PREMONITION
“Would you like another one?” The man sitting at the bar offered a drink to the woman next to him.
“Ah. I don’t know. I’m getting tipsy,” she said.
“That’s what Friday nights are for.” he countered with a smirk on his face.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Uma replied in a seductive tone while playing with the empty glass in her hand.
“I enjoy your company and do anything to prolong our exciting conversation.”
“Hum. Why am I skeptical of your intentions then?” she sneered.
“That’s because you’re cynical. I like that in a woman.”
“What else do you like in a woman?”
“Intelligence is my favorite virtue. It may sound like a cliché’ but it’s true.” and ordered two more drinks.
“So, you’re half drunk in a bar on a Friday night and interested only in my intelligence? Obviously my damn
cleavage is not doing the trick.”
He laughed.
“What do you do?” Uma asked.
“I’m a businessman.”
“What else do you do in addition to making money and picking up intelligent women?”
“I read.”
“Hum. What do you read?”
“True crimes. I’m fascinated by criminal minds.” he replied.
“How interesting! I write crime stories.”
“You write fiction. Obviously you have a criminal mind but there is a big difference between true crimes and
fictional stories.”
“But I’m good; I can make readers believe they are reading true crimes.”
“It’s not the same my dear. Fiction never replicates reality.”
“Define real,” Uma carped.
“What’s happened is reality and what’s happening is also real,” the man responded.
Uma defended her craft, “My crimes happen in my imagination first, so they’re real. Reality is a matter of
perception and not timing. I visualize how a crime may happen and victims conspire with me to execute it. At the
end every piece of the puzzle magically falls into place. Past, present or future tense has no bearing on
reality.”
“Hum. You are passionate about what you do, aren’t you? ” he whispered in her ear.
“Life without passion is not life.”
“You inspire me, I feel like writing too.”
“Remember, if you vividly visualize an event, you’ve already made it happen, this is art of writing,” Uma
whispered back.
The man sighed, “Maybe I should start by writing a suicide note, an emotional and poetic final letter from a man
who’s hit the rock bottom.” his eyes shone with enthusiasm.
“Do you have suicidal thoughts?” she asked.
“No, not at all, I’m a successful man by any standard.”
“Then why would start from there?”
“Because it’s powerful,” now he was slurring words.
His mood suddenly changed, “And we all have our own sorrows and shattered dreams in life. A letter like this is
venue to express such despair. Don’t you think so?” he pleaded.
“Write from your heart, and it eventually touches your reader’s heart.” Uma advised.
“Would you critique me?”
“You’re not tricking me into a date, are you?” she was now gazing in to his lustful eyes.
“We are connecting on an intellectual level?” he raised his glass and toasted.
“I give you one week to pour your heart on the paper. I’ll be here next Friday night.”
“Let’s meet outside this bar. We can go somewhere with a little more privacy to discuss my literary piece.”
“You’ve got yourself a date. And thank you for drinks.” Uma walked away from the dazzled stranger at the bar.
On their next rendezvous, the rain was viciously pouring. When she arrived, he was waiting in his car. They
drove in wet dark streets for a while without exchanging words. Then he entered a deserted parking lot and
stopped the car.
“I still don’t know your name.” his words were tangled with the sound of lashing rain on the car.
“How was your first writing experience?” she inquired.
“I want to thank you for this. I never had the courage to express my true feelings the way I did here.” He showed
her the letter.
“You just didn’t know how.” she tenderly touched his hand.
“This is a final testament, a desperate attempt to tell a story to ones who never cared to listen. It’s so absurd
that sometimes we have to pay such a big price just to receive a little attention.” He confessed.
He then opened the glove compartment and showed her a handgun. “I even have my loaded gun with me
tonight to truly capture the mind frame of a desperate man.”
The rain was playing a haunting music in the background when he gently reached the revolver, put it on his
temple and said,”Do you think this is how he would’ve committed suicide?”
She then placed her finger on top of his and pulled the trigger and said, “This is how I write a crime story,” and
left the scene.