BROKEN PIXELS ON A PIC: AN EXPERIMENTAL TRAGEDY

in #fiction6 years ago (edited)

Hello dear friends and family of the steemit universe. I have been struggling all morning with my internet service provider. Even as I type this, I don't know if I will be able to post it, but I've to try, don't I?

I am still experimenting with blending prose and poetry into one whole. I am not there yet I think. There is something missing but tell me what you think. Thanks.

Well here goes nothing.


BROKEN PIXELS OF A PIC


CHAPTER ONE

The body stained the wet pavement like overripe tomatoes. The skull sat, cracked open like a coconut shell, brain matter spilled, on the asphalt. The man’s legs were bent in an impossible angle and his mouth was frozen mid-scream.
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I raised my head from the sight and looked at the twelve floors of concrete that stood like a sentinel before us. I raised my left hand over my eyes to prevent the drizzle from blurring my sight.

“you think it’s suicide?” a voice muttered beside me. I turned to find Sergeant Martha standing beside me, her eyes on the body.
The rain had plastered her hair to her head and her suit hung like a limp rag around her slight, bustless frame.

“I have considered that possibility.” I replied, searching my pocket for my pack of cigarettes.

Sergeant Martha was to a policeman what salt was to a worm. She was the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) agent attached to my command. She disturbed everyone’s peace of mind anytime she left the comforts of her plush office to come to the field. Herself and the NDLEA agent; that's the National Drug Law Enforcement to you, attached to my command were not in good terms and that suited everyone just fine.

She turned to the body and peered at it as if the killer left a complimentary card somewhere on it. As far as I was concerned it was a clear cut case.

The drizzle was slowly turning into a downpour. I looked at the soggy cigarette in my hand and turned to the shed that the entrance to the uncompleted structure offered. Footsteps tapped along mine and I turned to see Sergeant Martha beside me; I sighed.

“A birdie told me you were seen around this area in the afternoon. What were you doing here?” She asked, turning her gaze on me, as soon as we got out of the rain.

The boys got a trash bag and placed it over the body before rushing out of the rain. The new policy of staking a crime scene and taking evidence made me want to laugh; the police force was not prepared for it but the new Inspector General had big dreams and luckily for him, those had the top seemed to like his face and his British accent.

I busied myself with making a slightly soggy cigarette catch flame. After sucking in some badly needed nicotine, I looked at Martha;

“Your birdie has a severe case of myopia. I was at home watching the Chelsea game. Why will I be here? There is no betting house here, neither do they sell cigarettes or alcohol here.” I said, holding the cigarette with a steady hand.

“you are a shifty one, Detective Pere. I see through your snide remarks and oily words. I have my eyes on you and I know one day, you are going to slip up. You are a betting man, right? So know this, I will be there when you fail; want to bet?” She asked.

I nodded and turned away, dragging the much needed smoke into my lungs. We die one day at a time.

Martha stared at me for some seconds then when she saw that I had lost interest in her flat chested intensity, she turned and walked away.


INTERLUDE

The prisoner sat in his filth, his head bowed. A rat squeaked, it's whiskers flickering in the darkness. It dashed across the cracked floor with speed but the prisoner was faster. His hand speared the rat and he raised it up to the moon light filtering through the window. the rat's whiskers twitched and the prisoner said;

We are lords in castles;
Jungle cats in sleek skin, purring feet
Seeking meat and prey in snake dens
And fetid streams reeking of dying things.
We are priests and celestial stars leading prayers
With arms enraptured within the bosom of the world;
We are a dying breed; not men, no we are not men.
We are queens and priestesses of stolen gods;
Blood hunger blinding eyes to the setting sun.
We are not men but something close; something akin
Something far deadlier; something men can be, if they but try.


CHAPTER TWO

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Jim got out of the limo from the passenger side. I watched Fred as we came out too. I fumbled through my pockets for my cigarettes. Jim muttered something that was snatched away by the wind.

"What’s that you said?" Fred asked.

I raised my head to look at Jim, as the cigarette tip caught light and i dragged the smoke in.

"I am sorry. I can clean the car and no one will know what happened." he replied.

He looked at me as he spoke, as if I was a priest offering penance and absolution. I shrugged and turned to face the view. We were parked in the car park of one of the old incomplete skyscrapers that dotted the city’s skyline.

"You’ve said nothing to Martha?" Fred asked.

"No... I have told no one." Jim replied, turning to look at Fred.

Fred looked at me but I watched the wind grab cigarette ash and spin it away. It will probably end on the other side of town, staining a newly painted baby crib, who knows… Everyday someone faces the consequences of the actions of someone else. What a life!

“Where did you pick him up?” I asked, turning back to them; I detested when I started feeling philosophical as much as I hated discussing religion.

“I picked him up at a hotel in Central District. He said I should take him to Kubwa.” Jim replied, his eyes shifting from Fred’s face to mine.

