11 At the Venice Avenue, Jetkins District
3rd December
“Seclin!” I heard a hoarse and angry voice calling my name. I knitted my forehead, questioning myself, who among the people here knows me? I’m certain that they can be counted in my hand.
“Seclin!” another call. This time it was from a woman. She certainly has a high pitch voice based on how she shouted my name. Who was she? I can’t remember some women acquainted with me.
“Seclin!” Such a name should be displayed at the central park. Numerous people shouted it, and the feeling is that someone did horrible to them.
Knowing my book from the school library, I settled myself having the comfort of home here at central park, Ardum District. I thought this day would give me such relaxation to be away from piles of school loads, but then, I’m not lucky enough to utter thank you.
People of different ages stamped their feet, walking on a group in just one direction, faces angry and knuckles closed. Throwing such intense, flaming-like look towards me. Why me?
My eyes grew wider, and I agitatedly closed my book, got my backpack, and ran before then. How on earth would they get those expressions on me without me knowing what I did? I’m pretty sure I haven’t harmed someone right from the day I was born until the very moment.
I ran as fast as I could. Determinedly to get away from those unknowns. I could not imagine what they would do if they’ll catch me. Surely, I’ll be dead meat. Or rather got bruises, injuries, fractures, and immovable body? I don’t know.
Before I could turn to an ally, I heard them synchronize shout. Like they’re on a choir contest and win the prize.
***
“Seclin!”
I abruptly stopped and faced the civil guard as he’s coming my way and lend a wallet.
“Yours.” I didn’t notice that my wallet slipped out from my pants’ back pocket. I thanked him plainly.
But before I could finish putting my wallet back and making sure of it, a faint explosion startled everyone. The civil guards simultaneously touch and speak in their serious tome.
“Red code,” audible words upon the shouts and worried conversations inside the perimeter of the ration center.
The civil guards, half of their number abruptly lined up in front of the ration center’s gate guarding the people of Ardum District against a threat. In unison, they held up and pointed their riffle in one direction.
Each riffle of each civil guard is loaded with ten bullets revolving around the chamber. And there’s something special about their riffles. There’s a button hidden near the trigger just an inch above is a special button that when push slightly, the other type of bullets switches around those chambers. Ten sleeping bullets for those people who hilariously do things.
“What could have happened?”
“Riffles pointed in one direction? Who was it?”
“Has anyone gone wild?”
“Is it related to what exploded earlier?”
Some of the queries I’ve absorbed while looking keenly to those civil guards on their attentive position. I observed that one after the other, they push the button. I drive to the conclusion that someone’s being reckless and have a pea brain on doing such ridicule.
But to everyone’s shocked, bullets after bullets rain in rows of those civil guards without letting any bullets pass through civilians. Blood sheds the dry cemented floor of the ration center’s gate. Making civilians panic and lose their sanity over those lifeless bodies and empty shells of bullets.
Still, gunshots echoed along with sobs and shouts of pain and turmoil.
