$5bn in My Head - S. Karan Abrari (e books for reading TXT) 📗

ONE THANKFUL HOUR


He went back to the town at 5 in the afternoon.

Jack the mechanic knew him from childhood. He said, Hi, and fired the gun. Jack the mechanic flew up to heavens at the age of 25.

Then he shut at the other two boys.

People ran out to see what happened in the repair shop. One, two, three, four, six, seven of them just kicked the bucket; the fifth was still alive. He helped him on his suffering dilemma, shooting again.

They fled into their houses. He applied the key on the first door and appreciated the hot, screaming welcomes. It was the thirty forth anniversary of their marriage; a long life together, sharing in happiness and pain, to the end. Romantic!

He threw out some grenades, one after one, and he ran out through the Police cars in fire, towards the next door across the street. He shut the key bullet and got in: an early birthday party.

Behind the next door was the man who owned the milk factory. The monopolist of milk production died with a glass of whiskey in his hand. His two girlfriends left the spinning globe naked and the old housekeeper took a heart-full of impossible desires with herself.

Astonished at the burning cars and the abandoned street, the driver missed the last chance to escape on the rear gear and bring his newly-widowed Angelina back home again.

The drunken man at the window fell out down onto the ground.

He opened the door and said, hi! Mathew got rid of solving math problems for ever, his dream made real in a wink. His mother ran upstairs with the little Kim in her arms. Poor boy! He was too fresh to have experienced sliding downward. Mother's soul had clung into her wonders, so he had to cut its tail with another bullet.

In the little park of the town, Brian and Linda had a symbolic demise behind the bushes, though they thought they had found such a private corner to be together.

Sam the poet never thought he was going to leave this planet under a billiard table. In a piece of writing he says; "With a bunch of roses on my chest, The glory of consequence, Sediments, in the heart of mine…

At the door which separated us Were looking my eyes"

Mr. John Lee, the first official physician in the town, Sandra the tailor, Ana, all his ex-family members, Brian Coke, his first teacher at school, Maria, the mother of two honey kids who didn't let him kiss her lips in the woods from a certain time on for no reason, James Bleach, the man who established the town's first super market, Alfred & Katherine Bloom, Lindsey Pork, a professional piano player who did love to live in her own little town instead of swimming in a pool of banknotes, Andy Lemon, the solid-minded preacher, Dr. Kate Lord, Dr. Martin, Susan the miserable whore and a lot of other inhabitants of the town were murdered on the same date.

He fixed the last cartridge on the weapon and looked at the large hospital building. The remaining bullets would not get him through that big job, so he made decision to drive an ambulance into the boiler room at the back of the building. He jumped out before the collision and ran like hell to the front door. A number of nurses had rushed out of that palace of destiny: Three of them were trying to escape in a brand new car which cost him one of the two last grenades; two more fell down in the way the broken soldiers do in a battle movie; and the one who drew her little girl on the pathway got a little bullet drill on her neck. Then he sat on a car roof and greeted every one who stepped out of the front door.

The flame swept the first floor. Now he felt much confident, yet another bullet had to be expensed on an old woman who couldn't take her burning wool jacket off so easily.

There were twenty bullets left and the witness of 25 years were still high there; the clouds. He started the gun and shouted for all bitter memories to vanish. Then he was a pure normal person again.

He took off the mask, held the hand of the little girl on the stone path and walked into the town. At a flash of inspiration he hurried to take off his jacket too, because the white color of his T-shirt would give a better feeling to the scary children waiting for papa. He knew the houses. Got another child out of the first house and hurried towards the others, and of course his lady.

He came across Tom the butcher's little girl who was sobbing to death, sitting on the rough blood-red asphalt. He lifted her on his arm and put a bubble candy of those he had gathered while shooting at James Bleach, in her beautiful mouth. He had taken plenty bubble candies to ensure every child of his good intensions.

The city was completely evacuated of human souls. You could see some blood on the wall and the relevant corpse here and there, but this physical separation of bodies and the blood had trapped the whole town in an unpleasant murmur-like sound which exaggerated the touch of the wind on your face.

