Ghosts of the past - A Short Story

A peek into the life of a gangster.

“It’s been a long while, isn’t it? I suppose, 20 years”, I recollected as I sat slowly in the chair facing the serene sea. Once fast and steady hands were now beginning to age. Time destroys everything, after all.

Birds were flying in echelons, a beautiful work of nature, indeed. But these moments are interspliced with my past memories. I still remember, after my first shootout in the open, birds flew randomly, with noises filling in the silent void, which seemed dead silent until I fired my 9mm Glock.

It's been a while since I enjoyed something whole heartedly. It’s either my past haunting, the future with its unpredictability or the present throwing in random surprises. I’ve always known that I’m alone, but now, I really feel loneliness. Left with no one to trust and the whole city turning their back on me, I’m staring at the blank sea, with a lot of thoughts firing at me but able to focus on nothing.

At each point of my life, I won’t lie, “I saw a choice. A choice that could branch off into a different life. But I did what I did. Some would blame it on circumstances, but it’s still me behind the wheels”. I still remember the day I found a gun in the dark alley. And I couldn’t stand idle when they were beating everyone. Most of the people wouldn’t have chosen to take the gun and point it. But I did.

Years of repression came blasting through the barrels of the gun, and blood sprouting out of one’s legs. The gunshot echoed through the walls as they sprinted away.

I believe every bullet carries the name of its target. And, yes, I haven’t found the one for me yet. I’ve dodged some, got hit by some, but I know when my bullet comes for me.

We, humans, live and age within a blink of an eye, yet we’ve got our long ever-growing set of problems overshadowing the sheer beauty of the universe. With aspirations to become great, we run in this battlefield, getting hardened as clock ticks. Why couldn’t it just be a green playfield with bright sunshine, colourful butterflies. “It’s just our perspective. We see the things the way we want to”. Our mind is a cute little jester, isn’t it? The uncertainty of life indeed spices the things up. Everything happens on the spur of the moment.

For the first time in life, I really want to give up this life. A life filled with betrayals, hatred, and violence. “I could feel the darkness surrounding me, engulfing me down the spiral of madness. Maybe, I’m living in the darkness. Or am I the darkness itself?”, I wondered.

Each time a thought of turning back passes by, I get dragged back into this, messier than before, with no turning back. Guess, we got to live with the choices we make. Present is nothing but a series of consequences of the past.

I’m here leaning back on my chair, with the fleeting moments of my life flashing before my eyes. With a troubled soul, aging body, nearing foes, I felt it strongly than ever before. “It’s time to call quits.”

Suddenly, I heard a gunshot and a few people screaming. “I guess this one’s for me”. I grasped the pistol in my holster.

As I turned back, he stood a few feet away, pointing his gun at my head.

“Ghosts of my past”, I chuckled.

BAM! "

Published in Curioso'23 (The Annual Literary Club Magazine of PTU)