Oliha | 17:47

Agh, this shit again!

It’s frustrating, really, how these mounds of dust collect on the face of my Casio. But what’s more frustrating is this little streak that remains whenever I run my thumb over the wristwatch to clean it. Almost makes me want to put a bullet between my eyes. But we don’t want to do that now, do we? I’ve only got one loaded up in the barrel, and it belongs to one particular individual. Ha, I guess Sarah’s right- it’s always the little things that bother me. Smudges. Wrinkles on slacks. The position of the vase on the kitchen windowsill. Well, almost everything else in our house. She’s always insisted that I have OCD. God, I love that girl. I really do. With every passing day, however, since I set out to accomplish this task, that sentiment feels more and more like a lie. I wish I had never known her. I wish she hadn’t been invited to that Ball at the President’s holiday cabin. That her father wasn’t the Zimbabwean Ambassador to our state. She wouldn’t have been present. Then I wouldn’t have turned to look at whoever had that really captivating laugh. Because I know exactly what my actions will do to her. But history is filled with too many events that should or shouldn’t have happened. And this, what I’m about to do, is much bigger than anything we could’ve ever been.

What the hell is he doing in there? It’s been six minutes since he left to get the sodas. I mean, that’s all he has to do. Walk in there and get two sodas! That’s what I’ve been doing every Sunday we come here- get us sodas. But oh no, not today. Son of a bitch decides to do that himself, out of thin air. What are the odds? Deep breaths, Henry, you don’t want to botch this. No matter, no matter, my fifteen-minute window is still open. I hope they’ll be here like we agreed. On time. Oh, there he is, walking down the steps. Deep breaths, Henry, breathe deep. It really is odd how beautiful the sunset is today. There’s something about that thick shade of orange slowly plunging into the ocean. Everything feels still and peaceful. Odd, because I’ve never loved the ocean, quite frankly. I get swallowed up by this black hole of existential dread every time I gaze at its wide expanse. An empty feeling of insignificance. I hate that feeling. But it’s one I’ve had to put up with ever since Boss hired me. I’ve been driving him here every once in a month for the past two years. He has a little hidden shack just up the road where he escapes to when ‘things get dense in the Capital.’

And trust me, shit has really been getting denser over the last couple of months. But whose fault is it? Mm-h, that’s right. This man standing beside me, handing me a bottle of Coke since ‘they were out of ginger ale.’ This man who promised to make our lives better, now that the Whiteman was no longer behind the wheel. Today is the seventh day of October, nineteen-seventy-nine, ten years since we were ‘freed’ from the shackles of colonial rule, but I still see their long noses hovering over our business. Over Parliament proceedings. Over media houses. I’ve seen all the meetings you have with them behind closed doors. I’m the one who closes them. Granted, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’d bet my last nickel that it’s something fishy. You swore that every citizen would get what he deserved. Lies. I’ve heard whispers that African presidents stash their billions in Switzerland. I’ve seen your accountant, he’s Swiss, no? Plundering state resources while slums continue to crop up around the Capital. Come on, you can see them from your Palatial balcony. We should have seen right through your false calls for nationhood during your inauguration. Every dog barking shot is your cousin or tribesman. You disgust me, pig!

You see that blue Peugeot 504 pulling up by the shop? Yes, that’s my cue. It must be quarter to six. You should’ve been dead by now. But you don’t know that. The Colt .38 tucked in my waistline is hurting my back while we both lean on the side of the car, staring into the ocean. The orange mass that was the sun is now reduced to a white, defeated circle. I’m biting down on the discomfort. But you don’t know that. I’m watching you sip on your soft drink. I’m watching you take off your newsboy cap and take in a huge gulp of the salty air.  I’m being moved by your calmness and the milk in your eyes. Oh, you think today has been a good day? I’m seeing you as a human being. I’m loosening my grip on the revolver. I’m reconsidering. But you don’t know that.

The Peugeot’s engine is now revving. You look at it briefly, then ignore it. I’m still watching you. My fingers are twitching, my knees buckling. You’re turning to tell me about your son. He’ll be arriving tomorrow from school and will have to be picked up from the airport. Huh. My grip is tightening. You are still talking, but I can’t hear anything. But you don’t know that. I’m whipping out the handgun. I’m holding it at point-blank range, and you can see its mouth. I’m part of The Freedom Front, and you’re just realizing it. I’m pulling the trigger now. It’s 17.47. I’m two minutes late.

But you don’t know that.

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Image: CoPilot remixed