The sky was rapidly changing colors from dark blue to violet to black. The last of the Maghrib azans could be heard in the distance. Just as flocks of birds were flying toward their nests, children playing on the streets were also heading home. Mustafa was walking with a group of boys. As they reached the second lane, there was a parting of ways.

The other boys turned in the lane while Mustafa walked on. His home was a little further down the street. The street was empty apart from an occasional stray cat or a car speeding by; in the dying of the day, no other sound could be heard. But Mustafa was not afraid as he had gotten used to this silence. He’d been playing with the boys in the other street for the past four months. So, he walked on.

A lane, merely a three-foot gap between two houses, used as a shortcut by passers-by, was all in shadow. Mustafa stopped momentarily; it always seemed that there was someone hiding inside. Everyday he would sprint through it, his heart missing a beat. Now, just as he broke into a run, the greatest of his fears was confirmed. A hand thrust out of the gap and grabbed him by the back of his shirt and jerked him back. Mustafa felt suffocated, as if he hadn’t breathed for sometime.

Mustafa’s first instinct was to scream, but the man had already clamped his gloved hand over his mouth, his arm holding down Mustafa’s right forearm. The man’s other arm was tightly wrapped around Mustafa’s stomach, pinning down his left arm. Mustafa thrashed about wildly but his captor’s grip never faltered. He was moving so forcefully that it caused the man to fall but his vice-like grip tightened all the more forcing Mustafa’s breath out of him. He started to scream when the full realization of the horrific situation hit him, but it couldn’t go beyond the man’s taut fingers. All sorts of thoughts started crossing Mustafa’s mind. Will I die tonight? What if this man wants to kidnap me? What will my parents do when they realize I never came home?
For a whole five minutes, Mustafa moved violently hoping to free himself from the unyielding grasp of his captor, but to Mustafa it seemed like an hour. The man being a strong adult could easily control a child of 12. At last he had no strength left in him and he hung limply in the man’s arms, his breath ragged and bruises on his arms where his captor’s arms had held him like claws. When he raised his head again, he could feel the man’s hot breath on his neck.

Then, he saw the flash of metal in the hand of his abductor, now raised before his eyes. His heart welled up with terror. He turned to look at this man but all he could see was the silhouette of his face. Only the man’s eyes glinted. Mustafa’s eyes pleaded with the man for mercy but his were relentless. His mood was unchangeable and now there was a new emotion in the man’s eyes. One of cold, cruel amusement.
Suddenly, pain erupted in his neck. The knife tore into his skin and pierced his flesh. Instinctively, he wanted to plug the wound with his hand and he realized that the man’s grip had slackened. Swiftly, he swung his arms upward, clapping one over his neck and began clawing with the other at the man’s cloaked fingers clasped over his mouth. The man was caught off guard, but he recovered fast.

As if in answer, Mustafa felt excruciating pain just below his left ribs. The knife was twisting inside him, burning him from within. His hands flew down to his side, the warm moistness of blood gushing through his fingers, his body bent double. He tried to grasp the knife but it slid out of his reach. In a last bid for survival, Mustafa tried to scream again and fought back frantically. But his killer knew that it would be only a matter of time. And, soon enough, Mustafa, writhing with pain, curled up on the ground as life dripped out of his body, silenced forever.

The murderer made sure the child was dead. He grinned at his victim and smiled a malicious, satisfied smile. He wiped clean his sickle-like knife on Mustafa’s shirt and stroked its curved edge lovingly. He folded it and carefully replaced it in its case and put the case safely in his pocket. He peeled off his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets too. He stood up after examining the victim, that cruel smile still plastered on his face, and walked away at ease leaving the child lying in his own pool of blood. Mustafa’s eyes were wide with a look of terror in them, his mouth open as if he was screaming a silent agonizing scream that tears at the heart.