I am a voice - Part I

I am a voice.

No, I’m not just any voice. I’m not some sound made by some random man’s throat that human beings have learned to interpret to make sense as per the languages they invented a couple of millennia ago. I’m not the noise emanating from some fair maiden’s delicate vocal cords that men pretend to be in love with when all they really want it a night of fun, to put it mildly.

What I am is a nameless, faceless voice in the ears of people who listen to what I tell them. And when I tell them to do something, they do it.

For most of the world, I do not exist. But for the ones I guide, I am everything.  

So when I told Romeo to wait in the men’s room for a couple of seconds while the man in the expensive silk suit left, he dutifully pulled out a pair of glasses from his blazer pocket, pretended to examine them in the light and then put them on. Then I told him to move. And he did.

Romeo quickly set off on a trajectory that kept the man in the suit in his line of sight. And where he ran the risk of losing sight of his target, he had me. I see everything. That’s why they listen to me.

Romeo was good. He followed the man exactly the way I told him to. He never hesitated or lost a step. This was the kind of minion I liked.

Slowly but surely, I told him. Tonight is the night of justice. Tonight, we avenge the poor and the helpless. Take the escalator next to the one he took. Not now. Yes, now. Tonight we colour his expensive suit with blood. Not the innocent blood he has on his hands but his own blood.

A stranger would never have guessed that Romeo was following instructions; would never have guessed that a voice was constantly whispering encouragement as well as commands in his ear. For all the world, Romeo was just another man making his way from the ground floor of the lobby of a plush hotel to the first floor. For the ignorant, he was just standing on the escalator letting it take him upwards while checking his cell phone for messages.

You are the chosen one, I had taught him. No one has the right to know your mission. No one is worthy enough.

The man in the suit stepped off the escalator and looked around at the restaurants and bars on the first floor before entering a coffee shop. He settled into a chair facing the entrance and placed his cell phone close to his hand. He was expecting a call, or a message. And he wanted to respond to it quickly.

I smiled.



TO BE CONTINUED