The Burden

With the Suitcase in your hand, you head to the station. The textured handle feels slippery in your hand, no doubt due to the amount of sweat you are profusely letting out. You glance nervously about. You cannot shake the feeling that you are constantly being watched, and every turn you take, every stop, every gesture, is taken notice of. Yet when you do glance around and glance behind, you see the normal bustle of Sparrow City. Nothing to be worried about.

You sigh, as you continue walking towards the station. Your heavy suitcase leans against your right knee, and your arm is already sore. You check your watch, and see it is 3:20, 10 minutes away from the next train. You speed up, and your thoughts return from the made-up person watching you to the business at hand. You walk the stairs to the station, and as you do, you tell God, for either the fiftieth or the thousandth time, that this is the last time you will be doing this type of stuff. No more, this is the last one. I just need a bit more… you think to God.

You buy your ticket, using just your left hand with the Suitcase weighing down your right hand, something that would have annoyed you any other day had it been any other suitcase. However, a beating heart, as well as a dropping stomach, is what you feel as you take your ticket.

You walk and stop at station 10, right in front of the bench. No point standing right behind the yellow line. Accidents could happen.

You stare blankly ahead, and grip the handle of the case tighter. Just a few 

more minutes, and The Suitcase would be out of your hands and out of your life.

You stand and wait, and run what was going to happen in your head once more. You were going to step unto the train, and make your way to the window seat towards the middle of the train. You were to keep your eyes on the window, until someone took the seat next to you. After verifying that each person had truly found the right person, you were to hand over the case. You would be given another suitcase, this one for you to keep. 

You think back to previous events that have led to you starting to take these kinds of jobs. I hope this is worth it. I’m going to stop after this job, you promise God once again. You could not have resisted the pull of money. When you had first been contacted, you were shocked by the amount you would be paid. The task had been a bit disturbing in exchange, but you told yourself that it wasn’t your problem. After that, you soon took another job offered by the Boss.

You then think of her, of how after this was done, you were finally going to try and make up to her. You remember the days when she fought with you, wishing you would stop taking these jobs. “It’s wrong and you know it! You need to stop before something happens and you finally regret it!” Deep down, you know that what you’re doing may be wrong, but… I’m just the deliverer, you say to yourself. I’m not the one who is getting what’s inside all these cases, not the one who decides what to do with them.

A high-pitched sound fills the station as the train shows up in the corner of your view. You turn towards it, and take a step forward towards it, though you know that it will be a few more seconds until it pulls up in front of you. You let out the breath you have been holding, anxious and also relieved that you would be free of this trouble soon. The blur of silver becomes clear as the train slows and stops.

You step forward as the doors slide open. Before your foot hits the ground, though, you feel a yank, and your stomach drops, your right hand suddenly grasping the air. You look back, and you see a black sleeve and glove and the Suitcase blend into the crowd. You spin around and start towards where you saw it, pushing aside people. Oh, God, please help me. You know how important the Suitcase is. You dash after the person. You have to catch up. You have to, or you’ll be in more trouble than you’ve been in before. You run after the running figure ahead, his trail made easier to follow by the people being pushed apart to the left and right, and yet it was the same crowd that made it hard to chase.

You make it out of station, and look to the left and right. A cloud passed in front of the sun, throwing the city scene from one of beauty into a darker and more depressed landscape, the people from happy and excited to rushed and downcast. You spot a running figure, Suitcase in hand, make a right at the intersection ahead.

You chase after him, your heart racing, and wishing your shoes were better suited for running. As you turn the alley, you think of the consequence that would come upon you should you fail to retrieve the Suitcase. Boss’ll have my skin. There’s no way out of this if I don’t get it back. Your run and turn at another intersection, the captor fifty meters ahead. God, I’m sorry. I should’ve stopped doing this business last time. If You help me get this back, I promise I won’t do this stuff anymore. You watch the figure turn down a street, and you inwardly groan. You know this city enough to know that the area the figure went to is a more residential one with more turns and smaller blocks, and that to be able to see the figure turn into different streets meant you’ll have to be a lot closer to him. You speed up more, feeling your lungs give a tighter squeeze around you. You turn another corner, and another. 

Your heart seems to stop.

You feel like crying. Especially now that you are at a loss. He’s gone. You slow down at the intersection ahead, and look around, with no idea which of the 3 ways he may have gone. For all you know, he may as well be in one of the identical residential homes that line the streets in this particular area. You put your hands on your knees, breathing heavily, and you are filled with nervousness and terror. You keep turning your head, and decide to turn right. You run, and run, and run. You turn, you run, you look, all the while screaming inside your head, and pleading with God to help you.

You slow down. You start to accept that you searching for the Suitcase isn’t leading anywhere. You suddenly feel light headed. From the run, or from shock, you aren’t sure. However, you keep walking. You absentmindedly walk, until, after a couple blocks, lucid thoughts start coming back into your head. You step onto the sidewalk and start your way towards the cross on a steeple, high above the residential houses.

God, I’m sorry. You step unto the road to make way for a couple coming your way on the sidewalk. I knew better than to work in stuff like this. It was just so… well, I know better now. You laugh. “I’m going to die,” you say out loud. You laugh again. “I’m going to die!” You tilt your head back, and yell “I’m going to die!” You tilt your head down, and realize that your eyes are burning from tears. You sniffle, and blink and let the tears roll down. I’m sorry, God. I truly am. With the time I have left, I’ll try to put my life in order.

You pull out your phone, and dial a number. Bringing it to your ear, you slow your breathing, and regain your composure. You hear the 4th ring of the phone get cut off, and a voice answers the phone. You apologize, you ask for another chance, and in the call that follows, you put this part of your life back in order between you and her. You say the 3 important words to her that you so strongly agree with.

You also send the message you have had the guts to write long before, but had never decided to send. With a couple of taps, you send it to the police.

You arrive in front of the brick building, and walk up the stairs and into the church. You sit on a pew, and start to pray. With the few hours you have left, for undoubtedly you will be caught-- and not by the authorities-- you pray to God, and ask for forgiveness... and you feel your burden taken from you.