It wasn’t a good locality. Good as in well lit, busy with a certain
bonhomie as many other streets are. This was a dimly lit alley that had overflowing
trash cans, the kind of locality where trash bins overflow fast and don't get
cleaned quickly enough. Stray cats scavenging for food had managed to topple
the can and there was garbage strewn on the road. A street light flickered at
the far end of the alley. Almost reluctant to throw light steadily. Like staccato bursts. No
predictability, just an unsteady flicker. Some wire had a loose connection. Or
the bulb was at the end of its life on the lamppost. Wonder the multitude of
things the flickering bulb would have seen in its lifetime. No one bothered for
such things. What was the life of a lightbulb. Yet, it was there and doing
somethings for years maybe. Everyday occurrences unfolding under its flickering
light. Or maybe it was a bright shining light always and had just gone weak
recently. Anyways on that night, its yellow flicker just added to the pall of
gloom on that alley. Almost as if it was going to die any moment and was
stuttering in its last leg of life. Reluctant to let go but unable to hold up
strong either.
A man in a black hoodie slipped out of a building into the dimly
lit alley. It was difficult to determine the colour, but it looked like black. His
trousers and shoes also seemed black. His face wasn’t visible, he looked almost
black! Maybe it was the shadow or the hoodie covering it or maybe he was black!
He walked with deliberate fast steps, making very little noise. He was
athletic, you could make out from his profile and the energy in his step. That
needed strong legs. He sure seemed to have a purpose. A man sure of what he
wanted to do next and walking with purpose towards it. Confident steps, covering
ground fast, barely any noise from the sole hitting the ground. A practiced
walk. Stealth. That was the word. The man moved like a cat in motion,
fluid, strong, surefooted, swift, noiseless, and as if he is going to pounce
any moment. A slow drizzle started. The man pulled his hoodie tight. The alley
met a wider road in about hundred yards from the lamppost. The man was getting
closer to the wider road. A car started. A muffled sort of sound. Not the sound
of a tired old car. This was a clean sound, refined as would a new engine sound. Just a starting noise and then a stead whine. The car did not sound like it
was moving but it seemed very near. It could be right near the corner. The car
seemed to be waiting. Then it started moving, one could hear the slow roll of
rubber on an uneven street. Then it came out from of the wide road, a black
car with its lights off. One just saw the outline of the car from the reflection
a distant light threw on it. A person sat at the wheel, it was
difficult to make out details. Maybe it was a man or even a woman.
The man in the hoodie lurched towards the car, pulled the
rear door open and got in and shut the door in one fluid motion. The car sped away leaving a faint trail on the
tarmac which the rain immediately washed away. The alley and the wide road was
once again deserted. Slow drizzle continued to wet everything. The flickering lamppost
was the only witness to what transpired in the alley that dark wet night. A
lone flickering lamp. What had it seen that night? As if on cue at this precise
moment, the light went out. It had breathed its last! Immediately throwing a
cold pall of darkness across the whole area. It went silent. Even in its dim
flickering life, it had lit up the surroundings. In its death, it seemed like
the whole place was dead. Died along with the light. Pitch darkness. Silent
rain. What was the story of the hooded man? What had happened in the dimly
lit alley that only the now dead lamp witnessed? What was it?!
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