Nkosinathi and his boys sighted their target in front of them; and trailed along behind him like predators in the jungle stalking their prey. The target, the prey, remained oblivious and completely ignorant to the fact that he was being hunted. Midnight silently drew closer with the intention of putting an end to the day and beginning a brand new one. Owls croaked in the near distance and a soft breeze adorned the gravely silence of the neighbourhood.

And then, just a few moments later, the predators struck: Nkosinathi sprinted, at the peak of his speed he sprung up into the air – left leg up and jolted forward – the base of his left foot drove into the right shoulder of their target: the man, mid-thirties, fell to the ground on his hands and knees. Trembling and crumbling in fear, the man drowned in trauma. One of Nkosinathi’s boys (crime partners) snatched his laptop bag, while the other proceeded to kick him successively.

Nkosinathi threw his hand behind his back, pulled out a pistol that was sitting along the waist line of his trousers, held tightly in place by his belt. He cocked it and aimed at the man’s head. Nkosinathi’s partner had seized the incessant kicking by then.

Violent shivers and trembles enveloped the man’s body, he was so traumatized he even failed to shoot a glance – just one – into the eyes of his predators. 

“Take out the money! Take it out now!” Nkosinathi demanded.

Apart from the laptop, the man forfeited a gold-plated watch, a wallet stashed with R2000, a jacket, and an expensive tie. Sadly, he also sustained a beating and took home with him several bruises that formed an artwork of horror on his face and body.

Nkosinathi and his gang boys were proud of themselves, they enjoyed the money. Every. Last. Cent. And had sold the laptop for a price that brought them jubilance – an abundance of it actually.

The following week: a college boy they had been stalking for a few days was their next hit. The loot they obtained from him was not as exciting as the businessman who forfeited his laptop to them. All this college boy had had for them was a lousy old-fashioned iphone and only R150. They beat him for that. This time they didn’t leave bruises – like the businessman, they left an unconscious boy covered in open wounds that blood trickled from. 

One of Nkosinathi’s partners had aimed a pistol at the boy’s head, Nkosinathi had talked him out of pulling the trigger. He had a way with words, he was good with them, despite the anger burning furiously within his crime partners, he was simply able to talk them out of paying heed to the devil’s thoughts roaming around in their minds – screaming at them to end the boy’s life.

The gang had been doing this for a long, long time now. If Life had the ability to talk, the stories it would share about their journey would probably give any willing listener a heart attack. Should it have occurred that all the people who they ever wronged were granted a platform to come forth and speak up, the horrors dwelling within the countless stories would be something overwhelming if they were to be put into one gigantic container.

Anyways, another week had passed by. Their next victim: a young woman – in working class. They had caught her at a bad time of the month. Her wallet… just a useless R20 note. At least the phone and the watch had redeemed her. 

They didn’t lay a hand on her, thank goodness! The only thing she carried home… a boat load of trauma. 

Nkosinathi had received a warning from his brother; a Sangoma heeded a warning: The Sangoma had told Nkosinathi’s brother that Nkosinanthi shall meet with a very ill fate if he continues with this journey – this dark and haunted road of bringing pain and sadness unto others.

Nkosinathi retaliated with a tirade of threats. “Mind your own business, boy! You are useless just like your pathetic parents!” he had raged at one point during the tirade. His brother, being one who doesn’t force nor beg people, happily obliged and left his brother to enjoy his freedom. Of course, he had asked the Sangoma to speak to the Elders in Spirit on Nkosinathi’s behalf and plead for mercy unto his brother. 

The gang continued robbing and beating people, and enjoying a life beaming with the absence of sweat: no struggle. No hard work. Everything was handed to them on a silver platter. The world was practically theirs – or at least that’s what the life they were living had told them. 

Little did they know, some were plotting revenge against them. Word had spread like an untamed wildfire around the community. Their reputation had been dragged under some place deep in the mud they would never be able to save it from, ever! They were quickly becoming more popular than the devils living in them could contemplate. Some had sworn an oath to hunt them down. It’s safe to assume, Nkosinathi and his boys became a priority to many of the dwellers: a priority that had to be terminated and extinguished from the community.