car. Although the windows were tinted. All closed. I could still see the target. It was like I had a form of power embedded in me. More of a strategist than sheer luck, the rays of the sun were alongside my aim. No reflection was created.
I was very sure the coordinator, who was female, didn’t know me. I always put my identity confidential. I worked alone. The tales of partners turning on each other and blowing each other’s brain matter off was not pleasing.
She started the count down from 17 down. When she was 5, she became quiet. I counted by heart. My finger firmly on the trigger of my lover. I released one of my babies and the perfect shot got the eye of the target and the bullet went through and out on the other side of the head. Bam! No air resistance. Perfect shot.

The fracas, noises, screams and uncontrolled pandemonium gave a chance for me to gather my equipment, put it in place, get on my motorbike. Ride away. No sooner had I fled than a black car was on my ass. I could see it from the side mirror how hard it was tailing me. Fuck! The nigger had security, agile security. They were on the verge of getting on my ass when I took out my Smith and Wesson .38 special and shot the driver dead. My aiming was stunningly accurate. It was exquisite. One shot one kill. Take the shot or lose the chance. Well I shot at them because I could not afford getting caught. I did something wrong. I carried the murder weapon. We were always supposed to leave it. That is one of the sniper rules. But I loved the Barrett. 50 Cal. This mind-blowing single shot, bolt-action weapon comes with a maximum fire range of 2600 metres. And, it can shoot through a wall! I called it my lover, I didn’t part with it. I even slept with it. It was this emotions that always made an assassin vulnerable.
The pursuers stopped, got out and shot at me, intently wanting to draw the life out of me. All this time I moved towards the suburbs, I pulled them to where there was less attention so my escape could be easier. Strategic retreat. I got into the Catullus Woods heading North. I dumped the motorbike in a hole, cleaned, no prints. Took a North Eastern bearing. I knew where it led.
It took me 13 kilometers to get to the Maori highway that led to my home which was situated at the outskirts of town. I got home just in time to get the 9 o’clock news. What hit the breaking news was the assassination of the tycoon. His picture was on the screen and a poem written under it. I felt the poem was familiar. I recalled it was a requiem by Robert Luis Stevenson. It apparently was my favourite.
As I finished reading the poem, a text popped up in my cell phone.

“$375,000 deposited for the account number 06678149256 at 9.17 pm on 17/7/2015.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. Before I sat down, I heard a loud knock on the front door. I thought of opening the back door to go check out the front door from the outside, it was safer. With my Smith and Wesson .38 special in my hand. No sooner had I opened the back door than a gun was raised and the muzzle on my forehead. My hands were up without being told to raise them. The gun did not freak me out. What freaked me out was what the one who bore the gun said.

“Allan Cork McCummings you are under arrest for the attempted murder of AbdulMutwalib Sagaf. What you say may and will be used against you in the court of law.”

©Rashid Hunt 2017