He collected some other kids and they kept walking towards the main square. He knew, on the other side, Jane, the beautiful 19 year old daughter of Logan Picker was wandering aimlessly in the same situation; having gathered a number of sobbing kids but unable to calm them down.

The girl smiled. She knew him as everyone in this town did; he was an ominous bastard, the only son of Susan, who had lived his youth on donations and had build up such an unsmooth character which made her so hard to deal with. "Oh, you are alive?" said the girl. "We'll take care of these kids!" he answered.

Then he counted the kids. Three of them were still in houses, among which was poor Kim. He brought them out of the exact places he had memorized, and the big family, a young couple and their thirty one children lived a happy life for one hour.

He shot himself on the forehead right before he was almost arrested.
He was so thankful then.


$5bn in My Head


On 1st of January 2007, evening, one of the worst annoying incidents in the history of science did occur in a vacant boulevard of a sea-side city: a man of forty five years old burned himself in fire and stayed without motion until he fell down and turned to ash, facing to the sunset on the sea.

A couple of hours earlier, the man called some news-reporters and invited them to attend this private ceremony. He was not a unanimous person to them; therefore, three particular reporters stayed in ambush the whole afternoon in their cars and finally managed to record the commitment, though they didn't know how terrible it might be. Those recordings, however, were suppressed by the state government and the reporters were forced to surrender all their copies to the police and sign a pledge of promise to keep the story as a deadly secret.

Morning papers tomorrow printed a short report on the event in a funny, mocking tone. This type of expression was exactly in harmony with whatsoever the news they had published about that megalomaniac person before. And it was not for only once or twice or thrice; for more than two years and a half, Professor had put a big portrait of himself on the first page of every local paper. In one occasion, even the general TV network aired a comprehensive comic-based report about how this patient's so called scientific, hollow pretensions rooted in his ambiguous character.

Basically, the story began when one day a large, strange advertisement appeared in a business & science magazine, reading; "I've got $5bn in my head!" Underneath, there was a phone number and nothing more.

Some scholars and business persons revealed later that they had made phone calls to the number printed in order to find out what that message could mean. But nearly all of them confirmed that he was an abnormal person who enjoyed playing verbal games on others. One of them described it as follows: - 5 billion-dollars-man, hello - Hello, I am Roger Blade, calling for the ad you put on Sunday's … - Oh, Roger! Can you believe it; we can make $5bn a year together. I thank you for calling. - What's the matter then? - Electricity. We will be the world's No.1 power generator, providing that…. . Can you persuade some investors to invest some hundred kilos of gold in this project? - Wow! What is this project Mr.…? - 'To believe in the Genius'; that is what I call it, as far as you are concerned.

Apparently, as he gained nothing out of that advertisement, he decided to publicize it by his innovative method: One day he stood on an empty fruit box in front of the city's Technical University and started to address the physics department scholars as to having good news about a revolution in power generation. There he claimed he had discovered an unprecedented approach to generate ten times as much electricity power as a regular dam turbine is to generate.

As the Police came to the scene, by interference of an open-minded dean, he was invited to sit in an informal meeting with a number of scientists, so that they might assess the fundaments and essence of his extraordinary ideas. There did he ask for some economical experts to attend the meeting either, for the possibility of any expediting conclusion be made, a request which was agreed upon at the dean's sole responsibility.

The meeting took 5 minutes to conclude. The innovator was so impatient that he started the meeting with this exact expression: 'I won't be able to scientifically persuade you about this industrial innovation, and I would rather call it an inspiration, because the whole story is so true to me that I won't stand your snail-steps to inspect and examine the reliability of the plan. I need some hundred kilos of gold and a super professional workshop to establish the world's most yielding power plant which consumes nothing other than an endless natural source of energy which will cost nothing to restrain. So, I am here like a modern industrial prophet, not like a researcher who needs your approval and acknowledgement. I need your doubtless faith in me, like any other prophet asked his followers for!'

The deans and scholars left the meeting in a rage, but as the calling one requested, no reports on this gathering was revealed out to the media, but the professor himself made a number of big