Null Existence
11. Tabula Rasa's
The tall body curled up on a thin foam mattress that was not long enough to drain it on the floor, curled up in a brown blanket and immersed its face deeply into the pillow. Trying to trap the heat of his body so as not to run away mingled with the cold room plots where he was.
Drenched clothes just loosen up in the corner, seeping into other dirty laundry in plastic containers. The owner is lazy, the plan will be handed over to the laundry tomorrow, sometimes pretending to have more money does not seem to matter he thought.
The drizzle does not seem to go away or subside, hopefully not until tomorrow morning. A rainy Monday morning is a nightmare for those who do not own a four-wheeled vehicle in Jakarta.
Rangga forced his eyes closed even harder, immersing his face deeper into the pillow. He does not want to wake up with many branches of mind, hoping that dreams can ward off restlessness and help pass through the night.
At first all dark, dense, over time the darkness shrank like mist and thinned. Rangga is now sitting on the bench of the Black SUV parked not far from the gate of an upscale residential complex outside Jakata.
"Now it's time you open a new leaf, and become a full-fledged Jagawana figure."
The father who sat opposite him then thrust a gun and the barrel of the silencer. The intonation is low, but the character of the voice is deep.
Rangga received the gun and sheathed his bullet magazine, one of 3 pieces he carried. He kept the barrel and the damper behind the blue parachute jacket he was wearing.
"This task, it's been purely the fruit of your labor for the past two years. Consider this a small gift from your father. All the information you need is in your head, whether it works or not, it depends on you. I'm waiting for you at home."
Rangga opened the side door of the SUV to move to the delivery car package that will take him in. The father again called when Rangga would close the door again.
"Remember always the message of the Father..."
"No revenge, no hate, no emotion." Reply Rangga confidently and serenityfully. The father nodded in satisfaction at the look in the eyes of the teenager in front of him and then the SUV passed away.
The front post guard of the stately house was stunned to check the address on the shipping box label in front of him. Been a little suspicious of the young courier delivering the package this late.
He tried to ask his servant in the post, but the sentence was cut off forever.
Rangga dragged the bodies of the two large-bodied men into the post. The night was also drizzling so that the indeed silent complex was as quiet as a grave.
The flash of events then took Rangga as he crossed the courtyard and killed the bodyguard who was off guard, knocking down two more who were sheltering behind a large pillar of the main door. One bullet for one head, the atmosphere was then rowdy when Rangga had destroyed those in the living room.
The aides screeched in fear that even though Rangga did not intend to pursue them, he vacated the rest of the second magazine on two bodyguards who tried to ambush, he said, also the forehead of several pairs of silk-studded guests in the middle room.
He recognized their faces from a photo he obtained on a briefing, marked as a target affiliate. They deserve to pay for their actions too.
Then he was in the nursery in one of the large rooms on the second floor, stepping over a man who was now floundering over a pool of blood from a slashed neck. The colorful carpet is now dominated by a red pattern with dozens of shoe prints.
His steps stopped at a contest of baby-studded toys, fingers wrapped in leather gloves that momentarily touched the ring hanging on it, again and again. Vibrant smile.
The last glimpse led him to a large bedroom, the main bedroom of his target.
The great lord who was now in a group with his three children begged to be forgiven, His wife bid with their expensive pendant necklace and promised to add with a large box of jewelry and lots of cash.
The Great Lord was now kneeling pale, the tears of the children were brooding in front of the angel, about to wear a parachute with a cold young face.
The Great Lord wept bitterly lowered his head on the floor as Rangga mentioned the two names before him. His wife tried to reach Rangga's feet to beg for forgiveness if the barrel of the gun did not stop him first.
The three brothers screamed and cried hysterically at their mother. His father sought forgiveness for his children, the youngest of whom was a few months old in the cradle.
Forgiveness, mercy you say? Where is the mercy for my sister?
Rangga howled loudly in his mind, even though his mouth remained silent, his eyes were slightly misty and hot.
Eruptions of light gunfire were heard again, the barrel of the silencer was reflecting thin smoke. The Great Lord staggered and collapsed with a hollow forehead, wallowing in a red puddle mixed with his wife's blood.
The clattering of empty shells hinged on the cold marble floor, lacing the cries of the surviving brothers lamenting for both parents, the youngest baby cries sedu-sedan held by an older sister who may be a little more mature than Rangga.
"This is not hate, or revenge, I just for my rights" said Rangga slowly.
The eldest turned his head in horror and choked, as if trying to fencing his two younger siblings. Trembling her teeth held back the sense of helplessness and the crying that came back broke. He hugged his second sister with one hand, while the other held the baby tightly.
Rangga brandished his now-empty gun, then pulled out his Bayonet.
The tall body was curled up on a thin foam mattress that was not long enough to fit on the floor, the brown blanket was wide open and his face was sinking deeply into the wet pillow. His shoulders trembled, his hand veins poking out while tightly squeezing his base sheets.
Adhan shubuh dress up from mushala speakers. Waking him from a dream.
***
That night Rangga was officially dead and berkalang ground reddish side by side headstone with both parents and sister only wayangnya.
His spirit had calmed down when his revenge was reached, now he could rest and people would forget him. Like most people when they die.
As the sun rivalled the spacious courtyard of a large house on the outskirts of Jakarta, its golden rays bathed a body bathed in mud and blood.
His steps were calm even though his face was tired, not staggered or staggering, firm and steady. He swerved through the sideways and washed his hands and feet in the outpouring of water.
The statue of the girl holding the pitcher was wet and slightly mossy despite the water being so clear and fresh. Patriated on small steps under the shade of the tree.
"Hand first, clean your body, then we have breakfast." cried the Father of the little Pendopo on the other side of the park, he then folded his newspaper and ordered breakfast served not in Pendopo. The housekeeper also came out carrying a pile of men's clothes.
Rangga obeyed the order of the Father and grabbed the change of clothes, then stepped into the restroom for guests in the park.
That morning while his friends who had forgotten Rangga were preparing to start the New Teaching Year and go to third grade, Rangga had also closed the final chapter of his life.
That morning the Vendor was born.
