DARE THE ROAD

Splint seconds. Like a leopard hunting an antelope, so too was he, fast, where to, none knew, but it was straight ahead. He was falling people on the road and stands of goods of sweets and biscuits as he run. Behind him was a crowd after him. Eager were they to catch him. Shouts filled the air. Names were called. And as the calling continued, it brought life to those who were near, they too joined the shouting group. Like a spring board, they were awaken, like the cuckooing sound, they had arisen from their sleep. Their boring morning, with no luck on what or where they were. Mostly they were the touts, business was not that booming, it was later in the day when people had gone to work after all. It was not that active. Plus, it was not the holidays, where ferrying school children boomed with earning a lot of monies.

A corner he reached, for a moment he thought he had lost the chasers, but no, he was wrong, in a blink of an eye, they were there. It was back to the normal, the drama that continued, it was sort of a movie. For a second one might think it was a celebrity running away from fans who were demanding. If wishes were fishes, we would all cast nets, but naah, it was the contrary, what they carried meant business and the faces as they run after him was no joke, it was a serious look. They were like cannibals, waiting to eat on flesh, tear him down piece by piece.

It was a standstill, everything stopped, everybody wanted to see what followed next, and will he be caught? What will happen after that? Being the ordinary most people are and not wanting to miss such a moment of fame, with their phone, the clever ones, to put it correctly were recording. With a tap on the camera a video was unfolding, and depending on luck, with God as their guide better would follow. After all, is it not the scriptures that say the lazy should not eat, but they were hardworking, recording is no walk in the park. It required skill, you had to know how to shoot, have the basic knowledge of the sunlight position, good background and with enough settings to guide you through.

Their prayers finally had been answered, to catch him. The chasers got brave, one with the set skill of a shot put athlete threw a stone, and it landed on the back of he who was running. It slowed him down a bit. They were that close to catch him, hands had been stretched to grab his shirt, but composure he gained and instantly the race begun again. It was not over until it was over. The distance returned back to the initial 30 metres distance. That stone to the back gave the chasers braveness resulting to them throwing another. This one hit a vital point, the head, and they knew this was it, they had hit the jackpot for blood started oozing trickling down to the road covering it with its red stain. They got him.

They pushed him down to the ground, and like ballet dancers on stage, they were at it, move after move. Kicks, blows, slapping, headings, those with canes beat him, those with stones threw at him and others were all in, whatever they caught near them they used. Others saw bottles of mineral water near them and as a weapon it was used to inflict pain on him. A tire came, a jerry can of kerosene exposed itself, justice was to be served, but it was not his day yet, his time had not reached to leave mother earth. He had prayed while there on the ground to be saved, and God being the Perfect one, the Omnipresent answered his prayers. Police sirens were heard, tear gas canisters were suddenly thrown towards the crowd and they dispersed. They run for safety. The police, saviors as they are approached the man lying down on the ground, who was at a side crunch position, in pain, was sort of crying, sort of wailing, but no sound could be heard from him, he had begged enough mercy to the extent his voice cords gave up.

While all that was going on, the police helping the man, a lady was being interviewed.

“Good morning, we are Beatingaro TV, what is your name?”

“What happened here?”

“He stole a loaf of bread and a packet of milk from that supermarket,” she said while pointing to the nearest supermarket that was there.

Photo by Flo Karr on Unsplash

<The end is but a sparkle of other writings>

Abiyo Omar

Abiyo, born in Kenya, likes writing, dwelling on poems, scripts and philosophy. He posts in this website a short story on Tuesday and a poem on Saturday. He has a YouTube channel called Abiyo Omar where he posts Spoken Word. He also has another YouTube channel called Olryz Productions that features Swahili films. Abiyo by profession is a lawyer and a certified professional mediator.

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