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Villainous Villainy 4: Destiny

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Nouns: Crib Actor Lumber Star Teaching Keyboard Banana Shoelace Pills Knife

They would not have been said about the child, that he’d be of any danger to society, either of the old solemn faces hovering above the newly built crib. They would not have foreseen anything beyond the beauty of the child, as the smell of varnish wafted into their flared nostrils. The visitors gathered within the warm, wooden abode, experiencing the last of the setting sun streaming golden rays into the room, illuminating the bare room. The child was but a babe of deep aquamarine eyes and a swirling crown of dark tresses atop his skull – at the foot of his bed sat a crudely moulted statue of a clown, the jester…an actor for someone’s amusement.

The young man worked on a piece lumber with a carving knife and watched a lone star standing still in the darkened sky. The wooden bench he sat upon, looked out towards a stone building in a deserted stretch of dried grassland; a billboard to the side displayed an open book with the words “Where We Do The Teaching” scribbled along the bottom in dark print. The young man looked down each side of the deserted street, standing when he was sure it was safe; in one fluid movement he had pulled the scarf on his neck up to cover the lower part of his face while speedily moving across the street in a crouch. Stealthily he tracked his way through the field, not caring that his feet crunched dried grass underfoot for no one was around to hear him; the single light shining from one of the lower offices and the lonely car in the parking lot was exactly what he’d been hoping. As he approached the building, he slowed his pace down, his trained senses picking up the clatter of the keyboard as someone typed away furiously and the smell of smoke surely from a cigarette. He approached the window, thankful that it was open and thereby saving him the trouble of sneaking into the building the old fashioned way; once under the window, he pulled out his cellphone and held down one of the keys to speed dial a number. A moment later a ringtone went off within a building, its melodic tone broken by the high pitched babble with the only word comprehensible was the word “banana”. The frantic clatter of the keyboard continued nonetheless, eventually slowing down and then with a sigh from the typist, stopped completely. The sound of a chair scraping across the floor resounded and the footsteps of the typist faded away. The young man chanced a look into the window, taking the opportunity to slip into the building from the open window.

The room was chilly, the aircon humming loudly as it blew cold air into the wide room. The tiled floor gleamed from the glare of fluorescent lights, a glass ashtray glimmered on the desk beside the computer where a smoldering stub dwindled away; the smoke from the stub filtered out through the open window. The young man swept his eyes across the room, looking to find a place to hide and seeing nothing that would help; metallic cabinets stood to the far side of the wall beside a long wooden table littered with papers and another ashtray. On the wall behind him was a ceiling-high bookshelf with glass fronts; the only place to hide, the young man found, would be behind the door leading out. There was hardly any more time to think as a voice rose from the passage way, closer than the young man had anticipated and as noiselessly as he could, he shifted to hide behind the door, realizing from behind the door there would be no way to attack if the man moved to his desk. Now the young man could hear footsteps approaching the room and thinking quick, he crouched down and hastily began to untie his shoelace, thinking of using it to either distract the man or as a choking mechanism. The man entered the room with not so much as a break in his stride, moving to his desk and rummaging through the drawer, pulling out a knife of sorts, a stapler and some pieces of paper before picking up a bottle of pills. He turned around to head back out and noticed the young man crouching behind the door.

There was nothing more than a palpable second of realization before both men recovered from their initial shocks over seeing the other. The older man fumbled for the knife he knew he’d just pulled out, grey eyes wide and frantic at the sight of the intruder. The younger man was still fumbling with his shoelace, looking up to view the man to see if he’d moved when the man suddenly gasped

“It’s…you!” The man froze at the sight, giving the younger man the extra second he needed to loosen the last of the cord and sweep across the floor in one fluid movement. The older man jabbed the knife forward but he was too slow as the younger man side-stepped, twirled around the man while winding the shoelace around the older man’s neck.

“I’m glad you recognize me.” The younger man whispered into the older man’s ear.

“How could…how could I not.” The older man managed to choke out between gasps of breath from the tightening cord around his neck.

“Surely you thought the carved Jester would be a symbol of my destiny huh? Living for you and your company’s amusement while you watch on from your thrones?” The older man, although choking, burst into a fit of laughter turning into hard coughing as the younger man pulled the cord tighter.

“You…you think that…by killing us you… you escape your…your destiny? Ha ha ha!”

“What…what do you mean.” The young man whispered, his grip slackening.

“Ha…everything that you thought you did against us…everything you thought was in rebellion, was expected of you. You’ve been our Jester this whole time.” The older man’s laughter was cut short as the younger man cut it off with the shoelace. Still reeling from the the man’s words, he slipped back out the window and disappeared into the night.

____________

In response to:

In today’s challenge we’ll ask you to write a new post using some nouns from various sources: Your mission is to write a new piece that includes at least five nouns. You can write a paragraph, a story, flash fiction, a poem, a memoir, — whichever you desire. Bonus points for a whole, coherent story/narrative within your piece.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_writing_challenge/bradbury-list-twist/

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About Nthato Morakabi

Nthato Morakabi is a South African born published author working as a Junior Technical Writer for Everlytic and a freelance writer for Gamecca Magazine. He has published his short stories both internationally, and locally, hoping to publish a novel in the near future. He is an avid read, inspired blogger, and an aspiring digital artist.

2 responses »

  1. Pingback: Night Carnival [FLASH FICTION] | Ramisa the Authoress

  2. Pingback: Blueberry Muffins & Red Wine [a letter] | Ramisa the Authoress

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