As we walked out of the cubicle, I felt something wet and sticky when my hands were striding across her slender back, she felt heavier. I lifted my hand, blood started to coagulate at my hand. I pushed her off me, checked whether anything was wrong. My heart sank, her eye sockets were empty, hollowed out. I placed two finger under her nose, no breath, then to her pulse on the neck, no beating, she was dead. My composure broken out as if Armageddon hit Earth, I slumped to the ground, her dead body next to me, and let out a cry of sadness which turned revengeful. I mounted my Harley, with her dead body behind me, disembarked all the grief behind, drove us to the place when we first had our honeymoon which was her desirable burial point. I buried her at our usual spot where there were acres of flat lands of greens which met the sun during the day and showered with moon light during the night. I dug a hole, put her dead body in, spread some flowers, cherry blossoms-her favourite flower, covered it up, marked the spot with a boulder, engraving her name on it deeply, everything done with my bare hands which swollen after this ceremony.
Vengeance suppressed my cognitive sense, I wanted to assassinate the killer badly, let him or her experience what I was going through. Condolences were sent to me. Grief did not overwhelmed me, but vengeance did quite a decent job to me. I went detective mode for a few months in search of the killer, it was a cinch. When I was about to execute the killing scheme, a man came to visit me, it was her lawyer. He handed me a letter, presumably her last words for me. I tore open to red seal on the letter, flipped it opened frantically, a Walkman fell out of the letter with a piece of paper filled with her writing.
Don’t seek vengeance.
Get out of this job.
After three years, only listen to my last message to you.
I put my trust in you, Jason.
A shiver was sent down my spine, each words in the letter was written strongly, accentuated with utmost importance for me to obey, to fulfill the last will she had dropped off after her demise. It was her, I recognised it from the handwriting, I felt her voice beating against my ribs as if sending me a stern warning. I will. I answered meekly inside my heart after I had read and digested her last will.
Everything changed since then, I stopped smoking, drinking, seeking for vengeance, and stepped down from being one of the big-shots in this ‘industry’. The head of the convoy thought I had had enough of this, he had the savvy that I was utterly torn up from the inside out emotionally, not befitting in this ‘industry’ anymore. He let me go back to the banality of life, sworn that no one would kill me if I kept my mouth shut, I trusted him, he denounced me as his lackeys, he told me I could keep the bike as a trail of bread crumb to the past, and I was set free.
Three years passed in a heartbeat, nothing eventful occurred in my life, Kim Jong-Un was appointed as the supreme leader of North Korea, the end of Mayan calendar which sent a buzz worldwide, Barrack Obama was still the President of the United States, Linsanity happened, Lionel Messi retained his title as the best football player in the world, other things did not quite fascinate me.
The intermittent red blinks emitted from the gas level indicator signaled me that I should find a gas station to pump my ride up, fast. It would be a dread if my Harley ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere. There were no signboards of gas stations to be seen, anxiety grasped hold of me. As I was zipping through the road, a resplendence of the gas station was caught at the corner of my eye, I promptly turned to the dingy gas station.
The gas pump worked, this gas station was synonymous every year that I came, only one functioning gas pump which stood idly beside the broken one, the shade of the gas station was decrepit by time, pockmarked with holes, a small dilapidated hut was situated next to the shade, inside was a plastic chair which had lost a leg, a moss-covered desk, and a defective lamp which shimmered occasionally. I took a hiatus there as I did every year, it became my resting spot. I let my Harley chilled a little after three consecutive hours of work, I did not want the engine to be overheated. I reached over to the storage box at my Harley, pulled out a drinking bottle, settled down beside the hut, staring directly into the dark, dark sky which was illuminated by the moonlight and speckled with the twinkle, twinkle little stars.