Kill or Get Killed?

Winner – 5th Position

(Judges’ Choice)

All India Literature Competition 2019-20

by The Creative Post

–by Supraajha Murali

–Reading Time – 15 min Approx

“Kill or get killed.”

His words came back to me, their intensity still reverberating in my head. I shut my eyes, the paper threatening to slip from my palm.

‘NO!’, my morals screamed, begging me to listen. I would never become one of them. I crumpled the paper, curling my fists to throw it away. My hand, for some reason, couldn’t move.

“Kill or get killed?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying my best to resist temptation. I failed.

“Kill”, I whispered, smoothing the paper and pocketing it. The decision was made.

As I walked, my brain began replaying the conversation that had happened hardly a few moments ago.

~o~

I sighed, picking at the dry, tasteless food with my fork. The cafe I sat in was one of the busiest in the area, catering to a large crowd of officegoers like myself. People hardly cook nowadays. Most of them bought their meals from the thousands of government-run hotels and food joints like this.

I turned my attention back to the news. Not even two sides in and the word ‘Obituary’ stares up at me in large, dull black lettering. Hardly a few years ago, my stomach would’ve lurched at the pictures of hundreds of now-dead people. Just like everyone else, I’d now gotten used to looking for a familiar face without as much batting an eyelash. My staring-session was interrupted by someone clearing their throat to my right.

“Is this seat taken?”, the man asked, awkwardly pointing to the chair next to me. “Everywhere else is full”.

“No, it isn’t. Please.” Moving my bag to the floor, I gestured him to sit. He looked just a few years my senior, with almost no hair and large, bulbous eyes that were too big for his head.

We sat in silence for a few minutes as he waited for his order. His eyes roamed over my plate before landing on what I was reading. He seemed to straighten in his seat, “These suicide cases are on the rise by the day, aren’t they?”

I nodded, schooling my features into a solemn look. “Yes, too many. One can’t help but look for any known faces.”

“I think secretly, the government is happy”, he said, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “One more person killing themselves means one less mouth to feed, after all.”

That’s all people did, I thought. Blame the govt all the time. Though, at times, I was guilty of doing the same.

“So… private organization?”, I asked, eyeing his expensive-looking clothes and pricey smile.

“Yes, that’s correct”, he said. “They pay me a good 20L a month”, he added sticking his nose in the air. “You must be a government employee, I suppose? How much do you boys earn nowadays?”

“Yeah. I make about 10L a month, the same as most others”, I mumbled.

He bobbed his head sympathetically. “I expected as much. They pay you far too less. And fire you far too easily.”

“Well, that can’t be helped, can it? The government employs the majority of the population. Private companies recruit very few candidates.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “You’re right, suppose. Still, the government is obliged to pay far too many people. No wonder it do

es nothing to stop those who wish to die of their own volition.”

I couldn’t help but crack a smile. So, he’s one of those antigovernmental preachers, I thought. There were a lot of those nowadays.

“But the government did initiate the Twin system, making sure every household had at least one child. It wouldn’t have done that if it secretly wanted us all dead”, I reminded.

A few years ago, the government made it mandatory for every pregnant woman to undergo genetic alterations, resulting in twins. Almost in every case, one child, unable to adapt to its surroundings, didn’t make it while the other survived.

His eyebrows shot up. “Well, you do have a point there. That did prove to be pretty successful. If only the government did something this effective against the growing thievery. That’s the prime cause of all these suicides!”

My mood soured. The country was littered with innumerable thieves, and our earnings were never safe. With no banks around, each person was responsible for their own savings.

My neighbour, the skinny one with large ears, used to smile at me every morning. One day he was missing, and the next he was dead. We learnt days later that he’d committed suicide with his entire family, because the thieves had broken in and taken away  their lifetime’s savings.

We should have seen it coming when he’d taken a holiday. No one ever takes a holiday. We can’t afford even a single day’s pay cut. Sometimes, I think I’d have done the same in his place.

“You never know when you see someone for the last time, isn’t it?”, I asked quietly. The man simply hummed in response.

“Well, I must get going, I suppose”, I said, dumping my empty plate into the trash can.

He mirrored my actions, a knowing smirk plastered on his face. “Well, let’s just hope we both make it until old age!”

“The odds are more in your favour than mine, my friend.” I laughed dryly. “You earn 20 Litres of water per month. Twenty Litres! I earn hardly 10 Litres. If the Thieves could steal my neighbour’s savings, how long would they wait before they take mine?”

“There is a way to change that, you know”, he whispered, smirk intact.

“What?”

“You’re right, you can’t escape from the Thieves”, he drawled. “But if you can’t defeat them, you might as well join them.”

A shiver ran down my spine. “Are you a…”

It was his turn to chuckle. “- a Thief, yes”, he said. “I suspect you will be one soon, too. Don’t look at me like that. You seem like a smart boy. If you do as I say, you’ll have 10 Litres not per month, but per day!”

My jaw slackened. Ten Litres of water, per day!

Water. A multitude of those cool droplets, gliding down my throat in a torrent. I could actually drink from a glass like they showed in the history textbooks, instead of squeezing bits down my epiglottis. I could have that wondrous experience they called a ‘water bath’, with that nectar sliding down my skin. I could even brush my teeth with water! Could I cook with water? Hell, why would someone even need food when they had water? The possibilities were endless.

I could get rid of this wretched job forever, get married and never have a worry in my life. A life without thirst pricking my throat every waking moment.

The man tapped my shoulder, shaking me out of my reverie. His dull black eyes bored into mine. “Here, I’ve written my name and contact number. You are welcome to join us. You can choose to either accept the offer or ignore it.” He paused, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper. “Report me to the authorities and you die.”

I bit my lip, not caring that I’d drawn blood. “W-Why me?”

His laughter boomed in my ears. “Why not you? If I can become a Thief, my friends can become Thieves, then what stops you?”

“I…”

“I used to be like just like you, living at the mercy of the government.” He shook his head almost sympathetically. “Look at me now. I do earn 20 Litres, but not per month. Per day. After a few months’ initiation, you could, too. Think about it.”

I stared at him, my brain refusing to form coherent words. “B-But isn’t it wrong? Immoral?”

“Damn the morals, my friend!” he exclaimed. “None of those matters. Think of it this way – in this world where people are paid their salaries with water, how are you going to survive for long?” He waved his arm around dismissively. “The government will fire you soon enough. What then?”

I clutched at the chair, sinking down. He held my shoulder with an arm. “Would you rather become an immoral Thief, or die of perpetual thirst? It all boils down to two options. Kill, or get killed.”

With a final wave and nod, he was gone. My eyes drifted to the paper on the table, on which he’d scrawled a name and phone number. I picked it up, acutely aware of my disoriented thoughts and racing heart.

“Kill or get killed.”

His words came back to me, their intensity still reverberating in my head. I shut my eyes, the paper threatening to slip from my palm.

‘NO!’, my morals screamed, begging me to listen. I would never become one of them. I crumpled the paper, curling my fists to throw it away. My hand, for some reason, couldn’t move.

“Kill or get killed?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying my best to resist temptation. I failed.

“Kill”, I whispered, smoothing the paper and pocketing it. The decision was made.

–by Supraajha Murali