Knife and Gun

Knife and Gun

10th Oct 2020

There is a fine line between dreaming about something and fantasizing about the same. While most people spend their life wandering and figuring out, a few know exactly what they want. Commendable. She was one of the few.

Already achieved a lot for someone of her age; albeit, today was important. The life that she had worked so hard for, sacrificed so much for, was finally going to mean something. Tensed. The repercussion of things going wrong would be huge.

She got up earlier than usual. Got ready. Looked into the mirror wondering if the makeup had been overdone. Ignoring the thought she moved on; there was no time for trivial things today. She started walking up and down waiting for the cab to arrive. Impatient. Going through the documents multiple times, finally she heard the car honk. The engine went off and her heart started racing.

She realized it was time to move out and get into action. She paused. Took few deep breaths. Contemplating everything, she started walking and tripped over falling down with all her documents flying into the air.

‘Damn! So much for deep breathing helps you calm down!’ She muttered to herself. Picking up the papers and arranging them back, she got up and left and got into the cab. As the car moved ahead, the film in her head started rolling backward.

She had had a daunting childhood growing up with a broken family. Her father was a very rich and successful man. However, wealth and success are relative terms. He had a poor heart and a failed life. Alcoholic and violent by nature she saw her mother being beaten up every night and to nobody’s surprise her mother ended her life soon. She was only five then. It is said, when you go through difficult times early in your life you mature quickly. But is matured really the right word? Or do they become scarred in an inerasable way?

At eight, she had no interest in playing, running, dancing or anything kids of her age would be interested in. She only studied. Kept herself drowned in books. Every time she looked in the mirror, she hated the birthmark on her face that she shared with her father. A mole on the right cheek. Same mark. Same spot.

One night her father came home drunk as usual. The thought of not opening the door ever crossed her mind, but in an instant she realized it was not going to work. It made him furious. Sadist of a kind, he burned her forearm with his cigarette lighter, torturing the little innocent soul. That was her last night in that house.

Next day she just packed her books and whatever clothes that fit in one bag and left the home, with nowhere to go. We never know what destiny has in store for us until we are ready to get out. She went to her maid’s place who sent her to an aunt who was childless and lonely where she would get all the love that she always deserved. Tables changed. The child found her lost mother. She liked the new identity she got. New name. Different place. Different people. But never recovered from her past. Although there was a contentment in her smile, her eyes felt empty. She kept working hard and excelled at everything she did.

Time flied. At 25, she started her own business. Professional success gave her happiness. Her eyes finally had an accomplishment at the end of every year when the profit figures grew larger and the company kept expanding. Today, at 35 she was headed to make the biggest deal of her life. She had her plan sorted to the minutest detail and she knew nothing could go wrong. She reached her destination. Her walk had a strange confidence like she had rehearsed this moment a million times before. And she really had.

The interview went well. When she walked out of the conference room she knew she had done it right. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to be overconfident so she waited patiently while the other interview was going on. Panic started kicking in when it went on for quite a longer time. After what felt like an eternity, it finally got over and the discussion in the board room began. They couldn’t come up with a common decision; the director and other members had opposite opinions.

When the name was finally announced, she went speechless. She had done it. And her lifelong endeavor had paid off.

The director had clearly missed the mole on her face because makeup had done its magic. But she did not miss the same on his face. Walking out, she thought to herself, ‘My knife and your back’.

Inside, sitting in his cabin the director took pride over his convincing skills. Looking out of the window he was thinking about the lighter scar on that hand. Smiling to himself he thought, ‘My gun and your head’.

– Sanketa Raut

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