A story by Mirza Athar Baig, translated from the Urdu by Haider Shahbaz:
Between six and seven in the evening, I am going to act on the decision I made a couple of months ago. And the decision was – well, the decision is, that I will ask the clerk, Anwar Ahmed, to get on the back seat of my bike, and go for a spin with me. Of course, this is all an excuse. I will get out of the city, and turn my bike towards the road that goes along a high mountain range and some deep valleys, and when I have travelled about three miles down this road, I will reach a turn, and by this point, my speed (well, my bike’s speed) will be so fast that it will be impossible to go any faster. Then I will head towards the spot on the road where there is no protective barrier, and suddenly turn away from the road and fling myself, my bike, and the clerk, Anwar Ahmed, off the road, and we’ll fly down into the deep depths. I believe – I don’t know why I believe this – right then Anwar will emit a piercing scream from his throat. An unbelievable horror will detonate in his heart. We’ll begin to descend downwards. The way bikes fall in stunt films. These moments will be the moments of my victory, and I will quickly try to tell Anwar what is happening, why it’s happening, and how it’s happening. Whatever I can get across I will try to explain to him. And quickly. Because once gravity completely overpowers us there will be nothing left – not me, not the clerk, Anwar Ahmed, and not my bike.
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