Changing attitudes

[I'm feeling extremely uninspired right now, so here's a lot of nothing]

He hadn't had much time to think about it. He had been busy with his friend -- soon-to-be girlfriend, he hoped, everything besides that -- including that -- was low on priority. Now that push came to shove, he'd have to improvise. Everything that came before, he had thought, pondered, philosophized, and morally rationalized about. He had spent weeks practicing and improving, improvising, thinking of what he'd do in every possible circumstances. He knew his escape routes like the back of his hands, for he had practiced so often running away without looking guilty, he had almost convinced he was innocent. He didn't care about if he was clumsier was with the task, he needed to spend time with her, that's all that mattered.

He staked out the target's surroundings. A bank-teller of 27 who took the packed microbus to work everyday. She didn't seem to spend anytime by herself, she was with her boyfriend after work, he dropped her to her apartment in the evening, when she spent time with her roommates. No morning walks, no drunk binges, not even a shopping trip to the mall by herself. He had no idea what to do. He was stuck. He'd be in a lot of trouble with the Khyaak. No matter, he was ready to go hell if he could spend more time with Snigdha.

The Monday morning he took the early bus to Tokha. He got a cup op tea and strolled around the place. He checked his watch. 40 minutes for her to come out. He walked to the nearby park and watched the elderly grandfathers feed the birds, grandmothers walking with their toddler grandchildren, schoolchildren waiting for schoolbus as they held their hands and stared into each other's eyes, and into souls, he thought. His heart filled with love. The world was a beautiful place, full of people who loved one another, families, lovers, friends. All the bad, awful terrible things in life are outdone by the love and caring there exists. Evil would never defeat goodness. He was on the losing side.

He had been growing evil. Even if he had a gun to his head, figuratively, he would fight back, hard, and suffer instead of doing evil's bidding. There was so much goodness, the world didn't deserve such terrible happenings. He would come clean to the Khyaak, tell it that he no longer wished to follow its orders. If it meant eternal damnation and pain and torture to him, and maybe to everyone he cared for and would every cared about, no matter, his life and personal connections were not as important or wonderful as other people's lives. If the Khyaak cursed him to the deepest deaths of hell, so be it, he would become a martyr and forever be proud of what he had done. If the Khyaak killed him, he would die a happy and content man, one who had fought on the goodness's side. If the khyaak just ignored him, he'd go on living the rest of his life as a pious, kind generous man, who would harm no man.

The sun was rising. The schoolbuses had arrived to take the students, causing traffic jams all along the way to Kathmandu. There was noise and commotion of the daily commute in the air. He could still hear the birds chirping. He took a full breath of cool refreshing air. His heart felt healed. This was good. He just needed to go back home, consider his options for w while, and tell the Khyaak as it is. If he understood, fine, if not, he'd give his life suffering.

He got on the microbus to Ratna Park. It was full. He didn't want to wait for another microbus to leave, his life was too precious and full of potential to waste it that way. He squeezed into the vehicle, only to be pushed back my the crowd. He stood up, held hanging the outside bars instead. This was good. He would get to feel the chilly rejuvenating morning air against his face. Feel the air particles, get to know his city better. The microbus was ready to leave, the khalaasi boy was shouting for final passengers. He was about to get in on the vehicle himself and set off the vehicle when Raul felt a push. Someone else was standing on the climbing steps to the micro, and was pushing him front-wards. His reverie was interrupted, his head was angled against the vehicle such that he couldn't look who was pushing him.

The microbus left Tokha, zooming past the unpainted cement houses and tin-roofed huts. Haka took another breath of fresh morning air. Life couldn't get any better.

The air was too cold to be able to hold the outside bars comfortably. His hands would be numb soon, but no matter, this was all worth it, he thought. The khalaasi, a skinny tween with a tattered T-shirt on was shivering. He slid open the micro door as it ran, and pushed himself in. "Dai, you hold yourself on tight hai, I"m too skinny to be able to stay like this for too long, I'm going to go in for a bit," he told Haka, "And you too didi!'

Haka strained his neck to look around. A woman looked lifelessly ahead, her eyes tired and defeated. He did a second-take. It was cold, and he couldn't hold his hands to the bar much longer. He'd either have to push in, or shot at the driver to stop the vehicle. In this lifeless stretch of highway connecting the two towns, would anyone even notice if he slipped his hands due to the cold and bashed his head against the highway? He strained his head around again, checking to see if there was a single soul around. No one. The microbus was so crowded, he couldn't see the driver's face in the rear mirror. Or any of the three passengers' sitting at the front. Which meant they couldn't see him either. He considered the implications.

It was just too easy.

All it took was a little courage, and a well-leveraged push.

He couldn't help himself.