He was just 12 yrs old, when he held & used the heavy gun for the first time. The kid had lost his sanity along with his parents. His guardian, an underworld don, inspired him to become man whom everyone in the city must fear. He worked towards that, following the foot steps. One day he reached his destination, but he suddenly realized that this didn't matter to him at all, because the journey was too painful & meaningless.
This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 25; the Silver Edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The topic for this month is 'When Journey Meant More Than Destination'.
Sometimes the journey means more than the destination.
This post is a 55 fiction - 55 Fiction is a form of micro-fiction that refers to the works of fiction limited to a maximum of fifty-five words.
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.