The Refugee

I never expected it. I couldn’t figure out how we started talking. One moment, he was there, and I was there. Before that, I was walking alone. Now, I was talking to him.
He looked like the classic non-Turkish person you are likely to encounter in this country these days: skin tanned from the Middle Eastern sun, ragged clothes. A refugee, most likely Syrian. Except, there was something different with this man, something in his brightened face when he saw me, something in his smile. It was as if I was sent to him by God.
He asked me how he could get to Ankara, the capital city, about a day’s drive away from Istanbul. Somehow, I quickly became accustomed to his company, as if we’d met sometime before. He told me that he was a refugee from Gaza, who had flown to Istanbul, using the funds raised in Turkey. He told me about his son in a hospital, who was injured from the attacks down in Gaza, which was the main reason they had probably come to this country. He showed me his passport, weary and wrinkly, completed with a Palestinian flag. He talked of a bus company, of a bus ticket to Ankara, and stated he needed money. I promptly told him I couldn’t provide the money. The people on the streets were not angels, and neither was I obliged to give any money to them. Despite the fact that money ran the world, I didn’t want to discuss money with this man.
He had obviously suffered, but he had a strange aura of happiness and optimism about him. He smiled. He showed me how much he had sweated, since he had been walking for so long. He told me that “we are brothers”. I didn’t mention to him that I was agnostic and irreligious. The brotherhood was not religious, but humane this time. I imagined somehow fixing him his bus, and helping him through his journey. I knew I couldn’t, so I didn’t want to linger on for long. I lent him just enough money to enjoy a cheap meal, or buy a few bottles of water. I told him I couldn’t help him. I started walking and didn’t turn back. I wondered if he followed me. I wondered what he thought about me. I wondered what I thought of him. He was one of those people the world was talking about. Politicians, political commentators, they all spoke of this man’s life. He was human. He wanted his son to live. I walked on.

The London Dead Bus: A Short Story

It has been a long time since I last wrote about my experience running around London, and my weighing scale clearly shows it. It was unfortunate that on the day I felt inspired to run for hours on end, I was met with my greatest fear as a pedestrian in London.

I was following the path of Bus 13 south, towards St John's Wood station. It was customary for me to run on the right hand side of the road, as advised by my esteemed PE teacher, so that I was aware of the happenings on the road. However, there was this one unfortunate fool who did not know about my wise educator's methodology, and made the worst, and last mistake of his life, by running alongside the road / pavement boundary with his back towards the oncoming traffic.

The whole scene happened in the blink of my eye. I could see the man keeping a steady pace running towards me, and out of the corner of my eye, I could also see Bus 13 hurdling it's way on the bus lane. At the moment the front of the bus passed the runner, the man tripped and slipped towards his right, putting his head in the path of the red bus. With a sickening thud, I heard the man's neck snap as the bus's left side view mirror made contact.

I wondered why the runner's head was getting larger and larger even though his body remained motionless. And then it hit me. Literally. The force of the collision decapitated the man, and his head was the ball to the bus's mirror. In a matter of milliseconds, the runner's head transfered from his neck to my hands. I could feel the bile going up my throat and soon the countenance resting on my arms was covered with a thick layer of my breakfast.

This experience has definitely deterred my desire to continue running regularly. I still enjoy the wind blowing through my clothes, and the sun rays beating down on my ever increasing bald spot. However I decided to take another break from my passion until the tragedy escaped my memories.

The Ring Heist

I was running along my usual path, following the Northern line tube stations to make up a 10k run. As I was running, I could feel a light breeze behind me, and the evening glow of the sun opened up a path before me. I felt highly liberated and a sudden burst of energy ran through me. I did not feel like complying with the rules, so I decided to veer off my normal course, and I ran down the first turn off I saw. It was by chance that this road led me to a highly dangerous area, with many people eyeing me suspiciously as I ran past. I wasn't too worried, since I had the advantage of speed, so I continued along the road without a care on mind. Unfortunately, my exuberance was put to a halt when I came to a crossing and was forced to stop because of the traffic. It was then I felt the butt of a gun against my back, and holding the gun (I saw later), was a caucasian gentleman (he looked like one, with his suit and top hat) of mid fifties, and a mean expression.

He quietly, but in another way loudly, whispered to me, "don't say a word and walk down this road". I had no choice but to comply. Soon, the road ended as a cul-de-sac, and it was then the man asked for all my valuables. There was good news and bad news to this story. The good news was I don't run with any electronics (my phone, iPod, etc) nor do I go with any money. However, the bad news was that I was wearing my new ring, which I got from my home country (I may follow this post up with another story of how I got this ring). I was certainly not interested on giving it up, so I had to think on my feet to get out of this situation with my ring still with me, and all my fingers still attached to my hand.

"I am sorry, my good sir. I have nothing of high monetary value on me", I told him. He quickly patted me down, and spent a deal longer around my crotch area. He then let out a gruff sound as his eyes strayed down to my hand. "Give me your ring, dearie" he commanded. I already had a plan on mind to get out of this pickle. "Oh this!" I said bringing up my hand, "this is nothing but a plastic ring I purchased from a plumbing store to fix my toilet sink!" He looked at me with a face of disbelief. I took his moment of hesitation to add to this false episode. "If you want I can take you to where I bought it. Maybe I can also buy you one!" I regretted adding the second part in case he was angered by my cheekiness. Thankfully, he accepted the story. But not in the way I wanted. "Okay. Take me to the shop. I want to see for myself".

My surprise for his request did not lessen as we walked together to the nearest plumbing story I remembered seeing. Why would he ask to see the store?, I thought. If the crook was really smart, he would have taken the ring regardless and walked away. He must be a bit of a dim-wit, I said to myself. Soon, we approached a shop with a flashing neon light that read "ABUBAKER'S PLUMBING AND SUNDRY". I walked into the store, hoping that the storekeeper had the sense to play along with my story.

When the perp gave me a nudge with the gun which was hidden in his jacket pocket, I said to the man at the counter, "good evening. I believe I purchased this ring at your store. This gentleman behind me is also interested in making a similar purchase". As I said this, I removed the ring, and softly tapped it on the counter, to the sound of the morse code for SOS. The merchant, who I later learnt was Abubaker himself, seemed to understand. "Ah, yes. I remember selling this to you, but I think I have run out of stock. Let me check inside to see if I have more". He quickly (as quickly as his stumped leg would allow him to) bustled through a small door behind the counter. I turned around and smiled at the gunman. "My story checks out! If you walk away from the store, I will forget about all of this, and we can move on our merry ways". The man stared hard at me, and my initial thoughts about his inferior intellect was confirmed. "No, I want to see the same ring in this shop before I go away".

And it was then a large dark-skinned man walked through the door. His frame towered over us, and his mass would have made any hard-core gym user proud. With a quick lunge, a speed much greater than I thought a man of his build could move at, he pulled the gunman to the ground, and disarmed him with a snap of his hands. It was all over before it had even begun, and the security guard had subdued the perpetrator in mere seconds. Shortly, the guard picked the perp up, as though he was a twig, and threw him into a large crate in the store.

I had grown tired with all the affairs, so I had to reject Abubaker's kind offer of tea and biscuits. With a salute to the security guard (I thought it was a good idea then), I ran out of the store, and didn't stop running until I got back home.