Greg sat still in the train. He stared out, his eyes focused on the green hills which rolled into each other as the rain lashed against the glass window. Rain burst forth from the black clouds. It felt like the biting wind from outside had cascaded into the train carriage. Greg shivered. His right hand tightened around the lapels of his long black coat as he wrapped it close to his body.
He was going to his hometown for the first time in years. Robert was dead and Greg was attending the funeral. The screech of the engine resonated through the carriage as the train glided to a halt at the station. Greg drew a deep breath. He stood, picked up his briefcase and stumbled towards the exit of the train carriage.
He had spent years pushing the memories of that night to the furthest recesses of his mind. But they were flooding back. His mind was racing.
He remembered the salty taste in his mouth as he thrust his head above the freezing water, the fast current dragging his body forward as he clung onto the limp body of Salim. The waves crashed around him, threatening to forever submerge them both. He desperately used his free arm to try to propel himself and Salim to the embankment. Blood gushed down from the cut in his scalp, obscuring his vision. He saw the embankment growing slowly bigger as he squinted through the blood and water. Four figures stood on the edge beckoning him towards them. His free arm pushed against the waves as he swam in the right direction, forcing his body toward the land. The embankment loomed large before him. He could see the features of the figures more and more clearly.
A big wave crashed against him. He was pushed beneath the surface. He kicked his legs, propelling his body up. Salim’s body slipped from his grip. Greg shoved his head above the water’s surface. He blinked repeatedly, looking around in the water. Salim’s body was nowhere to be found.
Greg motioned at the taxi outside the train station and it stopped before him. Once he was inside, he texted Fred ‘I’ve reached’.
The response was immediate, ‘Come to the house.’ There was no doubt the others would be there too.
Greg gave the driver the directions and sat back, clutching his coat close to his body. The taxi set off. The rain relentlessly hammered the glass windows. Greg swallowed. Nobody else had been there that night. But, beyond comprehension, so many years later, it was clear. Someone else knew. No secrets remain buried forever.
About the Creator
Ahed Attar
I’m a Qualified Solicitor who enjoys writing in my spare time, dabbling in my different areas of interest.
I’m currently writing a criminal thriller story. I hope you have a read and let me know what you think.
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The Reckoning
The yellow flames swirled around the blackening embers. They intertwined as they engulfed the coal completely. Fred’s eyes were fixed on the dancing flames as he mused, sipping his tea in his armchair. After Salim’s death that night, he had known the story was not over. He had anticipated consequences. He had warned the others. Then the first note came some days later. It was followed by another. Then another. In the month after Salim’s death five notes altogether had been posted to them. Fred had waited for the impending knock on the door from the police.
By Ahed Attar4 years ago in Humans
The Enigmatic Life of Lin Gengbai: Poet, Revolutionary, and Seer
Lin Gengbai, a poet from the Southern Society, was born in Minhou, Fujian. He studied in Beijing at the age of eight and was passionate about politics throughout his life. He once joined the Beijing-Tianjin Alliance and had the ambition to clarify the world. In the first year of the Republic of China, Lin Gengbai founded the "Yellow Flower and Blue Blood Society" with Chen Lesheng and others in Shanghai, with the urgent task of assassinating the remnants of the imperial system. After the failure of the "Second Revolution", he rose and fell. He first served as the secretary of the Senate and once acted as the acting secretary-general. He was only 22 years old. Although he was successful in his youth, he was melancholy. Soon he became angry and wrote poetry under the guidance of Chen Shiyi, a teacher of the "Jiangxi Poetry School". He was talented and innovative, and many people called him Li Yishan. Later, he was known as the "Chinese Poet of the Generation". He was not tall, with fair skin, clear eyebrows, and a high nose bridge, and had a bit of a foreigner's appearance. He claimed, " Cao Juren gave a speech at the Nan She Ya Ji, talking about the relationship between Nan She and the Xinhai Revolution. He believed that the Xinhai Revolution was a political movement with a strong romantic atmosphere, and Nan She's poetry and prose were the atmosphere of Gong Zizhen. Lin Gengbai was the living Gong Zizhen. Liu Yazi nodded in agreement, but Lin Gengbai was very unhappy: "I don't even have Li and Du in my mind, let alone Gong Dingan. Cao's being Gong Dingan is too shallow of me." At that time, people naturally referred to him as a poetry fanatic. Liu Yazi had been friends with him for more than 30 years, and Liu Yazi, who had high eyes, commented: "Gengbai's poetry is idealistic and charming, and although I am still ashamed, I am not as good as him. Are contemporary people who cling to their shortcomings worth a bite of their sword?"
By Beck_Moulton6 days ago in Humans
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