Tag: PrincyKiran

Fated Collision At Crossing

May 23  |  Princy Kiran

It all began with a collision at the bustling pedestrian crossing.

On that public holiday, the pavement seemed to breathe easy while I battled an energy slump. Outside my duplex, a sunflower head poked out of its bed and I brushed it aside. Nibbling on pocketed almonds, I mentally listed to-dos: grab a ginormous latte, complete the client mandate, indulge in a pint or three. Simple pleasures.

The midday sun cast shadows over the zebra lines as I patiently waited for the walk signal to blink orange. An impatient man darted across the black and white markings. His hurried feet struck the concrete, echoing a sense of urgency. His right arm concealed something inside his buttoned-up jacket. As our shoulders bumped, the acrid stench of alcohol fouled my space.

Clenching his teeth, the man muttered. “You piece of…” His voice muffled by the cacophony of the streets. I bore into his space, fist curled, shoving, meeting tension etched into his eyebrows.

I blinked. Panic surged through me as I watched the scene unfold in slow motion. The man’s eyes widened in shock as his face struck the unforgiving pavement, the crack sound sickening. Blood pooled beneath him. A cracked syringe slipping from his open palm. He choked. The hooting warned of the traffic light’s change from cautious red to careful green. His body went slack, then stilled on asphalt, pupils disappearing inside his head, lifeless. A woman cloaked in a crimson coat strolled past, oblivious to the chaos, throwing me a quick smile. My spine stiffened.

“Run,” urged the voice in my head, primal instinct urging flight. But conscience anchored me in place until I grappled with the gravity of the situation and sprinted toward the crossing end. Crowds of onlookers now alerted of a motionless body gathered. I peered over their heads. An inspector flustered for information questioned my account, then escorted me to the police station.

“You’ve never met Mr. Achrodge?” Inspector Stan stared cold.

Enduring hours of relentless interrogation, I grunted a weary, “No.” My mouth parched with anxiety.

“Miss Lany, he had a hidden syringe filled with poison. You collided with him, and it jammed into his skin, resulting in an overdose. You claim it was an accident?”

“Yes, it… sounds unbelievable, but it’s what happened.”

“You were on your way to the gym, on the other end?”

“Again, I got confused, direction-wise. I waited to report!” My voice cracked.

“You did. Didn’t want to look guilty, eh?” Stan shouted.

Stan’s tone, accusatory, probing for cracks in my story. Fear gnawed at my lies.

“My IT colleague just notified me that the traffic cameras glitched at the time of the incident, and well, there are no recordings!” Inspector Stan banged the wall, the bulb holder trembling.

A blessing, indeed, my instinct swelled.

“I need my lawyer and bottled water,” I requested calmly.

Back in the apartment, I shredded the client’s enveloped directive into pieces.

Bump into man with his hand inside jacket at Paine Stand traffic signal on 16th May, 12.30 p.m. Act terrified for cameras as you’ll be graded based on your actions and reactions.

My regrets about clicking the dark web link recruiting unemployed orphans evaporated. I fit right into the job, as evidenced by the stack of cash sitting on my kitchen counter – a million bucks worth for an unemployed woman on the brink of eviction. I twist open a beer bottle, sipping in peace.

On the twenty-first day, a knock on my door. An envelope rested on the floor. The stranger in the crimson coat winked as she snipped my sunflower’s head.