STOLEN Chapter 2-3

*warning: Everything you read here are works of fiction



Part 3



         Light bursts throughout the water around him. Zakri smiled, sure of the surface he was about to reach. He paddled faster. He kicked like he was reaching home after a long time away. The adrenaline rush was unbearable as he felt the pressure around him thinned.
         The water broke and blasted upwards towards the blackened sky. The moon felt close and the floodlights closer. The  burst covered his ears and his lungs pulled air from the arid sea despite the incoming water. Waves gently slap him on the face while he struggles. Zakri coughed. He coughed again and wiped his face still gasping for air.
         Orange cranes swivel and turn around him. Forklifts buzzed as did floating containers. The bow of a tanker looked down to him with its anchor like a dangling pierce sat to its side. A name, 'FLOATING MARIE' was written in huge white letters underneath the anchor.
         Zakri coughed again, frowning at what's in front of him. "A harbor?" he said to himself. His eyes widened and he lift his hand above water. The soaking envelope had already torn to half and its content disappeared underwater. Zakri clenched tight his fingers. Everything he knew about the man had gone down the drain. So did his notebook. He punched the water in frustration.
         A worker spotted him just as walked out of the water and into the harbor. He shouts for him but Zakri ignored the man. His heart was in pain and his head was not any different. He needs something to calm him down and he needs it fast. The man shouts again but Zakri had already disappeared into the night.
         The night was weird enough cold and the road was empty except for the occasional strings of light from late workers and the ear deafening sound of illegal racers passing by. Zakri leaned on the taxi stand hoping to find a taxi in the dead of the night. Shop houses around him closed and the only light was from the lamp post adorning the sidewalk. He looked to the empty ends of the road, shivering in his drenched trench coat, he cupped his hands and breath into it before giving it a rub. He rubbed the heat on his hands to his face and lament on the seconds it lasts.