I nodded my head and walked past the two of them to the back of the car. I pulled the boot open and stared at its contents with the curiosity of a bartender seeing a drunk. A man, very dead, was folded into the boot space like a contortionist. The man had died badly. I could see the cracked passage of tears on his face, dried saliva mixed with vomit clinging to his lips, the grimace of pain that turned his features into a mask of fear and of course he stank of faeces and urine.

The man was possibly in his mid-twenties and I found no sign of struggle on him from my cursory inspection. I went through his pockets. The one closest to me gave up a gold chain wristwatch, two gold cuff links and a black tie.

Jim and Fred appeared and stood on either side of me staring at the dead man.
I tried to reach the pocket that was pressed to the boot floor by forcing my left hand in, to no avail. I turned to Fred and he grabbed the man’s folded legs and raised it. My hand slid into the pocket and grabbed at something. I brought my hand out and opened it to reveal a dice with blue dots instead of black.

I stepped away from the boot and moved to the edge of the ten floor drop. I had seen this type of dice before; in fact, I had one just like it in my pocket. I sighed and turned to Jim. He looked at me, worry in his eyes.

“Have you seen this before?” I asked him, holding the dice up to the light.

He stepped close to me to see. I let him draw real close then I drew back and pushed him off the edge. The wind stole his scream as he fell. I turned away, to see Fred staring at me;

“our coke is not there; I think?” he asked. I shook my head. We sighed and went to work cleaning evidence. The police will have a field day.


INTERLUDE

The old prostitute sat on her rocking chair and watched the world fade. Her eyes were still bright but her hands, her beautiful hands were now bunched and swollen with arthritis. A little whistled under her window; it was beautiful day. The woman sighed and said;

There are dead birds on the window sill,
Singing of heaven and of hell.
They say the world is hanging from a rope
In the hands of a boy seeking his mother.
They say hell is a woman sleeping in a cell
Dreaming of a gravestone that bears hubby’s name.
There are birds on my window sill,
Dead as a door nail, singing of a place
Where the cherubim have a gun
And they will shoot you first,
Then rob you and even then you’re lucky.
There are birds on my window sill;
Dead birds, silent birds, moldy birds
Winking at the moon, praying to the stars,
Dropping bird shit on newspaper clips
With pictures of missing husbands,
On the window sill.


CHAPTER THREE

Sergeant Martha knows nothing. She thinks that she knows everything but she knows nothing. I walked in through the door and nodded at the huge unfriendly man that appeared out of the darkness. He did not return my greeting, he never does. He turned and I followed.
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The room was silent except for the steady hiss of gas. The room was hidden in shadows, in smoke as if a cloud had descended down to the earth; some kind of holy of holies. I genuflected, made the sign of the cross and chuckled.

“you are fool Pere. You play with powers that you know nothing about.” A voice whispered from the darkness.

I stepped forward but the big tree that called himself a man, placed his huge hands before me and I stumbled back.

“I hear you have been doing some house cleaning? Is your wife coming back to you?” the voice asked again.

“He knew some things and he was ratting you out to the EFCC bitch.” I replied, licking my lips and hungering for a stick of cigarette. The incense in the room made me thirst for nicotine bad.

“Did I ask you to help me sort out my business, eh Pere?” the voice asked.

“your business is my business, Michael. Besides he was stealing from you and guess what he had one of your Benin runners in his car booth. He needed to be corrected so that others will be sure of their allegiance.” I replied, opening my hands in explanation.

Michael chuckled inside the gas mask that kept him alive. I could not see him in the darkness. No one has seen him in a while. The kingpin lived on life support and faith; What these eyes will not see.

I noticed that the chuckle had evolved into a wheezy cough. The huge tree made no motion, his roots having grown deep into the carpet of the room. I wished I could wrap my hands about his fat throat and squeeze, squeeze slow and hard, and watch his eyes pop out like popcorn.

“You think you know my business better than me, eh Pere?” the voice asked.

“No sir, I don’t. I just sought to help.” I replied.

“Good… very good. Since you're been all helpful and kind, can you please help me explain to this EFCC bitch, as you called her, why she should go back to Lagos.” He said.

Out of the smoke, emerged a smiling Sergeant Martha. I looked from her to the swirling darkness that was Michael.

“I don’t understand what are you doing?” I asked, barely concealing my surprise.

“I told you; you will slip up and I will be there, didn’t I?” She asked, grinning, the gun in her hand was not grinning though.

I turned to the shadows and for the first time I didn’t feel like a fool for chatting with an unseen man.

“Michael, you and I have partners for years. What is the meaning of this? Have I not protected your interest as if they were mine?” I asked, pressing down the panic that threatened to stifle me.

“I said convince her to go to Lagos not talk to me about loyalty.” The voice whispered back.

Sergeant Martha chuckled and waved the gun at me;

“I told you a birdie saw you that afternoon with your partner, and you give me your cheesy smile and cheeky reply. I was just a foolish woman putting her nose into what was no concern of hers, right?” she asked.

