Marco



The rain poured relentlessly as I stood in front of Ndumiso’s grave, my heart heavy with a mix of relief and sorrow. I had finally accomplished what I set out to do – avenging Ndumiso, the man who had shaped me into the person I am today. The memory of that fateful day when he first saw me roaming the streets and handed me a pocket knife to protect myself seemed like a lifetime ago, though it had only been ten years.

My eyes scanned the cemetery, taking in the serenity of the surroundings. The tombstones stood as silent witnesses to countless stories and sorrows. With a wry smile, I spoke to the grave, my voice barely audible over the sound of raindrops hitting the earth. “I’ve done it, grootman,” I whispered, my words carried away by the wind. “I may not have killed Shawn, but I’ve inflicted upon him a pain so deep that he will never escape it, just as they caused my own pain and took you away from me.”

Rain continued to pour as if nature itself acknowledges the weight of my actions. I close my eyes, feeling the wetness mingling with the tears streaming down my face. “I have nothing left to live for,” I admitted to the grave, my voice filled with resignation. Ndumiso had been my entire world, and without him, I felt like a hollow shell.

As the rain intensified, I turned away from the grave and sought refuge in the shelter of my car. The engine roared to life, its sound drowning out the rain’s relentless rhythm. With a heavy heart, I drove away from the cemetery, leaving behind the memories and ghosts that haunted me.

My destination was the police station, a stark contrast to the peacefulness of the cemetery. I parked outside the station and retrieved the gun I had kept hidden under my seat. Taking a deep breath, I walked inside, my steps echoing in the empty corridors. Only one police officer sat behind a desk, absorbed in his paperwork.

“How can I help you?” the officer asked without looking up, his voice carrying a hint of weariness.

“I am here to hand myself in,” I confessed, my voice steady despite the turmoil within me. The police officer finally glanced up, confusion etched across his face. “Hand yourself in?” he repeated, trying to make sense of my words.

“Yes,” I affirmed, placing the pistol on the table with a resolute thud. “This is the gun I used to kill that kid earlier.”

Shock and disbelief flashed in the officer’s eyes, but he quickly composed himself. Reaching across the counter, he gestured for me to follow. “Come, I’ll take your statement,” he said, leading me to a separate room.

As I sat down, the weight of my actions bore down on me. The room seemed to close in, suffocating me with its silence. The police officer’s eyes met mine, searching for answers, but I remained stoic, my resolve unyielding. The words spilled from my lips, recounting the events that led me to this point.

The rain continued to beat against the windows, its rhythm punctuating the gravity of my confession. I knew the consequences that awaited me – a life forever altered, a path irrevocably chosen. But as I sat in that dimly lit room, surrounded by the echoes of my past, I felt a strange sense of peace.

I had sought revenge, and I had found it. Now, I would face the consequences of my actions, in a world where justice and vengeance often blur into one another. As the rain outside washed away the sins of the city, I knew that my journey was far from over. Perhaps, one day, my and Ndumiso’s paths would cross again – in this life or the next.