The light is reflecting on the hand gun still smocking from the bullet that just exited the barrel.
A dead body, a hole on the left side of the bare chest of a young man laying on the white beach sands. The blood, slowly coming out off the cadaver, is turning black at the contact of the air.
The sun beams gave the killer a headache. He never like the beach, never hated it either, he was just on it because it’s what people seems to do when they have nothing to do.
He hears screams in the distance, movements, but the shooter doesn’t move. He took a life, and it didn’t bother him that much. Maybe a little bit. The sun is still bothering him.
He doesn’t understand the screams. Why are they screaming when every day, thousands of innocents peoples die every day from gun wounds, caught in the middle of a war they never wanted. If he had an uniform, they would’ve probably praised him a hero, he would have received a medal, street would have been named after him. They should worries about the sun, it’s giving him headaches.
The insults that he start to hear are getting more and more distinct. Peoples are angry. Again, for something this common. Did they know the sun gives headaches?!
Lost in his own head, he let two men tackling him down. His face pushed in the sand by a hand. His arms were tied behind his back. Soon, a knee is pressing against his back. A cold metal feeling around his wrist, probably the police, he couldn’t know, his ears are full of sands. He couldn’t care less, sands in his eardrums or not. At least he doesn’t see the sun anymore.
Soon, a firm hand grab him by the shirt to put him on his feet.
There are the heroes of the day, two police officers. Overweight, sweating profusely, with the stereotypical serious, yet proud, smirks on their sun burned faces.
Civilians are running around the dead men, screaming. Because it is common knowledge that screaming and crying next to a dead body will bring it back to life. The other who aren’t busy crying over the dead body of an unknown person are shooting insult at the killer. Some are throwing sands at him, other try to punch him or grab him, but the police officers do their best to protect the killer. Not that they didn’t want their catch to be beat down, but because once you catch a big fish, you have to bring it home so you could show to the inhabitants that you are a useful individual to society.
Slowly, the trio is making their way throughout the angry crowds. It’s strange how peoples work, they seems to be ready to kill him. To kill a killer, therefore making them killers. By just killing one man, dozens are ready to kill him. And some of those peoples are considered good samaritans among theirs peers, some of them are even religious peoples, which make sens because their gods would forgive them if they beg him enough.
The young killer didn’t really know what will happens next, that’s the first time he’s being arrested.
In fact, he is happy, he will be able to continue is analyzing of human behavior under very peculiar circumstances.
And in jail, there’s no sun.
This short story was inspired by Albert Camu’s novel The Stranger.
Jaskiers
Jaskiers 