“it’s not like that. How was I to know that you also worked for Michael?” I asked, stepping back from the waving gun. A big trunk of a hand stopped me again. I had forgotten about the man by my side.

“My father said you should convince me to go back to Lagos?” she said, smiling.

"He is your father?" I asked, sounding foolish. The flat assed butch shrugged and smiled and put the gun safety off.

“Please go back to Lagos. Whatever you want; I will give. I have got two million naira stashed away in my girlfriend’s place at Maraba. Please take it and go to Lagos.” I added, my heart hitting my ribs hard.

Sergeant Martha cocked the gun and pointed it at my lungs, I could see her index finger squeezing the trigger. I raised my hands in a plea.

“You will do anything for me to go back to Lagos?” she asked.

Are“Yes, anything. I will do any…” the gunshot took my breath away. I stumbled back into the arms of the tree. He gently laid me on the carpet.

Martha came to me and squatted;
“I can go back to Lagos now, thank you for helping me come to my decision.” She said, smiling.

I tried to say something sassy, something insulting but the blood pooling in my lungs would let me speak. I simply spluttered and gurgled shamelessly.

“don’t worry Pere. You are going to a better place. Make sure you do only what you are told okay?” she said.

She bent down and planted a kiss on my cheek. Her face dimmed and brightened as my vision faded. The gun sounded again and everywhere went dark.


INTERLUDE

The boy was fifteen and very thin. He sat on the floor surrounded by the mob, who taunted him, throwing stones at him and kicking him. He said nothing as he stared into the crowd, his eyes blank. A police man pushed through the angry crowd. The crowd muttered as they parted to let him through. He got to the boy and squatted before him;

"boy, what is your name? Who are you parents?" He asked but the boy kept silent. "Do you want to die? These people here will kill you!" the policeman yelled.

The boy exhaled as if coming out of deep water. he turned to the policeman, his eyes wide then he looked at his hands and he screamed;

Give me some light
Let me see my hands!
Is this blood? Is this bits of flesh?
Who died? Who did I kill?
It is my blood? My flesh?
My flesh and my blood?
My child, my world?
I have died and gone to hell?
Or is this heaven?
Where are the harpies and the fire?
The cherubim and the hosannas?
It is dark here, it is dark everywhere!
Give me some light, please!


EPILOGUE

The two men stepped out of the darkness and stood beside Martha. The three of them stared at the detective’s body.

“you will get rid of the body.” One of the men said, his voice sounded very similar to the wheezy voice that had interviewed the detective earlier. He looked perfectly hale and hearty. The other man nodded his head then both of them turned and looked at the door as it opened and the huge man came in.

He squatted beside the body and poked through the pockets. He brought out a pack of cigarettes and a dice. He drew a stick out and lit it then he sucked on it as he rolled the dice in his big hands. The men stood silent with the room, watching him

"Give her a year, then kill her. Find Fred. He is the only one still alive. I want him alive." The big man said. His voice rumbled in the small room. The two men nodded. "Brume get the two million and the girlfriend; I am in need of some diversion." He added, his small eyes eyeing the bloody mess that used to be Detective Pere's chest.

A mosquito flew in from the bottom of the door and landed on the body. It sipped the blood on the lips and spat it out. It fluttered its wings and flew away.


THE END

© @warpedpoetic

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It's very lovely . Thanks for sharing this.

where do i start from @warpedpoetic.............

Great vivid expression i must confess bro, nice play on the characters and their personae and a whole great play on the suspense all through to the very end........kudos

Your interludes.........love the way they take the reader adrift from the reality of the plot at hand, and by the way wonderful rhymes you got there in these interludes also

and the revelations that comes afterwards got me like......what???? really......Martha???? damn that threw me off guard bro

The epilogue......epic indeed in every sense of the word only thing is it got me yearning for more.

keep it up you truly are a prolific witer @warpedpoetic

Thank you sire. Thank you that is all I can say. Thank you

That was really beautiful. If I were to suggest anything different, I would have asked that you blogged this in installments. It's quite rare to see a crime thriller from the POV of the bad guy. Nice stuff. Following you ;-)

Lol... I am working on the installments. Just don't want to put something low class out there. Don't worry, you will hear from me soon. Thanks boss. Peace

Nice post beautiful presented and explained. detail oriented with nice pics. thank you for sharing this with us, Upvoted If you mind checking out my blog for latest posts and updats @kingjan

Hello @wardpedpoetic ,, this is such a beautiful content by you and you seem to have good potentials both as a writer and a poet,,, i am currently building a poetic community from the ground and i would love you to be involved in this evolutionary process,,, pls visit my blog to see my poetry campaign post and also participate in my contest,,,,, i'll be around.

Jesus Christ! What a gem of a post! Well-deserved reward brother.

This is a style of writing I enjoy. A little bend in words. Narrative Poetry

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