Chasing the kiss of death
The powerful engine swept across the rocky terrain as the spate of bullet trailed the hot wheels and darted towards the green fields, skilfully avoided the huge pile of stones. The driver oscillated its body as the flurry of shots avoided the shoulders within inching distance. It was for the umpteen times that the occupant wearing black leathered jacket, jeans, and black shoes flirted with danger. It was painfully hot in the valley and green field where the body was cooked and burnt in the black attire and ball of fire triggered by the gun shots.
The motorbike screeched and rolled down the valley as the occupant hang on by the thread. After all, it’s was a question of life-and-death. The gun shots hit the motorbike that braved them like some potent force and the driver recovered its balance, bored bruises inside the leather jacket and thrust its way towards the highway.
The motto of the assailants is to kill and not catch the one who knew too much about the secret society. The bike flew in the air and sped past the fast moving train that squelched in speed, crossed the railway track by a whisker. The driver turned around to watch the train looming at break necking speed. A heavy breathing and whisper were heard.
The engine revved up, gently turned around on the muddy terrain as the splinter of mud sprinkled in the atmosphere. They lost sight of their target, the black coloured Royal Enfield. The machine whooshed its way on the busy street, into the seamless crowd of people, buses, and cars that honked and growled like the fierce tigers in the zoo. The rain spread havoc and fell like stone pellets, grains that hit everyone with full force. It was a pain that was too much to bear for the driver.
The black helmet was twisted and pulled off the head. The long hair flew in various directions caused by the wind and a perfect, flawless feminine face walked and oozed limitless confidence. She could have passed for a model and film heroine that traipsed fearlessly, unfazed by males ogling at her and sending an adrenaline rush. She pulled off the black leather jacket and valiantly walked inside the hut. She played the chase game and flirted dangerously with danger, averting the bullets of her father’s gang. No magician on earth could decipher that this brave, demure and beautiful women impersonated the man she was sleeping with to save his life.
She seductively pushed her long tresses with her hand and stroked his lip with her finger. He caressed her face and their lips smothered, swayed into this adulterated intimate passion. It was the last smooch. She smiled wickedly and tightly embraced him as he jumped on the moving train. The bogey moved away from the station and he felt a burning sensation on his quivering lip. He didn’t realize that it was the kiss of death. She said goodbye forever.
A poisonous bite that she strutted on her lip to bit him. He smiled, flipping the pages of Times of India inside the train, unaware, of the poisonous bite. He was still reeling under the spell of her kiss.