Face Twice

The metallic clang was resplendent in the hubbub of the city, people were pushing against each other, the vehicles were honking, filling in the uncanny orchestra of the banality of a concrete jungle. Lights were slight reflected by the tall glass structures, some were blocked by the haze, I was taking a sip of my morning joe in a cup sized thermos which was kept on my waist belt, ravishing the caffeine into my bloodstream, my daily dose of drug to keep me alive, to let me carry out my onus as a cop.

There was a concussion across the streets where the throng of people were still deluging into multiple directions. I saw the regulars that passed by the street, the elegant lady in shades wearing a pink hairband, a middle aged stoic man, a child and a mother to school, there were too many to ran across my mind, all of those data were stored as a memory.

My eyes caught some foreigners, their accent and their strides gave it all, some were not from the city, looking somewhat lost about their whereabouts. I was sweating as I took another sip of warmness to my soul, my eyes skittered around, over committed to my job, that was what the people cited about me. “Morning, sir!” a few sunshine citizens promulgated the seeds of greetings every morning, without failure, some would even ask, “How’s your day?” I would answered them honestly with a courteous smile from my austere complexion.

Something is wrong. my intuition told me, a month in duty, I recognised the pattern of the citizens in this vicinity, I knew their habit, I knew almost, everything. I slipped my joe into the usual spot at my waist. I hope I’m not wrong. I sneaked behind a suspicious man with a crooked demeanor, a conspicuous shadow of uncertainty was cast against my body.

I scrutinised him, something is very wrong. His hands were gloved, fidgeting uncomfortably in his pocket, his head was patrolling the field of vision of his to search for his prey. He was deft, as if he had rehearsed it several hundreds of times before this, he walked past a lady talking in her phone, and a man reading a book while walking, I saw both of his hands snaked into their pockets.

close, but not close enough. My hand caught his wrist, forgetting totally about the manacles, that was my mistake, he let out a roar of escape, mustered millions ounces of force to wring my grip loose, he broke for a desperate run, criss-crossing the crowds of hundreds.

My fight and flight response kicked in, I picked up my pace, adrenaline rushed into my veins, textbook response from my system. I analysed the area around me within ten metres radius. He was far ahead, I pressed on harder, seeing his apparition slinking into another turn, a sharp corner, leaving me with a blind-spot, right. 

A sucker punch landed straight into my face, he was waiting for it, the unprecedented blow hit me hard, stars were on my head, my vision was blurred. I caught hold of consciousness, a firm grip, I collected myself into a steady position, sprinted into his direction.

The people were less dense in this area, a ignition of idea sparked in my brain, thermos, projectile. I plucked my thermos out, launching myself to reach my terminal physicality, it’s a long shot. I flung it, he tossed the trash can on the street unto the floor. crap. I fall flat on my face, prostrated, twice in my bloody face.

I did not hear a fierce rumble going down the street, Thung! thud. I got back up, recovering from my fall, he was lying down there, caked with blood, smudged with pain, mantled in shame. Click! The satisfying click of the handcuffs to the lamp post nearby.

Assistance was summoned, the wallets were returned to their respective owners. Another day, another deed, consider that a job well done. I heaved a sigh after all of these.

Craving for more? Down below:
Apparent Passenger
Tapering Hope
Providence’s Circle
Close, But Not Close Enough
Breaking Through


Published by zeckrombryan

Hope. Joy. Feelings cloaked as words.

15 thoughts on “Face Twice

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