‘Zoya’- The Final Chapter

Posted: February 26, 2016 in Blog Posts, Short Stories
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

About the Short Fiction

Set in the backdrop of sex trafficking, Zoya is a small but a darkly controversial moment in the life of a Muslim Mumbai police officer, Mr Khan. The brutally terrifying consequences that results after the horrific suicide of Zoya.
Mr. Khan is one of the two protagonists from the crime-drama thriller with supernatural undertones,

“#ifeelsafewhen… Justice is delivered NOT delayed.”
– unknown
Chai With Lakshmi

Chapter 3- Repulsion

Mr. Khan slammed the assailant—this disgusting womanizing culprit—against his vehicle.
He threw a left clenched fist into the assailant’s rib, a jolting explosion erupted as the blow punctured and broke them in an instant. Before the assailant could fully absorb the impact, Mr. Khan lunged forward and threw a fistful punch, another, rapidly after each succession. Hammering down at him. Repeatedly. Mr Khan was an extremely strong man, with brood shoulders, his presence imbued a brute-like force. The assailants face grew bruised, bloodier to the pulp and swollen. After the fourth punch he collapsed. Mr Khan’s fifth punch collided against the vehicle, denting it. The recoil pushed his arm back. His knuckle bruised and bloodstained. Then he slammed his foot fiercely into the assailant’s shoulder, enough to dislocate his right arm. Dragged him by the neck collar to the rear of his vehicle. Pushed him until he fell to the ground, the assailant’s palms scraped against the surface peeling his skin off. He pleaded and begged for his life, he registered this much, it had to do with what he had committed against Zoya. Her tearing eyes flashed over his glistening eyes. The shame her gifted her and the suicide that lead from it. He screamed loud and violently as he could, over his lungs as terrified onlooker watched, their eyes bulged with disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. No one could intervene or even face an extremely intimidating Mr Khan. Maybe due to his authority status. But really, what drove Mr Khan over the edge to carry out this terrifying act wasn’t about him being a police officer, it was the harrowing screams of Zoya still ringing in his ears. Pulling at his heartstrings. Justice was calling out from within him. Enough to bury the pleading cries of the assailant. Mr Khan numbed mentally. Nothing would change what he was about to do next. His eyes wavering dark, direct and challenging. Nonchalantly. He pulled out his revolver out from his holster and fired at the assailant’s left leg-chin. Blood gushed out. But he stopped, his hand was shaking. It couldn’t come this easy. He placed
the revolver back into his holster. Then walked back to his vehicle, and paused at the boot. He closed his eyes, squashing, his face grew to a wince. His palms touched his cheeks as he with his fingers pressed over his closed eyes, and wiped away the tears before they trickled down. Took a deep breathe. Opened his eyes. Lifted his car boot open, pulled out a gasoline canister, quickly began to uncap it. He walked over to the disoriented assailant and began to drench him with oily and poisonous fluids of it. Washing over the assailant as he continued to scream, pleading and begging. Could even taste pungent aroma of gasoline in the back of his throat. The noxious smell of it. Fatality darkening his bulge eyes as he registered no one could do anything to help him. Once empty, Mr Khan then slammed the bottle into his face. Mr Khan returned back to the open boot, he grabbed hold of something, slammed the boot shut. And paused. He stared at the onlookers, a majority of which were young, frightened teenage girls, forced to become sex workers. Something had passed through to them, a personal but relatable emotion, it’s as if they read the expressions projected in his wavering eyes. It someway, seemed justified. That’s what they had come to register. Mr Khan stared at his partially burnt palms, thought of Zoya flashed at him. The assailant pleaded once more, his hands joined together, his face winced, tears that only became consumed by the thick fluid of petrol dripping over his face. The space between death shrunk. His existence almost invalid Hoping for a change of heart, as Mr Khan walked over to him. There would be no mercy. Zoya had torched herself, and died. Nothing could change that, even if killing him was considered murder or justice. Mr Khan raised his hand towards the assailant, held was an orange snub-nosed flare gun. He fired a flare shot into the right thigh, the velocity and impact of the flare was enough to torch the assailant with violent fire. The assailant writhed and pleaded for help. There would be no remorse. The only screams Mr 9 – 1 0 Khan could hear linger over him was of Zoya. Never had someone taken their life in front of him. She had grown over him as if a daughter.
Mr Khan watched as the fire grew wild, reflecting over his wavering eyes. The whaling
screams of the assailant grew but buried under the weight of the harrowing screams of Zoya that hung in the air. Fumes of dark grey ash gave way. Her screams echoed.

Read the  previous chapters here:



M. Aamir Naseer For Beyond Sanity Publishing

Artwork by Syeda Fatima


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