FICTION STORY

                                               "ONE BULLET"

I saw my 27th birthday during the war period of 1960s; it was a cruel defeat to my country. Even we had cannons and automatic triggering guns; we also had some betraying enemies at our path of travel. I joined the army the same year war had started. I was posted in my country’s border to fight them. Those countries which were at my borders betrayed us to fall.

Me and my friends were sleepless those days to tackle them, but all in vain. They had good technique and man power to crush us. I joined the quick force attack team to go near the border line to fire my bullets on them. Many native public’s died as bombs cleared most of the places in the head of the country.

Our crew advanced but disappointment remained with us. We had a company of sorrow and death which had already weakened our soul thinking. Brains dint work but our fingers pulled the trigger even for a rain deer. We were afraid of death as we were young to life. But mother’s soil gave lot of energy to join hands and fight.

Finally after a week, I and my friend were the remaining war fire in the border. We had guns devoid of bullets. I had a shot gun with only one bullet remained. Enemy’s force approached us as fast lightening; we couldn’t have enough power with us to fight. We were lethargic and wounded badly with weather which played a major part as weapon.

We made our bullet proof as hut and slept that night. We knew there were some snipers ranging on us to fire. But eyes slept that night as we know the result of the war. The day when I woke up I was alone without my friend who was traveling to heaven. The cold weather and gun shot in his leg made him to drown to earth.

I am alone all the way with one final bullet in my hand gun. That day was very mysterious and sad as our country accepted the loss in the war. The armies are withdrawn from the borders. But I remained there, I had a plan which may be complex but easy to execute. I had one bullet to plunder a life on the enemy’s side. I didn’t want to loose that golden bullet to stay in the gun.

I knew a commander’s name, who was in charge of the war in the enemy’s side. My legs got tore when I walked all the way to the enemy’s border. I was aiming and searching the commander to fire at him. I desperately needed some soul with me to fight. I saw his head coming out of his hut to view the surroundings that night. My eyes and gun dint sleep that night as result is suspended until morning.

The moment came I was aiming at his head and got ready for a shot. My hands shivered as frosting cold hit me bad. I supported my right hand with other; one bullet would make the difference if we have enough courage in heart. But the brute less commander found there was a shot awaiting him. He smells the situation good, but not the best. He was searching aside to save himself, from night my posture dint change as that was my aim to kill him.

I stood up and aimed at him, he had a pistol to shoot at me. He was quick to fire but not the perfect shot, I too fired at him with lots of aim. My bullet had hit him on his fore head and he died. And the bullet came on me had hit on my right hand. I escaped for life as enemy’s army men enjoyed for their victory. I was writing with my left hand even though a right hander, with a clip to hold my papers, as I lost my other one on the gun shot. My writings may not be clear but the words had full of satisfaction and happiness. As killing doesn’t provide happiness, nevertheless it provides when it buys hundred smiles.

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                                                                                       SOURCE BY-CHANDRAGANESH.V

PUBLISHED BY-OURHELLO.COM