A royal rumble to tumble in HELL

This the first chapter of the novel I am about to pen, and I endow the right to criticize to those who care to read this piece of........(depends on the reviews, I get, if I get any). And no amount of persuasion will coerce me into backing out, maybe I am the worst author, but I love doing it. I would like to get feed backs. don't hesitate, pinion me against the floor. All I want is feed back, tell me I am a disgrace to writing, but along with it, attach a few grooves I can cling on to.


1. Preamble


Excursions are a constant source of joy, they infringe us off our busy schedules and garment us with freedom seldom found, this and more I contemplated as I sunk in the plush seat of the air-plane. Unfortunately the plane was about to land, and the time I had dreaded was looming. I had apparently lost all my excitement for what it was worth as soon as I laid my head against the headrest. My eyes had drooped and I knew. It was not a sleep that wafts to an entirely different plane, but it was the kind of sleep that keeps you updated but is kind of blissful, and our senses are numbed. As the wheels of the plane hit the tarmac of airport, a jolt burst into my consciousness and my trance-like sleep withered and I was back. The chain of events that followed did not betray the formalities that pertain to a check out, but the event that succeeded it did. We had ordered a pre-paid taxi. The taxi arrived on time and aligned itself next to the pathway. My father slid into the seat and beckoned my mother to follow the motion.  Just then something, oscillated in and out of my periphery. It had happened within a second’s noticed, and I realized that my mother’s handbag had been picked. I whirled around to see the crook crossing the road in a frenzy of footing that could only be deemed as fast scrambling. My gym instincts kicked in and my reaction was instantaneous. In a second I was bounding after the thief in the noisy and winding alleys of Egypt. Vagrants lined the sidewalks, and the bustle was on. My senses sharpened and I knew what I was doing.  After what was a strenuous pursuit in a humid climate and after my face was bedded with sweat which was tumbling profusely, I ended up in an alley which was deserted. I caught up to him and swung at his sleeves, he whirled around and swung his hands. I ducked and pulled him towards me. I rammed my shoulders unto his ribs and the contact struck home. He traipsed back. I expected him to throw surprise move, but he stepped back and we started circling each other. My eyed scrutinized, observed and I was like a cock in a cockfight, the slightest trigger would have driven me. It is hard to encompass the feelings I felt at that time. They were seamless, there was the spurt of joy and strength, there was fear which was banking me at that moment, which was bad because the moment it would strike I would have to back out, my incensed mind displayed splayed amounts of anger and the bitter feeling that pervades to tint the brain with fear. The malignant catalyst that churns  fear was ricocheting off the walls of my brain. To top it, these feelings were not segregated, they were in mass junks and were jumbled, and the circling time, I used for arranging the deranged. Now that my mind was clear, fear struck and I knew I was fighting a losing match and confidence was expunged from my jungle of thoughts and the raw-ramifications of my doings struck me. A fogged mind mists everything and along with it blurs fear. The thief knew that I had traversed the realm of harmone-driven braveness, and the brevity of the same extricated everything I had in favor of me. He made the simplest move possible and I fell prey to it. He faked a right hand punch and I shifted my body weight and was about to take the brunt of the punch on my forearms, when he swung with his other hand. This time my cheeks were the victims of his savagery and a thousand splinters came crashing down my vision-field. The next thing I did will be found in the acts of lowest order in the teenage dictionary. But when wading through the sewers of human mind especially when donning a mind as shallow and as fiery as that of a teenage, sinking into the quicksand is the easiest. After much exaggeration, the point I want to make is that, don’t ever run when fighting. This I realized the moment I started running, it was the biggest blunder in the chess game.  Now that my mind had started functioning , and now that my adversary’s visage had been injected into my brain, the thief knew that he was in danger and he probably knew the perils of a precinct. Maybe that or for some other reason he used the bag to smash against the back of my head and I blacked out.


To be continued……………

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