Was he responsible?
He didn’t sign up for this. Or did he? Knowingly?
Many such questions were swarming his head while he read the newspaper.
Was he the reason?
Hungry and with just the pair of clothes he was wearing, he was found lying on the footpath.
In bargain of ample of food and much better clothes, than he could dream of, he was asked to do a petty task.
His intuition tried hinting. But, yelling hunger pangs and shivering body suppressed the cropping intuition.
He couldn’t recognize himself in the mirror the next day. The makeover made him look nothing less than a big shot. He was born with looks to kill.
Kill! Reality hit him.
It was just a small package. To be delivered to a child.
The headline darted at him like missiles.
Over hundred die in the massacre at the flea market.
(Word Count: 146)